Hope in the 21st Century

Edited by

John L. Hochheimer

Hope in the 21st Century

Probing the Boundaries Interface

Series Editors Dr Robert Fisher Dr Nancy Billias

Advisory Board Dr Alejandro Cervantes-Carson Dr Peter Mario Krueter Professor Margaret Chatterjee Martin McGoldrick Dr Wayne Cristaudo Revd Stephen Morris Mira Crouch Professor John Parry Dr Phil Fitzsimmons Paul Reynolds Professor Asa Kasher Professor Peter Twohig Owen Kelly Professor S Ram Vemuri Revd Dr Kenneth Wilson, O.B.E

A Probing the Boundaries research and publications project. http://www.inter-disciplinary.net/probing-the-boundaries/ The Persons Hub ‘Hope: Probing the Boundaries’

Hope in the 21st Century

Edited by

John L. Hochheimer

Inter-Disciplinary Press Oxford, United Kingdom

© Inter-Disciplinary Press 2009 http://www.inter-disciplinary.net/publishing/id-press/

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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-904710-33-2 First published in the United Kingdom in eBook format in 2009. First Edition.

Table of Contents Introduction John L. Hochheimer Tracing Hope in the Philosophies of History Fotini Vaki

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Hope and Historical Consciousness Richard Nelson

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The Promise and Problems of Hope Kenneth Seeskin

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Religion Beyond Religion: A. N. Whitehead and the Advancement of Civilisation Kenneth Masong

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The Divine Experience in Lagerkvist’s Works as the Embodiment of the Quest for Hopeful Existence Anna Zebialowicz

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Cultivating Hope: Simone Weil, metaxu, and a Literature of the Divine Christine Howe

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Ha-Tikva: The Concept of Hope in Jewish History Yoram Lubling

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Hope in the Age of Genetics Daphna Birenbaum-Carmeli

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Fostering Hope in a Psychiatric Hospital Kelley A. Raab

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Children’s Experiences of Family Violence in Aotearoa/New Zealand: A Manifesto for Hope Jennifer Infanti

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Communication Education and the Human Spirit: Notes Towards a Pedagogy of Hope John L. Hochheimer

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Assessment of Hope - The Process of Constructing a Gender-Sensitive Scale for Hope Within a South African Context David JF Maree and Marinda Maree

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An Open Future for Indigenous Law in South Africa? Hope for a Constitutional Dialogue David Taylor

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The Truth and Reconciliation Commissionas a Role Model for Hope Sandra Pilowski

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Whiteness and the Displacement of Hope: South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission and J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace Victoria Burrows

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What Is Still to be Found in Pandora’s Box? Vardan Torosian

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Notes on Contributors

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Introduction John L. Hochheimer The sense of uncertainty pervades the start of the twenty-first century. Although young, the past bears witness to the brutality of genocides, atrocities, terrorism which acts to counter-balance economic, political, technological and ecological aspirations. One need not read too deeply in a daily newspaper, listen to a radio or television news programme, or speak with one’s neighbours to recognise the many assaults on our senses of wellbeing and stability in a world seemingly gone mad. Powerful forces seem at loose upon and within the world with little end in sight. Cultural conflicts likewise offer scope for grave apprehension or the hopeful anticipation of a culturally enriched shared world. And yet, the human race continues on because of, or in spite of, the manifestly depressing and demoralising panorama we gaze upon through our media every day. Despite this onslaught, hope, the last item remaining in Pandora’s box after expelling the troubles of the world, has throughout human history been the one constant upon which people could call upon to move forward, to keep trying, to not give up the will to live. In light of this, the 1st Global Conference on Hope: Probing the Boundaries was held in Prague, Czech Republic from 8-10 August 2005 to address the possibilities and manifestations of hope. This inter-disciplinary and multi-disciplinary conference aimed to explore definitions, meanings, expressions and actions of hope. In particular, the conference sought to examine the individual, social, national and international contexts within which hope emerges as well as its counterpart, hopelessness. The Hope Conference was committed to the view that the time had come to look at the main spheres in which there may be a pendulum swinging between fear and hopeful expectation, with a view to thinking out constructive strategies for exploration. Papers, workshops and reports were invited addressing possible areas for discussion: 

 

Human awareness of the passage of time; changing attitudes to what H.G. Wells called ‘the shape of things to come’. What are the possible bases for thinking about the future? Expressions of these attitudes in contemporary culture - portrayals in art, cinema, literature, radio, science fiction, theatre, television The psychological basis of fear of the future. Why millennial hopes are matched by millennial fears

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The concept of a new age. Utopian thinkers; Dystopian visions. The connection with political movements. What do new-agers want? Hedonism and the simple life. The fear of longevity. The fear of loneliness Hopelessness, despair, indifference and resignation. The meaning of life The science of the future. Prediction, risk and disaster management The phenomenology of hope. What is this phenomenon that we call hope? How does it live and seemingly thrive in difficult times? How is it sustained? How is it invoked? Is there any difference between those who seem to be more hopeful than others? Does hope and the act of hoping/or the predisposition to hope differ from culture to culture? What are those variances and what accounts for them? How is hope differently instantiated among cultures? What are those instantiations? The notion of open and closed futures The role and place of religion and religious movements. Risk, possibility and hope. Envisaging possible futures. The question of choice. Cultivating hope.

The current eBook is a compilation of the papers presented at the Prague Conference in 2005. It contains papers from scholars representing a wide range of disciplines: philosophy, world literature, law, health, communication, pedagogy and history. They reflected on issues from South Africa, Israel, Poland, Greece, Russia and the United States. While the participants brought their work from afar, they were united in the effort to consider whether there was a possibility for hope and, if so, how best to cultivate it in a time of so much stress. That we were able to talk, and to disagree, and to challenge each other in a climate of respect and humility demonstrates that the bottomless well of hope still has much to quench the human thirst for possibility. Fotini Vaki explores and elucidates how hope articulates itself by means of the account of linear progress in the philosophies of history of the European Enlightenment. In “Tracing Hope in the Philosophies of History”, she argues that the conception of historical time as endowed with meaning or - as Leibniz put it - “pregnant with futurity” is literally the synonym of hope. The European Enlightenment’s belief in the constant improvement of the human species by means of reason alone, vividly expressed in the “ideology

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______________________________________________________________ of progress”, bears witness to that. The legacy of that optimism regarding the possibilities of the human species in the philosophy of German Idealism, in particular Kant’s Idea of a General History with Cosmopolitan Intent and Hegel’s Introduction to the Philosophy of History. Both Kant’s concept of asociable sociability as well as Hegel’s account of the Cunning of Reason, according to which private vices, antagonism, passions, empirical motives and inclinations lead unwittingly to public virtues and to the progress of human species which, she maintains, seem to be governed and driven by the almost existential - need to hope for a better world. In “Hope and Historical Consciousness”, Richard Nelson states that all people are prone to think of hope as a sign of transcendence, rather than a category of historical consciousness. Signs of transcendence, he writes, may offer the eternal, but they also may imply the ephemeral, and therefore seem a weak emotional substitute for the knowledge that could better be gained from the rational practices of the predictive sciences. If considered as a category of historical consciousness, Nelson argues, hope appears as a Trojan horse from the very origins of science, literature, and politics. It is revealed not only as the one active emotion that engages the future, but also as a closeted doubt and the positive challenge to the myth that the future is continuous with the past. All this suggests that hope is no more inherently profound than it is superficial. It may devolve into wish, or it may be strangled by fear. Individuals can, and apparently do, live without hope. However, Nelson maintains, it appears that it is impossible to engage the future without either hope or hopelessness. It seems that the fiction of a continuous future is central to keeping hope/hopelessness in the closet. This is a system of cultural oppression, he concludes, which the Greeks may or may not have invented, but which has remained in useful force since we have allowed them to define our way of reading history. In “The Promise and Problem of Hope”, Kenneth Seeskin argues that, as a moral virtue, hope is ruined by excess (wishful thinking) and efficiency (despair). There would be no point in working for the common good unless we thought our efforts had some chance to succeed. By the same token, there would be no reason to hope if we knew for certain that they would. Seeskin takes his cue from Kant, for whom the question “What can I hope for?” is of central importance. As Kant argues, ought implies can. Unless we thought our efforts could make a difference, we would have no reason to take action. Kant therefore concludes that morality requires us to act as if the human situation can be improved even if the available evidence suggests otherwise. This raises the question of whether the demands of morality can be fulfilled in finite time. Kant argues they cannot and thereby

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______________________________________________________________ undermines his own view of the importance of hope. Seeskin maintains, however, that we must assume they can. The English philosopher Alfred North Whitehead (1861-1947) argued that the “great social ideal for religion is that it should be the common basis for the unity of civilisation. In that way it justifies its insight beyond the transient clash of brute forces.” Religion is a potent “transforming agency” that nurtures the fermentation of the ideals of civilisation - truth, beauty, adventure, art and peace, ideals that constitute the reasonable hope for things to come despite the “transient clash of brute forces” of the immediate present. In “Religion Beyond Religion: A. N. Whitehead and the Advancement of Civilization”, Kenneth Masong argues that “dogmatism”, i.e., the reification of religious intuitions, lies at the root of the prevailing decadence of religious influence. Ultimately, religious dogmatism stifles the spirit whereby religion contributes hope for a better world. This, Masong writes, is central to Whitehead’s critique of religion. In order to compound and extend Whitehead’s critique, Masong introduces the thoughts of contemporary Italian philosopher Gianni Vattimo (1936-) especially his ideas on kenosis and weak thinking. These are concepts that undermine the “fallacy of dogmatism” in religion. Masong concludes that a strengthened reflexivity and a cautioned appreciation of religious intuitions that do not reify into dogmatism bring to bear the dynamism inherent in religion; that it needs to go beyond itself in the adventure of the religious spirit: a religion beyond religion. In her chapter “The Divine Experience in Lagerkvist’s Works as the Embodiment of the Quest for Hopeful Existence”, Anna Zebialowicz analyses three works by the late Swedish Nobel laureate Par Lagerkvist: The Sybil, The Death of Ahasuerus, Pilgrim at Sea and The Holy Land. She focuses on Lagerkvist’s explorations of such issues as hope, hopelessness, sense and senselessness of life constituting the focal point of human existence. Zebialowicz describes Lagerkvist’s characters as pilgrims wandering forlorn among the empty eternities in a search for man’s place in the world, universal truths and all those things that make human life meaningful. It is a yearning for hopeful existence as confronted with man’s spiritual exhaustion, metaphysical nihilism and mayhem like reality. Above all, she writes, it amounts to finding some kind of divinity or God that would reply to one’s existential quandaries and anxieties. In the early 1940s Simone Weil, French mystic, philosopher and political activist, articulated a new way of organizing social relations in such a way that the physical and spiritual needs of each individual would be met. Central to her philosophy was the concept of “roots”, i.e., the importance of focusing attention on what she termed “the reality beyond the world”, or absolute good, and the sacred nature of the human heart. The interplay between these ideas demonstrates the hope inherent in Simone Weil’s work.

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______________________________________________________________ In “Cultivating Hope: Simone Weil, metaxu, and a Literature of the Divine”, Christine Howe argues that rather than being equated with an optimistic attitude towards the future, for Weil hope is found in the illumination of the present by the light of the divine. Intimately linked with this form of hope is the Greek concept of metaxu: the existence of things that act as mediators, or bridges, between earth and heaven. Certain forms of literature, according to Weil, act as metaxu, enabling people to approach the divine. As the threads of Weil’s philosophy are drawn together, a method for writing literature that is able to inspire hope begins to emerge. Howe provides an analysis of Alice Walker’s novel The Color Purple in relation to Weil’s ideas in order to demonstrate the relevance of her work to a contemporary literature of hope. Our hope will not be lost, The hope of two thousand years, To be a free nation in our land, The land of Zion and Jerusalem. These words from the Israeli national anthem Ha-Tikva (The Hope) expresses the eternal desire of the Jewish people for a better future grounded in a highly conflicted past. In “Ha-Tikva: The Concept of Hope in Jewish History”, Yoram Lubling outlines the concept of hope in Jewish history as it is found in texts of worship, philosophy, literature, poetry, and art. He then focuses and examines the status of hope today since the establishment of the State of Israel did not resolve the problem with anti-Semitism. On the contrary, while during the 1930s and ‘40s anti-Semitism was limited to European sentiments, today it is global in its scope. Lubling concludes that the hope of the Jew is not merely for her own sake but for the sake of humanity. “Like Plato”, he writes, “Jean-Paul Sartre identified lack of freedom and hope with a sick soul and immorality, and freedom and hope with health and morality, observing that “as long as the Jews fear for their lives, no one among us will be free”. When confronting serious illness, the sense of hope may be the patient’s most useful ally. In her chapter “‘That Nothing Bad Should Ever Happen’: Hope and Genetic Susceptibility for Cancer”, Daphna BirenbaumCarmeli reflects on the issue of hope as present in the personal accounts of women with family history of cancer who had been diagnosed with certain genetic mutations. Assuming that testing for genetic predispositions for multi-factorial, late onset diseases are likely to become increasingly common in the future. Thus, she argues, the ways in which women construct hopefulness, and how they sustain and incorporate the notion into their personal bio-narratives, may be instructive at both the practical as well as the epistemological level of contemporary existence.

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______________________________________________________________ Being diagnosed with breast or ovarian cancer can be among the most devastating news that a woman could receive. It may verge on the hopeless if she also discovers that a genetic mutation may mean that she has inherited the disorder from her mother or that she may be passing it along to her own children. This is particularly noteworthy in Israel, where mutation prevalence among Jewish women is substantially higher than in non-Jewish populations, reaching 2.5 per cent of Jewish women of Ashkenazi (European) descent. The utility of hope in the treatment of patients is no less significant among those combating severe mental disease as it is among those struggling with physical issues. And the resources of the pastoral counsellor is no less significant than the physician’s in the working with patients in reconnecting with the inner sense of hope and possibility. As Kelly A. Raab points out in “Fostering Hope in a Psychiatric Hospital”, psychiatric patients are particularly vulnerable to hopelessness, and the fact that they suffer from illnesses of the mind makes it that much more difficult to foster a hopeful mental state. Yet, she argues, to be human is to be hopeful, and the task of the religious professional is to tap into that basic humanness and draw it forth. As a chaplain at a psychiatric hospital, Raab has had opportunity to observe ways that spirituality can foster hope in the severely mentally ill. Spiritual practices, she asserts, are important means of increasing hope for the mentally ill patient who adheres to a religious belief. Jennifer Infanti’s chapter, “Children’s experiences of family violence in Aotearoa/New Zealand: A manifesto for hope”, is based on the her doctoral fieldwork with children ages 5 to 12 years who have lived with family violence in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Her chapter begins with a brief discussion about the important role that hope plays in the expressions and stories of women and children who have lived with family violence. Next, Infanti traces her motivations for considering hope-related questions in her research. Finally, using an extended excerpt from the life story of one of the author’s research participants, she highlights the value of understanding hope as a social process and something all people can practice or exercise in their daily lives. A recent survey by the Higher Education Research Institute at the University of California in Los Angeles found that well more than half of U.S. college and university undergraduate students say they are seeking a higher sense of purpose and a more profound sense of meaning than they have been receiving in their formal education. They seek to be connected to something greater than themselves, something more profound than the focus on a subject area, or jobs and careers. What they seek, fundamentally, is a sense of hope in a world apparently going more perplexing, more hostile, more fearful, more insane every day, exacerbated by contemporary cultural

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______________________________________________________________ efforts to create a heightened sense of fear in journalism, cinema, literature, radio, television. In “Communication Education and the Human Spirit: Notes Toward a Pedagogy of Hope”, John L. Hochheimer describes an effort to create a communication pedagogy of hope founded on the theory that people can create their own sense of possibility and meaning through dialogue around issues they find of importance to them. It draws upon Martin Buber’s contention that, as we move from an ‘I-It’ perspective (in which we treat other people and the world as ‘objects’) to ‘I-Thou’ series of relations (in which we treat others as ‘subjects’ who are as fully equal of love, pain, suffering, struggle, spiritual transcendence, and mutual respect as we are), true ‘communication’, that is, the sharing of meaning between equal actors, becomes more possible. This “pedagogy of hope” seeks to create a space within which media and journalism students learn non-violent communication skills to lift each other up, rather than tearing each other down. Cooperation replaces conflict to help create a society that gives people the time, resources, and support to develop their inner lives and to find the underlying unity of all beings. As students become more confident in their abilities to find meaning and to work cooperatively, hope emerges as the means to counteract fear. David J.F. Maree and Marinda Maree examine hope within a South African context. They contend that this phenomenon is currently not being investigated although it provides a crucial dimension in the development of a multicultural and non-discriminatory society. In their chapter “Assessment of hope”, the Marees attempt to understand hope within a South African context from a gender perspective, by means of constructing a hope-scale aimed at South Africans. They view hope as a psychological construct consisting of three cognitive components: goal, pathway and agency thoughts. They supplement this concept with the idea that hope has similarities with expectancy. The Marees asked a number of men and women students to describe what hope means to them in a South African context. By performing content analyses of the responses, they identified themes and sub-themes focusing on evaluating hope. They found that for some, hope was grounded in external circumstances such as living in a wonderful country, while others grounded their hope internally (being alive, having a support system or being healthy). An interesting facet was that some grounded hope internally but focussed it outward. Situational hope was grounded within the potential of South Africa as a country and mostly focussed on the changed situation in South Africa since the establishment of the 1994 democracy. Some students had low levels of hope for the country while others grounded their hope on previous history. A number of positive issues were mentioned as the content of SA

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______________________________________________________________ hope, namely hoping for positive change in people and institutions. Most respondents expressed a wish for equality, change in mindsets, tolerance and harmony. Avoidance or negative hope also materialised in SA hope, namely reduction of violent and negative emotions, decrease in crime, corruption, violence, HIV, poverty suffering and so on. David Taylor ponders whether there is “An Open Future for Indigenous Law in South Africa?” by proposing the parameters of “Hope for a Constitutional Dialogue” in the time of post-apartheid. He addresses aspects of the legal institution of succession in indigenous and Western South African law. Recent court decisions about the indigenous law of succession, he writes, serve to illustrate how current jurisprudence serves to create a closed future for indigenous law. He discusses various jurisprudential options that could allow for an open future for indigenous law, recognising that there are fundamental differences between “official” and “living” versions of indigenous law. Taylor focuses on the cases of Mthembu v Letsela and another, where the right of so called “illegitimate” children to inherit was at issue, by examining both perspectives. In “The Truth and Reconciliation Commission as a Role Model for Hope in the Future”, Sandra Pilowsky refers to a process of confession, reconciliation and forgiveness that has assisted in the transition from an apparently hopeless social situation to one of and democracy. The process may not have been perfect, she argues, but it was functional and successful and provides a model that could be used beyond the boundaries of South African in facilitating a better and more hopeful future for mankind. If the concept of hope is to move from a transcendent vision of a future beyond personal or political despair to an actual implementation of new possibilities, writes Victoria Burrows, rigorous attention needs to be paid to the dominant dynamics of racial power, particularly that of the ideology of whiteness. In “Whiteness and the Displacement of Hope: South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission and J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace”, Burrows examines the role of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the most remarkable historical instance of the “mobilisation of hope” of the twentieth century, and in particular the notion of ubuntu which was placed at the centre of its vision of restorative justice. The second half of her chapter provides a reading of J.M. Coetzee’s controversial prize-winning novel, Disgrace, which portrays a bleak view of both the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and its long-term social effects. Coetzee’s novel, she argues, transmutes the political shame of apartheid South Africa into the personal sexual shame of a disgraced white man in the contemporary post-apartheid society, thus displacing any endorsement of political responsibility and ethical accountability. To conclude the volume, V. Torosian poses the timeless question “What is Still to be Found in Pandora’s Box?” The ancient myth recounts that

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______________________________________________________________ as a consequence of Prometheus’s theft of fire, Pandora’s box was thrown open and from out of it there flooded all of the disasters and calamities which still haunt humankind. The only thing left at the bottom of the box was Hope. Lord Byron, Torosian writes, believed that man lives with hope which relies upon memory, both of which lie. All history of mankind streams among Utopian hopes and apocalyptic misgivings, “impotence to believe” (Friedrich Nietzsche) and “optimism inspiring horror” (Albert Camus). Apathy is pernicious, either because of the state of being fed up that causes stagnation, or because of the feelings of despair, helplessness, meaninglessness of life. Pernicious, too, is aggressive self-affirmation, and the obtrusion of sham values, when “for the sake of people’s happiness” their lives are sacrificed and their personality is trampled down. The only way out, Torosian argues, is to become aware of abnormality, lack of prospect for consumerism, and the illusiveness of success based on “to have” vs. “to be”. The transition from civilization that has subdued culture to the civilization of culture - the transition which has become the challenge of time - can have for its basis not naïve slogans or patient expectation of a miracle but only realistic education combining knowledge and responsibility, striving for renovation and respect for traditions, taste for life and philosophic attitude to it. Hope springs eternal.

Hope in the 21st Century

Tracing Hope in the Philosophies of History Fotini Vaki Abstract In the domain of philosophy, hope is mainly traced in the vast area of the philosophy of history. The conception of historical time as endowed with meaning or - as Leibniz put it - “pregnant with futurity” is literally the synonym of hope. The European Enlightenment’s belief in the constant improvement of the human species by means of reason alone, vividly expressed in the “ideology of progress”, bears witness to that. The aim of the present paper is to explore and elucidate how hope articulates itself by means of the account of linear progress in the philosophies of history of the European Enlightenment. In turn, the paper shows the legacy of that optimism regarding the possibilities of the human species in the philosophy of German Idealism, in particular Kant’s Idea of a General History with Cosmopolitan Intent and Hegel’s Introduction to the Philosophy of History. Both Kant’s concept of a-sociable sociability as well as Hegel’s account of the Cunning of Reason, according to which private vices, antagonism, passions, empirical motives and inclinations lead unwittingly to public virtues and to the progress of human species seem to be governed and driven by the - almost existential - need to hope for a better world. Key Words: European Enlightenment, hope, Kant, Kantian ideas, philosophy of history, progress, practical reason. ***** In Anton Chekhov’s play Three Sisters, hope takes the name of a city: Moscow. The dullness of life in the Russian countryside, the neverending frustration of failed marriages, unrequited love, and partings without a hope of reunion are compensated for by “Moscow”: Moscow becomes the only ballast, consolation or relief of an unbearably monotonous life that nothing can upset. “If only we could go back to Moscow! Sell the house, finish with our life here, and go back to Moscow”, Irena, one of the three sisters says. “Yes, Moscow! As soon as we possibly can”, Olga replies.1 Nevertheless, they will never go to Moscow, and Chekhov will rather vindicate Lieutenant Toozenbach, who, trying to oppose the

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______________________________________________________________ Enlightenment-inspired, ultra-optimist belief in the inevitable progress of human life held by Lieutenant-Colonel Alexandr Vershinin, bitterly asserts: “Life will be just the same as ever not merely in a couple of hundred year’s time, but in a million years. Life doesn’t change, it always goes on the same.”2 Through his characters, Chekhov vividly touches upon some of the most perplexing issues concerning a vast domain in philosophical thinking, called philosophy of history, some versions of which play the same role as “Moscow” does in the Three Sisters. Thus, the debate between Toozenbach and Vershinin about the prospects and the possibility of progress of human life clearly depicts the notorious controversy constituting the core or the object par excellence of philosophy of history regarding the movement and direction of historical time. By and large, the most important approaches to the movement and direction of time in theories of the philosophy of history are the following two: the so-called cyclic and the linear. While the former derives its identity from nature, in particular from the incessant succession of the seasons the latter originates in Christian theology. While the former implies - to speak with Nietzsche - the eternal return of the same, denying thereby the possibility of change and progress, the latter is pregnant with meaning and futurity: it is as if time advances towards a stationary state or a “happy end” of humanity. Thus, while the cyclic conception of history precludes hope the linear account of time becomes the very synonym of that by fostering the expectation of the end of misery and misfortune and the advent of a world of happiness and redemption. 1.

On Time in History: From Providence to Progress In Augustine, who could be regarded as one of the first architects of the linearity of time, history is perceived as a long march leading up to a perpetual peace, which unlike that mentioned by Immanuel Kant in his famous essay Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch, realizes itself in the City of God - civitas dei- rather than the city of man. The Augustinian account of progress in History is admittedly so encumbered with theological meaning that it would be better to speak of a theory of Divine Providence rather than progress. Any radical and secular resonance of the idea of progress and the associated idea of human praxis and freedom of will is disarmed by and surrendered without a fight to the theological account of Providence. According to that, history takes place independently of the knowledge, will and action of its individual agents and advances towards an

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______________________________________________________________ end which is imminent and pre-decided. As J.B. Bury has pointedly argued in his magnum opus The Idea of Progress: the whole movement of history has the purpose of securing the happiness of a small portion of the human race in another world; it does not postulate a further development of human history on earth. For Augustine, as for any medieval believer, the course of history would be satisfactorily complete if the world came to an end in his own lifetime. He was not interested in the question whether any gradual amelioration of society or increase of knowledge would mark the period of time which might still remain to run before the Day of Judgment. Again, the medieval doctrine apprehends history not as a natural development but as a series of events ordered by divine intervention and revelations. If humanity had been left to go its own way it would have drifted to a highly undesirable port, and all men would have incurred the fate of everlasting misery from which supernatural interference rescued the minority.3 The question arising, however, concerns the possibility of a secular articulation of hope. What is at stake in other words is to what extent hope always already presupposes a theological faith in God, Providence, etc. Could it be the case of tracing hope in the Here and Now, in the finite, imperfect, unpredictable and always open to the future human history? The present paper will argue that the first step taken to that direction is by the European Enlightenment, in particular, by Condorcet, Turgot and Voltaire - inter alia. Yet it is only with the philosophy of history of German Idealism and particularly that of Immanuel Kant that the contours of a genuinely secular account of hope will take shape. The replacement of Divine Providence by the idea of progress takes place in the end of the 17th and the beginning of the 18th century. For the philosophers of the Enlightenment, history should no longer be interpreted according to God or Divine Providence; its center should be instead, human subject as a rational being. This re-interpretation of the philosophy of history is fully compatible with the glorious advent and the claims of the Enlightenment insofar as the latter refers not only to a historical category but also to a philosophical ideal,4 some collective human aspiration according to which a secular, rational basis for moral and political order could be found and safely relied on, could inspire the allegiance and commitment necessary for the vitality and reproduction of a society. The idea of being enlightened simply referred to the extravagant expectation that the constant advances of

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______________________________________________________________ sciences and arts would bring about the social and moral betterment, the justice of institutions and even the happiness of human beings. The leitmotif permeating the majority of the French philosophes is the uncontestable belief in constant, never-ending progress of the human species by means of his reason alone. The human species is destined to reach perfection and realize all his skills and talents. On this view, however, the Enlightenment is not radically discontinuous with its past, a self-grounding, but rather constitutes a secularized repetition of pre-modern themes and hopes. Progress is conceived as a secularized version of Christian eschatology or the grand narrative of the gradual mastery of nature in the service of universal Enlightenment, perpetual peace and maximum health as if this were the new “meaning” of history, replacing reliance on providence, salvation and the second coming. As Blumemberg puts it: Nothing surprised the promoters of the Enlightenment more, and left them standing more incredulously before the failure of what they thought were their ultimate exertions, than the survival of the contemptible old stories - the continuation of work on myth.5 The radically new rather suddenly seemed surprisingly old, outdated because self-deceived and unjustifiably self-satisfied, really an expression of an older, religious consciousness. And under the conditions of the modern age, which cannot invent Gods - even allegories - any longer”, new and highly abstract titles serve their mythic function: the ‘I’ the world history, the supreme authority granted to reason alone.6 The new modern idols like nature, the state of humanity or reason are thus interpreted as a counterfeit filling the teleological void of the “death of God” and the “devaluation of values” it entails. Looked at from this perspective, Enlightenment is “work on myth” which aims at bringing myth to an end, not by being the final demythologizing but by being the final myth. Enlightenment then, the claim of being genuinely modern “far from being over, has hardly had a chance to get started.”7 And if it had, it would understand itself not as an emancipatory project but rather as a nihilist resignation. Yet the question remains: where can be found a secular basis of hope for a future better world? What is to be traced as a “third way” going beyond the dilemma of having been forced to choose between “the Scylla of the theological metaphysics and the Charybdis of nihilism”?8 The answer will come from the philosophy of history of Immanuel Kant.

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______________________________________________________________ 2. Beyond Theology and Nihilism: Kant’s “rational” Hope in his Philosophy of History As is broadly known, Kant’s writings on the philosophy of history are much shorter and have been considered of less philosophical significance by comparison to his magnum opus, i.e. the edifice of the three Critiques. However, and this is what I would strongly claim, it seems as if Kant’s insights on history continue and further elaborate the main ideas of his Critiques. It could even be argued that some of the Kantian ideas on history bridge the gaps between the first two Critiques, that is, the famous gap between nature and freedom, causality and the freedom of the will. But let us pick up the thread from the beginning. Admittedly, the legacy of the 18th century European Enlightenment idea of progress and teleological thinking in general passes over to the thought of Kant. Kant’s philosophy of history is governed by assumptions such that the human species is heading towards a greater perfection, that there is inherent in history a teleological process striving towards the highest good and in conformity with the laws of freedom. At this point, it is more than obvious that there is a common thread uniting the Kantian insights on the philosophy of history, in particular his famous essay, Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose, with, on the one hand, the Critique of Judgment and its analysis of the possibility of teleological judgments, while, on the other, with the claim of the Critique of Practical Reason according to which men must set before themselves their moral ends. Following his analysis of nature set in the third critique, which, to be sure, contradicts that elaborated in the first critique which is patterned on the Newtonian model (the system of causal relations empirically known), Kant now views nature as endowed with a purpose. But what is this purpose exactly, and by what means does it realize itself? As Kant writes in the Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose, Individual men and even entire nations little imagine that, while they are pursuing their own ends, each in his own way and often in opposition to others, they are unwittingly guided in their advance along a course intended by nature. They are unconsciously promoting an end, which, even if they knew what it was, would scarcely arouse their interests. Since men neither pursue their aims purely by instinct, as the animals do, nor act in accordance with any integral, pre-arranged plan like rational cosmopolitans, it would appear that no law governed history of mankind is possible (as it would be, for example, with bees or beavers. The only way out for the philosopher, since he cannot

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______________________________________________________________ assume that mankind follows any rational purpose of its own in its collective actions, is for him to attempt to discover a purpose in nature behind this senseless course of human events, and decide whether it is after all possible to formulate in terms of a definite plan of nature a history of creatures who act without a plan of their own.9 The first three propositions of the Essay make explicit what this purpose consists in. In Kant’s words: First Proposition: All the natural capacities of a creature are destined sooner or later to be developed completely and in conformity with their end. Second Proposition: In man (as the only rational creature on earth), those natural capacities which are directed towards the use of his reason are such that that could be fully developed only in the species, but not in the individual. Third Proposition: Nature has willed that man should produce entirely by his own initiative everything which goes beyond the mechanical ordering of his animal existence, and that he should not partake of any other happiness or perfection than that which he has procured for himself without instinct and by his own reason. [And a few lines later:] Nature gave man reason, and freedom of will based upon reason, and this in itself was a clear indication of nature’s intention as regards his endowments.10 The conclusion to be drawn is the following. Although at first glance, one can observe a striking similarity between Kant’s writings on history and the Enlightenment account of progress, i.e. the idea of a Plan (which might be that of a Divine Providence or its secular counterpart, that is, Progress), a more careful reading demonstrates that the exact opposite holds: what the above mentioned propositions demonstrate is that far from hypostatising or naturalising the idea of history, Kant does not hesitate to make explicit that Nature’s plan is literally to force man to transcend it by making himself a self-governing being. Nature does not decide over our destiny. We, the finite human beings, are responsible over our future history that has to be shaped according to the demands of pure practical reason. As Michel Depland nicely puts it:

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______________________________________________________________ History must be made by us subservient to morality and it follows that philosophy of history must in the last analysis be made subservient to ethics. To sum up, nature and nature’s plan do not dictate our future. Only our moral reason does it.11 Now, and according to Kant’s fourth proposition, the means which nature employs to bring about the development of innate capacities is that of antagonism within society, in so far as this antagonism becomes in the long run the cause of a law-governed social order. By antagonism, I mean in this context the unsocial sociability of men, that is, their tendency to come together in society, coupled however, with a continual resistance which constantly threatens to break this society up. This propensity is obviously rooted in human nature. Man has an inclination to live in society, since he feels in this state more like a man, that is, he feels able to develop his natural capacities. But he also has a great tendency to live as an individual, to isolate himself, since he also encounters in himself the unsocial characteristics of wanting to direct everything in accordance with his own ideas. He therefore, expects resistance all around, just as he knows of himself that he is in turn inclined to offer resistance to others. It is this very resistance which awakens all man’s powers and induces him to overcome his tendency to laziness.12 At this point we come across a favourite theme permeating the vast majority not only of the modern versions of the philosophy of history but also of the social and political philosophy of the Enlightenment beginning, to be sure, with the so-called Scottish Enlightenment. Be it Adam Smith’s “the invisible hand” or the aforementioned Kantian “a-social sociability” or the Hegelian “Cunning of Reason” in his philosophy of history, the idea is common: History advances via its negative. Progress takes place via its opposite, that is, vices, passions, conflicts, antagonisms, etc. In order to satisfy my self-interests, to pursue my own private ends, I can always do so via collaboration with the other individual agents. To put it somewhat cynically: the Hobbes-inspired context of the “war of all against all”, the state of permanent violence, does not help me fulfill my ends. The satisfaction of individual needs presupposes the reproduction of society rather than its destruction.

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______________________________________________________________ The adoption of the above schema however, by the majority of the Enlightenment thinkers - including Kant himself- implies something more: it implies hope, an anxiety - almost existential- to safeguard that our modern, fragmented, disenchanted world in which neither God or polis exist any longer to guarantee a collective ethos and have been replaced by the incessant conflict of monads pursuing their own self-interests will not be destroyed. The schema of the transformation of private vices into public virtues echoes the hope to trace glimpses of morality in modernity. Kant’s account of teleology in nature is not a methodological legerdemain to bridge the gap between nature and freedom. Even more, it is not an unwilling reproduction of his enemy, i.e. dogmatic metaphysics, ontology etc. within the terrain of his enlightened, modernist philosophy. It has to be seen instead within the above context, precisely because for Kant, the teleology of nature is not knowledge but a regulative idea. Allow us a parenthesis at this point, which will illuminate the Kantian regulative ideas and their function within the Kantian construct in its entirety. In the Critique of Pure Reason, Kant argues that the Enlightenment rejects metaphysics in an extremely dogmatic way. The Enlightenment wages war versus its metaphysical opponent without at the same time attempting a reflection upon “the knowledge of our unavoidable ignorance.”13 For Kant, the only way to overcome the Enlightenment’s dogmatism is by means of a kind of Socratic self-knowledge, our realization of our inability to acquire metaphysical knowledge,14 that is, a priori knowledge of God, substance, world as totality, final causes, etc. To speak at a level of truisms, Kant’s reply has been called transcendental idealism and refers to the investigation of the “conditions of possibility of experience”, which are a priori, namely, non-empirical. Both the a priori forms of intuition as well as the a priori categories of understanding exist in human thinking prior experience. According to the Kantian schema: firstly, we only know the world as phenomenon, that is, as it is represented to us and not as it is in itself. Secondly, experience or knowledge of an object outside the world (where by world is defined the spatio-temporal whole within which the empirical investigation of the world as a whole, i.e. as an object outside the world. But this is not possible since experience or intuition is always experience or intuition of an object inside the world.15 It is not “a view from nowhere.”16 While the aforementioned schema admittedly radicalizes the humanistic character of the Enlightenment and its emphasis on the world of Immanence, the story is not over yet. For at the same time he demonstrates the impossibility of metaphysical knowledge, Kant claims that metaphysics has always been a kind of natural predisposition. In his own words: “...metaphysics actually

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______________________________________________________________ exists, if not as a science, yet still as natural disposition (metaphysica naturalis).”17 And no Enlightenment, to be sure, can exorcise that need. Nevertheless, Kant insists on his claim that metaphysical knowledge is impossible. But if the subject has no metaphysical experience whatsoever, how is it possible to construct metaphysical concepts? Kant resolves that problem through his famous distinction between concepts and Ideas. By Idea, Kant understands “a necessary concept of reason to which no corresponding object can be given in sense-experience.”18 The Ideas aim at orienting thinking in its investigations and research of the immanent world. Ideas do not, therefore, exist as objects independently of the subject.19 And this is precisely the fundamental mistake of metaphysics: the projection of subjectively grounded Ideas to objects. In exactly the same fashion, the regulative Ideas of the second Critique, i.e., the Critique of Practical Reason, which are called postulates of practical Reason, are God, freedom and the immortality of the soul. Just as the Ideas of Pure Reason act as a kind of compass orienting theoretical thinking, the postulates of practical reason function as incentives to act morally without being entrapped in despair.20 Accordingly, in his writings on the philosophy of history, Kant uses teleological concepts, such as that of the constant progress of the human species as a regulative Idea in the technical sense of the term mentioned above. The Idea of the progressive education of the human race inaugurates therefore, a new somewhat “modern” metaphysics - oxymoronic as this might sound - of faith and hope that human race might eventually realize the summum bonum, that is, the unity of virtue and happiness. However, and this is the crux of the Kantian modernism, Kant never allowed his idea of the progress of human race to dictate a necessitarian view of the future. That the step just made was a progress does not mean that progress is inevitable. Kant was too realist to accept the illusion that we live in a society of angels. In The Strife of Faculties (1788) he argues that the realisation on earth of the perfect state is a “sweet dream”,21 while in his essay of 1791 On the Failure of all Attempted Philosophical Theodicies, he claims that the presence of evil makes any doctrinal theodicy impossible. Moral evil as the obverse of freedom is always capable of subverting any teleological development. In his own words: “No theodicy held its promise until now; none managed to justify divine wisdom in the government of the world against the doubts concerning it which our experience of the world inspire us.”22 This brings him closer to Voltaire’s skepticism of Candide. On the other hand, Kant was too honest intellectually to make any concessions to the inhuman reality of the modern world.

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______________________________________________________________ And last but not least, he was too much of a democrat to trust the future of humanity to tyrants, charismatic leaders, prophets, fanatics, or the triumphal march of Reason in History. For Kant, we are the authors of our wills and lives. In the end, the future will be what men will make it.

Notes 1

A Chekhov, Plays, translated and with an introduction by Elisaveta Fen. Penguin Classics: London 1951, p. 250. 2 Ibid., p. 281. 3 J B Bury, The Idea of Progress: An Inquiry into its Origin and Growth. Macmillan and Co., London, 1920, p. 21. 4 Albeit a “contested one”, at least according to the brilliant analysis of R Pippin. See R Pippin, Idealism as Modernism, Hegelian Variations. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, p. 1. 5 H Blumemberg, Work on Myth, trans. R. Wallace, MIT Press, Cambridge, 1985, p. 286. 6 Loc. cit. 7 Pippin, op. cit., p.4. 8 L Crocker, Nature and Culture: Ethical Thought in the French Enlightenment, Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, MD, 1963, p. 512. 9 I Kant, “Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose”, in Kant, Political Writings, edited by Hans Reiss, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1991, pp. 41-2. 10 Ibid., pp. 42-3. 11 M Desplant, Kant on History and Religion, McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal and London, 1973, p. 46. 12 Kant, “Idea for a Universal History,” p. 44. 13 Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, translated by Norman Kemp Smith, Saint Martin’s Press, New York, 1965, A767/B795. 1414 Ibid., A758/B786: “the knowledge of our ignorance is science.” (Erkenntnis seiner Unwissenheit ist also Wissenschaft). 15 According to the brilliant analysis of H Allison, the Kantian distinction between phenomena and things-in-themselves by no means refers to two different entities. On the contrary, it refers to two different perspectives concerning the objects of human experience. See H E Allison, Kant’s Transcendental Idealism: An Interpretation and Defence, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1983). 16 The phrase belongs, of course, to T Nagel. See T Nagel, The View from Nowhere, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1986.

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Critique of Pure Reason, B21, p.56. Ibid., A327, B384, p. 318. 19 Ibid., A481-3/B509-11. 20 Ibid., A259-60/B315. 21 The Strife of Faculties, in Gesammelte Schriften,(GS) ed. by the Prussian Royal Academy, Berlin, vol 7, p. 92. 22 The Failure of All Theodicies, GS 8, p. 263. 18

Bibliography Allison, E. H., Kant’s Transcendental Idealism: An Interpretation and Defence. Yale University Press, New Haven, 1983. Blumemberg, H., Work on Myth, trans. R. Wallace. MIT Press, Cambridge, 1985. Bury, J.B., The Idea of Progress: An Inquiry into its Origin and Growth. Macmillan, London, 1920. Chekhov, A,. Plays, translated and with an introduction by Elisaveta Fen. Penguin Classics, London, 1951. Crocker, L., Nature and Culture: Ethical Thought in the French Enlightenment, Baltimore 1963. Desplant, M., Kant on History and Religion. McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal and London, 1973). Kant, I., Critique of Pure Reason, translated by N. K. Smith. Saint Martin’s Press, New York, 1965. -----, “Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose”, in Political Writings, edited by H. Reiss, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1991. -----, The Strife of Faculties, in Gesammelte Schriften 8, herausgegeben von der Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin. W. de Gruyter, Berlin, 1902. -----, The Failure of All Theodicies, GS 8.

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______________________________________________________________ -----, “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch”, in Political Writings, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, 1992. Nagel T., The View from Nowhere, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1986. Pippin, R., Idealism as Modernism, Hegelian Variations. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1948.

Hope and Historical Consciousness Richard Nelson Abstract Hope is at once a fragile dream, and an historically centered emotion, which is visible in the very origins of science, literature and politics. It is the only active emotion that engages the future, but it is also a closeted doubt, and a positive challenge to the myth that the future is continuous with the past. As such, it is a Trojan horse, which the historian Thucydides accepted from the poet Hesiod, calling into question the predictive sciences and the nature of history, itself, as well as our relation to the future. Key Words: Closet, consciousness, doubt, Greeks, Hesiod, history, myth, Pandora, Thucydides. ***** We are prone to think of hope as a sign of transcendence, rather than a category of historical consciousness. Signs of transcendence may offer the eternal, but also may imply the ephemeral, and therefore seem a weak emotional substitute for the knowledge that could better be gained from the rational practices of the predictive sciences. If considered as a category of historical consciousness, however, hope appears as a Trojan horse from the very origins of science, literature, and politics. It is revealed not only as the one active emotion that engages the future, but also as a closeted doubt and the positive challenge to the myth that the future is continuous with the past. Herodotus, the father of history, alluded to the subversive character of hope centuries before the Roman orator and politician Cicero honored him with that title. Although he appealed to fables as well as human agency, and so never actually used the word "history" quite in the way he was supposed to have fathered it, Herodotus did formulate lasting explanations for why and how the past matters. In the opening sentence of The Persian Wars, he said he had written “in the hope of thereby preserving from decay the remembrance of what men have done, and preventing the great and wonderful actions of the Greeks and Barbarians from losing their due meed of glory; and withal to put on record what were the grounds of their feud.” For his part, Cicero went down in history for elegantly arguing the pros and cons of divination, the relation of the emotions and reason to virtue, the uses of skepticism, and for his desire to restore the lost Republic. The latter of these manifested a political ideal and investment in power that led to his assassination.1

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______________________________________________________________ The fifth-century Greek and his first-century Roman admirer shared an anxiety for the future. Both wanted to preserve a memory of human achievement, threatened with oblivion in an ephemeral and indeterminate future, through a timeless record of the past. They could not practically or intellectually do so, however, without illogically maintaining mutually exclusive forms of the future which loomed before them. The future must be continuous, since it was self-evident to the Greeks that all that could be true must have always existed. But, they also knew death, and experienced the shock of unexpected consequences. The future, therefore, seemed to waver between the rational, and very real ground of prediction, and the non-rational and unaccountable space of accident; in other words, the predictable and the new. Hope, for the Greeks, as for us, is an emotion. It would have no place in an entirely predictable future, just as it has no utility or appeal for thinking about an unchangeable past. The very presence of hope is a reminder, characteristic of all emotions, that hope is both voluntary and involuntary. Hope, or for that matter, hopelessness, is evidence that we have already accepted a conceptual future that can be discontinuous, and therefore, unpredictable. If Herodotus revealed an unconscious anxiety about the implication of hope, however, his younger contemporary, Thucydides, self-consciously engaged it. In The Peloponnesian War, Thucydides eschewed fantasy and legend. He styled himself the first scientific historian, painstakingly corroborating even his own eyewitness reports, writing "not for the applause of the moment, but as a possession for all time." He fretted that the lack of romance in his account might dampen interest, but said he would be content “if it be judged useful by those inquirers who desire exact knowledge of the past as an aid to the interpretation of the future, which in the course of human things must resemble if it does not reflect it.”2 He first broached the problem of hope and prediction in Book III as the Athenians reconsidered their decision to destroy the rebellious Mytilene, who had “trusted recklessly to the future, and cherishing hopes, which if less than their wishes, were greater than their powers...” Insolence must not be rewarded with misplaced mercy, Cleon argued. “Do not hold out a hope,” he warned, which eloquence can secure or money buy.” Diodotus, however, maintained the contrary position, When men are “excited by hope” they will still risk their lives against the worst fears of punishment, he said. Even death is no deterrent, since “[d]esire and hope are never wanting, the one leading, the other following, the one devising the enterprise, the other suggesting fortune will be kind; and they do immense harm, for, being unseen, they far outweigh the dangers which are seen.” Severity will simply encourage the desperate appeal of hope they are trying to suppress.

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______________________________________________________________ The assembly narrowly voted for a reprieve, and dispatched a second trireme, “hoping that if the second could over take the first...it might be in time to save the city.” In this instance, the reprieve reached the Mytilenaeans only just in time.3 The results, however, were quite different for Melos, a Spartan colony who, in Book IV, hoped to negotiate a position of neutrality with the powerful Athenians. The dominant Athenians acknowledged “Hope is a good comforter in the hour of danger, and when men have something else to depend on, although hurtful, she is not ruinous. But when her spendthrift nature has induced them to stake their all, they see her as she is in the moment of their fall, and not till then. Although people like the Melians “might still be saved if they would take the natural means, when they have lost the visible grounds of confidence,” they too often have “recourse to the invisible, to prophecies, and oracles and the like, which ruin men by the hopes which they inspire in them.” The Melians, on the other hand, decided to put their hope in heaven, evoking a taunt from the departing Athenians: “You are the only men who deem the future to be more certain than the present, and regard things unseen as realized in your fond anticipation, and that the more you cast yourself on the Lacedaemonians and fortune, and hope, and trust them, the more complete will be your ruin.” The Melians then paid the awful price of claiming the right in the face of might. Eventually, however, in Book VII, the tide of fortune turned against Athens when they carried the war to Syracuse. Fear finally trumped hope, and surrendering to panic, the fleeing Athenians “knew that they had no hope of saving themselves by land unless events took some extraordinary turn.” No such turn came, for the Syracusans pressed their practical advantage as well as a stronger hope. The Athenian fleet and army “vanished from the face of the earth; nothing was saved, and of the many who went forth few returned home.”4 The protagonists in Thucydides' account were obsessed with a future which may be engaged in sober prediction, or passionate hope. When an accurate assessment of power and opportunity may be directly extrapolated from the present, the Athenians believed hope is insignificant. Hope becomes insistent when the future is not able to be clearly read from present tendencies, revealing itself as a dangerously volatile emotion which may either inspire unexpected success or assure ruinous failures. Prediction, however, assumes that the future will repeat, or at least resemble the past in every consequential form. The only real problem for predictive science is ignorance of, or emotional distraction from, the necessary repetition of the past in every manifestation of the future. But if the future were simply an extension of the present it would not be an unknown territory; it would, in fact, not be the future. Thucydides says that the future must resemble the past, if it does not reflect it. But even the strongest resemblance implies some

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______________________________________________________________ measure of difference, and therefore a potential inability to predict. Thucydides, and with him, every historically based effort to construct a predictive science, at once confirms the view of history as repetition and undermines the claim to have escaped the romance and fabulous elements innocently mixed by the father of history. Thucydides may have been more culpable than Herodotus in blurring the line between history and myth, since he reduplicated the myths of Prometheus and Pandora in his own narrative after having self-consciously identified this flaw in his mentor and rival. At the very least, this reassertion of myth suggests that Thucydides may have lost innocence for later historians, but (he) also won for historians the insight that irony is the price that must be paid for relying on historical knowledge. According to these myths, conjoined by the poet Hesiod, the predictive arts and sciences were brought to men by Prometheus, a Titan even wiser than the gods, whose name means “forethought.” He did so with the gift of fire, which he stole from Zeus, but only after Prometheus first established the universal human practice of self-serving ritual sacrifices. He had tricked Zeus into accepting an inferior arrangement whereby humans keep the best meat for themselves and burn the bones and useless fat on smoky alters dedicated to the gods. An angry Zeus decided to punish men by hiding fire from them. Prometheus, ever insubordinate and ever one step ahead of the gods, stole the fire and hid it in the hollow of a fennel stock, unnoticed by Zeus who was beguiled by the portents of the natural world, especially, thunder. Now, even angrier, he decided to punish both Prometheus and men through the rewards gained by their own guile. “There is none craftier than you,” the angry god of natural force said to Prometheus, ‘and you rejoice at tricking my wits and stealing fire which will be a curse to you and the generations that follow. The price for the gift of fire will be a gift of evil to charm the hearts of all men as they hug their own doom.’ This said, the father of gods and men roared with laughter. Zeus then ordered Hephaestus, born of Hera's resentment towards Zeus, but also a mediator and practitioner of the peaceful arts, to fashion a woman. This woman, made of a mixture of the good and bad, was given to Prometheus’ brother, Epimetheus, “afterthought,” as an instrument of revenge on men. By bewitching men with her charms, Pandora, which means “the gift to all,” seduced them out of their rationality and into desire, which led to all the suffering in the world. A second version in Hesiod, says that her evil came not from malevolence but from her curiosity. When the gods gave a box into which each had put something harmful, she felt compelled to look inside, releasing all the evils and sufferings of the world. In one variation,

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______________________________________________________________ hope was left in the box as the sole comfort to mankind in the face of numberless tragedies. The implied alternative is that hope represented the final cruelty of the gods. Locked away in the box, it mocks the ineffectuality of human action, blindly driving humans to their own ruin, and achieving insight into their mistake only as an afterthought - that is, through history. It would be easy to misconstrue what is mythic in this narrative of gods and mortals, especially if we embrace the convention of a temporal division between the modern and the ancient worlds. This division, which we owe to the Greeks, themselves, may imply that the modern is rational and the ancient is non-rational. Or, it may be taken to mean that history is an iron cage of repetition that may be escaped only by forgetting the past and embracing the future. We might appeal to Hesiod's poetic retelling of the ancient myths to serve either form of the division, following the neo-classical Enlightenment in the first, and Romanticism in the second instance. 5 Similarly, we may read the gender division between the Prometheus-Pandora narrative as ancient misogyny, or nostalgia for a lost homo-erotic unity, on one side, or a self-conscious portrait of the universal claims of poetry itself, in which literary creation is viewed as growing out of an ontological longing imbedded in all human endeavors, that drives us ever deeper into a poetic imagination. Poetry, or more generally, the aesthetic imagination, is seen from this perspective as the beautiful gift that gives comfort and pleasure. But, at the same time, necessarily accentuates a sense of loss and the despair of unrealized desire for a return to unity and harmony for the individual and society. Again, such a dichotomous reading could support, indeed has supported since ancient times, a scientific literary theory, such as offered by formalism, or a deconstructive literary theory. The former continues to underwrite a view of history as a structural scientific discovery of past events, while the latter, with an equally ancient pedigree, suggests that history, since it resides in written records, is a form of poetry; that “historical knowledge [is],” as Paul de Mann, wrote “not empirical facts but written texts, even if these texts masquerade in the guise of wars and revolutions.” 6 Despite the culture wars that have attended these debates, each side has assumed that the future must be continuous with the past and present, that cultural conflict exists as stable and symmetrically binary oppositions, and that some practice of divination will disclose an incipient order in human experience. But it is also possible to read Hesiod's artistic choice to render hope in an explicitly gendered form more ironically, and more critically. We might read Hesiod as challenging the very idea that we can separate the world and our culture into two stable and separate conceptual spheres of ancient and modern; the credulous and cynical; the religious and the secular; the rational and the emotional. We might find support for such an ironic reading of hope in Hesiod if we consider the way contemporary gay/lesbian theory similarly locates a gendered approach to hope in ironic relation to hetero sexuality. The

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______________________________________________________________ similarities to Hesiod become more obvious if we compare their narratives less myopically through our conventionally binary oppositions of gay/straight sexuality. We may notice how similarly we all apply such binary oppositions to reason and emotion, as well as to our bodies and our identities. We might also notice that Hesiod, in unfolding the story of Pandora’s encounter with hope and despair in the box from the gods, places the gendered emotion of hope, in particular, in the closet. Similarly, for Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, the closet expresses “the structured - indeed, fractured…relations between the known and the unknown, the explicit and the inexplicit around homo/heterosexual definition, [that] have the potential for being peculiarly revealing, in fact, about speech acts more generally.”7 The closet, she explains further, implies the locus of both a disclosure and a continuing secret, of public liberation and private oppression; of identities and relationships that are neither all good, nor all bad, or even always the same over time. It includes knowledges and ignorances in ever-changing, but politically and socially charged, relationships., and not merely sexual ones. 8 It is important in appealing to the closet, Sedgwick warns, that we avoid the very real danger of “making salient the continuity and centrality of the closet, in a historical narrative that does not have as a fulcrum a saving vision - whether located in past or future - of its apocalyptic rupture.” In other words, the closet must not be invoked without hope for a discontinuous future. Not only is there a risk of glamorizing the closet, she points out, but also “presenting as inevitable or somehow valuable its exactions, its deformations, its disempowerment and sheer pain.” Sedgwick thinks that “the epistemology of the closet,” as she calls it, has been productive enough in Western culture to justify those risks for writing about heterosexual and homosexual difference. We should remember, however, as even Sedgwick forgets, alphabets and texts have served to marginalize or erase or colonize non-literate peoples from participation in history. Literacy is no more a state of grace than is the text.9 The closet, therefore, may offer a perspective on disclosure and evasion which affords an historical insight into the force of mythical thinking that continues to shape our ideas of the future, and our hidden appeal to hope. In The Epistemology of the Closet, Sedgwick asks her reader to engage in a literary act of deconstruction of all binary divisions, not just sexual ones, It is at least premature when Roland Barthes prophesies that ‘once the paradigm is blurred, utopia begins: meaning and sex become the objects of free play at the heart of which the (polysemant) forms and the (sensual) practices liberated from binary prison, will achieve a state of infinite

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______________________________________________________________ expansion.’ To the contrary, a deconstructive understanding of these binarisms makes it possible to identify them as sites that are peculiarly densely charged with lasting potentials for powerful manipulation - through precisely the mechanisms of self-contradictory definition, or more succinctly, the double bind. Nor is a deconstructive analysis of such definitional knots, however necessary, at all able to disable them.10 If we are not distracted by the subject and form, I believe we can see that Hesiod addresses these same questions. As an imaginative artist, his retelling of the stories does not pretend to be naive, but is instead, selfconsciously analytic. First, Hesiod conceptualizes the origin of the predictive sciences in divination, and says that divination only superficially resembles religious ritual,; rather, it actually stems from different sources and goals. Second, he neither identifies hope with divination nor religion. Third, Hesiod's interpretative poem binds the appearance of hope to the limits of the predictive sciences for controlling the future. Fourth, hope is characterized neither as good nor as bad. If an evil, it should have been released with all the others; if a good, it should not have made it into the box in the first place. In his study of the predictive sciences in ancient Greece and China, G.E.R. Lloyd argues that both societies understood history as a general name for any manner of research, and rather than deriving from the study of written records, it was rooted in the nearly universal practice of divination. From the earliest sources, he points out, “So far from predicting, or even divining, being merely negative influences inhibiting the growth of inquiry... they were, sometimes, at least, positive ones encouraging it.” Rather than appealing superstitiously to the gullible he says, “their practice led to the discovery of certain regularities and to a realization of certain differences between different modes of prediction, notably between the conjectural and the rigorous.” Cicero offered this same analysis in his essay, “On Divinization,” written in 44 CE. He was unimpressed by thunder and other portents which appealed to superstition, but he was impressed by the idea that “everything that exists, no matter what it is, must have had its origin in Nature, and therefore, though a phenomenon may be most bizarre, it is impossible that it should have violated Nature's laws.” On the other hand, Lloyd found, as had Cicero before him, that divinization was used to defend or promote interests, or was regulated out of fear of subversion of, or support for, state or other institutions. For similar reasons, divinisation sometimes appealed to religious sanctions or undermined religious authority in order to augment political interests. It is true that modern forms of prediction are both more accurate and better able to coerce conformity than were ancient sources. However, the

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______________________________________________________________ sophistication of prediction does not change its natural foundation, or the artificial means by which forms of power are used to extend the continuity of the present. This is because modern forms of prediction, like ancient forms of divination, may formalize political and social forms of power and legitimacy in similar ways. “Thus,” Jorg Rupke concludes, Roman “augural practice” (reading the entrails of birds and other natural signs) “enabled the formalization of opposition and dissent in a way that overrode majority votes in a consent-oriented elite.” Augural predictions, he continues, were usually ignored in legislative decisions, but successful in deligitimising elected magistrates. In other words, rather than presenting a promised universaliing system of judgment, the system of divination, augmented by variations on supernatural signs which also needed interpretation, served to structure the present interests of a society in the name of futurist claims. Every Roman citizen had some ability to read signs of prediction, but the system of divination behind Roman political religion offered still larger spaces of control for elites by special variations that had to be ritually interpreted and filtered by priesthoods and magistrates in arriving at a final resolution. Cicero, anticipating Rupke, fretted over the negative affects of divinization on religious piety, but generally championed it as a strategy for organising political interests.11 Hesiod's eighth-century poetic warning that the predictive sciences cannot escape their origins of guile and deception, deception seems to have found a measure of confirmation well before the epistemology of the closet. So too, has his suspicion that suffering cannot be eliminated from nature, and therefore that hope, positive or not, is an inescapable companion to any approach to the future. We have no way to know if Hesiod found his sense of ethical limits towards the future in the ancient oral traditions of Greece, or if he achieved a kind of original modern literary break-through as a creative writer, but can such a self-conscious and thoughtful engagement with the implications of knowledge and ignorance usefully be described as myth? If we were to ask, “What, then might reasonably be construed as myth?” The contemporary historian might answer that he or she has no special knowledge to provide a definitive explanation. The historian would suggest we must rely on an historical explanation; in fact, the historian's preference for original, or, at least primary, sources would dictate that we should look to Thucydides, the first known historian to identify the need to separate the predictive sciences from myth. If we read Thucydides, we will find no “pre-historic age” of myth, but find that myth is instead a mode of thought that is always present as unreflecting immediacy between and/or among thought, emotions and values. Myth, according to Thucydides, is the immediately and uncritically true. It is found in “accepting readily the first story that comes to hand.” Myth, he says, may also be found in “the lays of a poet, displaying the exaggeration of his craft,” or it may be located in the

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______________________________________________________________ chronicler's compositions, “out of the reach of evidence, and time having robbed most of them of historical value, by enthroning them in the region of legend.” 12 For Thucydides, history does not begin with texts, but with consciousness, and consciousness begins with the awareness of difference. Historical thinking is the origin of any capacity to recognise difference. So history always begins with the loss of the innocence, or ignorance, of conflicting values, and serves to criticise the nostalgic effort to restore lost innocence or ignorance through conscious duplicity. As an historian, Thucydides required his readers to surrender the immediate truth in order to become conscious of the past. However, it seems that he could not bring himself to surrender his nostalgia for a past that he hoped could provide a predictive form for knowing, or at least informing, a future he both acknowledged and evaded. We might alternatively argue, however, that Thucydides had anticipated the modern categories of ideology and utopia in his narrative oppositions of prediction and hope. But our subject is not the present or the past, which Thucydides may have accurately reported. It is the future, which Thucydides insisted must “resemble, if it does not reflect” the past. This problem of at once acknowledging, yet evading, the limits of the predictive sciences, cannot be resolved through the sociology of knowledge. We cannot rescue Thucydides - who established the historical foundations for the social sciences - from his own standards for separating history from myth. The idea that the present is latent in the past, and the future in the present is axiomatic not just to the sociology of knowledge, but to all the predictive social sciences as forms of divination. The root of that notion is often attributed to Darwin, or to Marx's extrapolation of Darwin to economic laws of history, and thus, to scientific authority. But Romantic nature philosophers such as Shelling and Humboldt, who believed in archetypes, natural vitalism, and intuition; and holistic social theorists such as Herbert Spencer and August Comte, were thinkers who are far from defendable on scientifically respectable grounds. They offered evolutionary constructs of social development well before Darwin. These same pre-Darwinian conventions of continuity between past and future persisted after Darwin, and were sometimes reaffirmed through Darwin and Marx, themselves, despite their investments in scientific method. Historians, unlike social and natural scientists, generally disclaim that the past may be used to predict the future. Instead, historians usually claim a methodological ability to report that new things do occasionally happen; but that the new may be seen only by looking backwards at the record of former futures that have become past. As forms of inquiry, therefore, the predictive arts and sciences and historical investigation face in opposite directions. The success of all the predictive arts and sciences

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______________________________________________________________ depends upon extending the present as far and as long as possible. Historians, like others who want to live, recognise that the present may be fruitfully and beneficially extended. Predictive scientists need history to locate the present they may wish to extend, or challenge. Indeed, the common source of history, science and deconstructive reading in divination suggests that all these approaches to knowledge are in unstable relation to each other, as are the ignorances that are entwined within them. The problem arises, as I have suggested throughout this discussion, when the predictive arts and sciences stray beyond the specious present, or when historians try to predict the future. In each case, the mistake is in forgetting that a predictive future is not really the future at all. 13 How can the predictive arts and sciences foment resistance to coercion from within the definition of a future that is defined as continuous with the present? Neither Thucydides nor the founders of the modern social sciences have been able to offer useful advice. The escape route seems to be blocked by three interconnected difficulties. First, the predictive sciences must extrapolate the future from the present. Second, by definition, prediction only addresses a future that is expected to reinforce existing trends, and so cannot imagine a future that is genuinely new. Third, the inability to escape presentist interests by those who control the forms and instruments of prediction serves to suppress the emergence of new choices or possibilities. These three problems point to a space of irony that neither permitted the classical Greek historians to escape from hope, nor for the modern imitators of Descartes to achieve his hope for an answer to doubt. It is not clear, from history, that even an exact knowledge of the past would void the need for hope, or that any methodological use of doubt to escape doubt would eliminate the need for hope that doubt engenders. Modern historians offered the idea of progress and then added the prestige of natural science. But none of these efforts to go beyond history have escaped the repetition of the original flaw, which was located in the desire to eliminate the need for hope. It might be argued that this problem implies the need to go beyond the source of a failed history, to find a more promising alternative in the realm of hope, itself. For an historian, however, the lesson might be quite different. That lesson is that the attempt of the historian to go beyond the source, to imagine a more excellent form of truth or virtue in logic, or in dogma, or ideology, is the seductive illusion which is itself the gateway to myth. The idea that reason somehow goes beyond emotion to establish truth, simply starts with a false dichotomy and then seems self-evidently confirmed by common sense. However, the binary division of reason and emotion is physically as well as psychologically impossible. One does not become more objective by eliminating emotion. One simply chooses a different emotional context in which to think about the world. One may lose

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______________________________________________________________ hope or discover it; and one may surrender or partially surrender it to fear or some other emotion. Still, hope is all but inescapable, as Thucydides, the Stoics and Nietzsche knew, except through hopelessness. Hope cannot be dismissed, even on the most rational of grounds, without involuntarily evoking an initial feeling of contempt or humor or some other emotion that appeals to a feeling of superiority over mere hope. If we think about this rationally, the absurdity of a symmetrical binary of reason and emotion seems impossible to deny, especially when we add the myriad ways other emotions, such as fear, love, anxiety, grief and rage, for instances, which also may intersect with the emotion of hope or hopelessness.14 All this suggests that hope is no more inherently profound than it is superficial. It may devolve into wish, or it may be strangled by fear. Individuals can, and apparently do, live without hope. However, it equally appears that it is impossible to engage the future without either hope or hopelessness. It seems that the fiction of a continuous future is central to keeping hope/hopelessness in the closet, and this is a system of cultural oppression which the Greeks may or may not have invented, but which has remained in useful force since we have allowed them to define our way of reading history.

Notes 1

Herodotus, The Persian Wars, trans. G Rawlinson, in F R B Godolphin, ed., The Greek Historians: The Complete and Unabridged Historical Works, Random House, New York, 1952, p. 3; Plutarch, The Lives of Noble Grecians and Romans, trans. J Dryden and Rev. A H Clough, Modern Library, New York, 1864, p. 1069. 2 Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, trans. B Jowett, in Godolphin, op. cit., p. 576. 3 Ibid., pp. 700-706 4 Ibid., pp. 843-50, 942-48 5 Hesiod, Theogony, Works and Days, Shield, into and trans. A N Athanassakis, Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1983, pp. 68-69, 91, 28-29 6 P de Man, “Literary History and Literary Modernity,” in Blindness and Insight: Essays in the rhetoric of Contemporary Criticism, 2nd revised edition, ed. W Godzich, Oxford University Press, New York, 1971, p.165. 7 E K Sedgwick, Epistemology of the Closet, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1990), p. 3. 8 Ibid., pp. 9-10

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______________________________________________________________ 9

See for example, W de Mignolo, The Darker Side of the Renaissance, 2nd edition, University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, 2003, pp. 322-23, 330. See also Sedgwick, op. cit., pp. ,51, 68. 10 Sedgwick, op. cit., .p. 10 11 G E R Lloyd, The Ambitions of Curiosity: Understanding the World in Ancient Greece and China, Cambridge University Press, New York, 2002. pp. 21-39; Cicero, “On Divination, “ in Brutus, On the Nature of the Gods, On Divination, On Duty, Trans. H M Poteat, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1950, p. 421; J Rupke, “Roman Religion,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Roman Republic, ed. H I Flower, Cambridge University Press, New York, 2004, pp. 180-82. I owe this insight into myth and history to S Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety, ed. and trans. H and E Hong, Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1980, pp. 45-48. 12 Thucydides, pp. 575-76. 13 R J Richards, The Romantic Conception of Life: Science and Philosophy in the Age of Goethe, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2002, pp. 119-32; K Egan, Getting it Wrong From the Beginning: Our Progressivist Inheritance from Herbert Spencer, John Dewey, and Jean Piaget, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2002, pp. 21-30. See also K Manheim, Ideology and Utopia, trans. L Worth and E Shils, Vintage, New York, 1936, pp. 5, 246-47. 14 See M Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions, Cambridge University Press, New York, 2001, pp. 48, 257; On the irony of transcendence and emotion, see S Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments, Vol. I, ed. and trans. H and E Hong, Princeton University Press, Princeton,1992 .

Bibliography Cicero, Brutus, On the Nature of the Gods, On Divination, On Duty, translated by H. Poteat. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1950. De Man, P., “Literary History and Literary Modernity.” In Blindness and Insight: Essays in the Rhetoric of Contemporary Criticism, 2nd edition, edited by W. Godzich, pp. 142-65. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1971. De Mignolo, W., The Darker Side of the Renaissance, 2nd edition. University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, 2003. Egan, K., Getting it Wrong From the Beginning: Our Progressivist Inheritance from Herbert Spencer, John Dewey, and Jean Piaget. Yale University Press, New Haven, 2002.

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______________________________________________________________ Godolphin, F. R. B., ed., The Greek Historians: The Complete and Unabridged Historical Works. Random House, New York, 1952. Hesiod, Theogony, Works and Days, Shield, introduced and translated by A. N. Athanassakis. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1983. Kierkegaard, S., The Concept of Anxiety, edited and translated by H. and E. Hong. Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1980. -----, Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments, volume I, edited and translated by H. and E. Hong. Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1992. Lloyd, G.E.R., The Ambitions of Curiosity: Understanding the World in Ancient Greece and China. Cambridge University Press, New York, 2002. Manheim, K., Ideology and Utopia, edited and translated by L. Worth and E. Shils. Vintage, New York, 1936. Nussbaum, M., Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions. Cambridge University Press, New York, 2001. Plutarch, The Lives of Noble Grecians and Romans, translated by J. Dryden and Rev. A. H. Clough. Modern Library, New York, 1864. Richards, R. J., The Romantic Conception of Life: Science and Philosophy in the Age of Goethe. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2002. Rupke, J., “Roman Religion.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Roman Republic, edited by H. I. Flower. Cambridge University Press, New York, 2004. Sedgwick, E. K., Epistemology of the Closet. University of California Press, Berkeley, 1990.

The Promise and Problems of Hope Kenneth Seeskin Abstract As a moral virtue, hope is ruined by excess (wishful thinking) and efficiency (despair). There would be no point in working for the common good unless we thought our efforts had some chance to succeed. By the same token, there would be no reason to hope if we knew for certain that they would. This paper takes its cue from Kant, for whom the question “What can I hope for is of central importance. As Kant argues, ought implies can. Unless we thought our efforts could make a difference, we would have no reason to take action. He therefore concludes that morality requires us to act as if the human situation can be improved even if the available evidence suggests otherwise. This raises the question of whether the demands of morality can be fulfilled in finite time. Kant argues they cannot and thereby undermines his own view of the importance of hope. I argue we must assume they can. Key Words: Despair, hope, infinite, messiah, morality, optimism, original sin, Sisyphus, virtue. ***** 1.

Introduction I will begin by assuming that hope is a moral virtue and therefore is ruined by excess and deficiency. A person utterly lacking in hope cannot face adversity without succumbing to despair; a person with an overabundance is deluded and cannot face reality. By the same token, hope is directed to an outcome whose prospects are neither assured nor impossible. If it makes no sense to hope that the sun will rise in the East tomorrow, neither does it make sense to hope that one can square the circle. Although much can be said about the advantages that hope brings to people encountering danger, that is not what I want to focus on. Rather, my concern is the moral value of hope, why hope is necessary for us to fulfil our obligations as human beings. I will take my cue from Kant, for whom the question “What may I hope for?” is central, but feel free to depart from him when circumstances warrant. 2.

The Demands of Morality Kant describes the significance of hope in the following way: “Without this hope for better times the human heart would never have been warmed by a serious desire to do something useful for the common good . . .”1 Simply put: there would be no reason to work for the common good

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______________________________________________________________ unless we believed it is possible to achieve it and that our efforts had some chance to succeed. This is another way of saying that our behaviour will be better if we are convinced that something can be done to improve the human situation: that morality does not impose a Sisyphean labour in which failure is the only outcome. Sisyphus after all is a tragic figure. His plight was intended as a punishment for a crime. If all efforts to improve the human situation were guaranteed to fail, a rational person would be justified in abandoning them. From a historical perspective, the Kantian view is expressed in the idea of a messiah or kingdom of God. No matter how bad things are at present, the day is coming when all wrongs will be righted and justice will prevail. Therefore we should not abandon our efforts to improve the human situation but redouble them. Again the significance of this is clear: if things could - and eventually will - get better, the way they are now is not the way they have to be. No inherent defect in human nature and no malevolent power beyond it prevent us from achieving what our better judgment tells us we ought to achieve. Underlying Kant’s view is the distinction between is and ought: the way things are and the way morality requires them to be. If they were identical, all goals would be fulfilled and there would be nothing left to hope for or strive for. Likewise, if they could not be brought closer together, human effort would be fruitless, and once again there would be nothing left to hope for. Thus hope makes sense only if moral progress needs to be made and can be made. Even this formulation is too weak unless we add that it is reasonable to think progress will be made. To classify hope as a virtue is to say it is a quality a rational person should cultivate. It follows that hope is not the same as wishful thinking. A teenager who falls in love with a movie star and imagines that she will answer a fan letter and go on a date with him is a fool even though the outcome he desires is possible is an extended sense of possibility. He is doubly a fool if wishful thinking prevents him from establishing relationships with people in his own circle. Yet for all its importance, hope is problematic. The history of Judaism is littered with false hopes, false messiahs, and wild speculation about the circumstances in which the true one will appear. While it is true that hope is needed when things get desperate, these are the times when people are most susceptible to folly and superstition. Christianity too has speculation about the time and precise nature of the Second Coming. Both traditions contain apocalyptic visions about the end of days and the final struggle between good and evil. Needless to say, such visions can be and often are dangerous. If the moment of the apocalypse has been decided, how do my actions here and now make a difference? What happens to those who are on the wrong side of the struggle? How will we know when the final

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______________________________________________________________ struggle has arrived? As the history of fascism and communism in the last century make clear, apocalyptic visions are not limited to religion but can be found in politics as well. All too often the final struggle between good and evil leads to a new and more menacing form of evil. 3.

The Lack of Certainty Mindful of such difficulties, Kant argued that while we can hope that the human situation is improving, we cannot know that it is.2 As we saw, assurance is not the same as hope. From a methodological standpoint, this means that evidence drawn from history is not decisive. Sometimes it appears that the human situation is getting better, sometimes that it is getting worse, sometimes that it is going along in the same old way. No one is in a position to assess all of human history and say which is right. The point is that whatever one’s judgment about that course of history, morality demands that we promote the highest good and doing so would make no sense unless we believe the highest good is possible. In this way, the justification for hope is transcendental, a presupposition rather than an empirical generalization. To this we may add that not only is the highest good possible but that our efforts to secure it can make a difference. As Kant points out, the question “What is to result from this right conduct of ours?” cannot be viewed as a matter of indifference.3 No discussion of Kant would be complete without the oft-repeated claim that ought implies can. Unless something is within our power to do, we cannot be obliged to do it. He therefore concludes that morality requires us to act as if the human situation can be improved even though we can never be certain that we are right. To repeat: no rational person would pursue a goal that reason shows to be impossible. Does this amount to wishful thinking? He of course would answer no, but to see why we have to take a further step. If I am not in a position to know whether the human situation is improving, how can I know that it is possible for it to improve? Kant’s answer is that the possibility of improvement, which for him means the possibility of realizing the highest good, presupposes the existence of a benevolent creator. His reasoning goes as follows. The highest good is a condition in which happiness is proportioned to desert, where all those worthy of happiness receive it. The idea is that a situation in which a virtuous person desires happiness but does not receive it is intolerable.4 Note the scope of Kant’s view. He is not talking about a personal desire for satisfaction, which would commit him to a version of hedonism, but a desire on behalf of humanity. According to Yirmiahu Yovel:5 From a particular (lucky) set of events, related to one person, happiness thus becomes a universal order; from

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______________________________________________________________ immediate gratification it becomes the deferred satisfaction which is projected into future generations. In both ways its hedonistic character is superceded. The only way that happiness can be apportioned according to desert is if the world is so constituted that happiness is compatible with desert. This requires the convergence of is (nature) and ought (morality). Since no finite agent can guarantee such convergence, the only way to account for its possibility is to assume that the world was fashioned by an all-powerful being acting on the basis of noble motives. A few words of caution are in order. Here too Kant insists that certainty is denied us. Since no proof of the existence of God is valid, we will never be in a position to know that the all-powerful being required by morality is real. Dogmatism on such matters is neither possible nor desirable. This does not mean that we are justified in adopting a personal relation with God á la Kierkegaard. Rather, it means that if we limit ourselves to what can be known for certain, we would never achieve conviction in the assumptions that morality involves. To fulfil the demands of morality, we must extend rationality beyond what can be known for certain and adopt a frame of mind that is focused on the human situation as it could rather than as it is. To take another example, it may be possible that the world was fashioned so that a convergence between nature and morality is possible. But how do I know that my efforts can contribute to it? Again, no one is in a position to know this for certain even though everyone must assume it if morality is to serve as a guide to behaviour. Unless one is prepared to accept dogmatism (“Revelation teaches me my efforts can make a difference”) or despair (“What I do does not matter in the overall scheme of things”), the only alternative is some version of hope. It is also worth noting that in saying that God guarantees the possibility of convergence between nature and morality, Kant is not talking about divine intervention. To put it negatively, all he means is that there is no principle in nature that would cause it systematically to thwart or interfere with our attempts to improve the human situation. This is compatible with saying that the job of actually improving it belongs to us. 4.

Hope and Its Fulfilment If it is wrong to abandon hope that the human situation can be improved, it is equally wrong to think all necessary improvement has already occurred. We should therefore be suspicious of anyone who claims that the highest good has been realized or that the gap between is and ought has been closed. A final struggle between good and evil is not imminent, and even if it was, there is no reason to think that its outcome would relieve us of our obligation to work towards a better world. Should anyone say the highest

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______________________________________________________________ good we are capable of achieving has been achieved, we have two replies. Either (A) she has too limited a conception of what needs to be done, or (B) she has too grand a conception of what already has been accomplished.6 Kant describes (A) as capitulation to evil. It maintains that because we cannot bring about a completely just order, we have no choice but to settle for something less. Rather than capitulation to evil, I will refer to it as a deflationary conception of goodness. In one respect, it is perfectly reasonable. From the fact that we cannot create a perfect society, it does not follow that we should abandon the effort to create a better one than we have. The danger arises if we become satisfied with limited success and no longer strive for something more. The second alternative amounts to an uncritical estimate of what has already been done. It claims in effect that our culture, our way of doing things, is the final end and nothing better need be considered. We saw that hope for a better future makes sense only if there is a gap between is and ought and a reasonable prospect of closing it. But this leaves us in a precarious position. Unless there is a chance of closing the gap, we are back with Sisyphus and unending despair. If however someone should say that it has been closed, we immediately have grounds for thinking she has claimed too much. Thus Kant leaves us with a dilemma: we are to hope for something that is possible to fulfil in principle but which will never be fulfilled in fact. As he puts it: “ . . . complete fitness of the will to the moral law is holiness, which is a perfection of which no rational being in the world of sense is at any time possible.”7 What we want instead is a reasonable prospect of success together with a critical assessment of what has already been achieved. At this point, Kant’s analysis becomes even more theological. Although I cannot attain holiness or complete perfection in this life, I can continue to strive for it given infinite time in the next. Thus: “It is man’s duty to strive for this perfection, but not to reach it (in this life), and his compliance with this duty can, accordingly, consist only in continual progress.”8 And again: “Only endless progress from lower to higher stages of moral perfection is possible to a rational but finite being.”9 Spatial limitations prevent me from taking up the idea of a future life in depth. Let me therefore turn to the idea that morality presents us with an infinite or unending task. According to Kant, reason by its very nature is directed to the ideal or the unconditioned. Though I cannot come across something infinitely large in sense experience, given the idea of magnitude, I am invariably led to think about infinite magnitude as a limiting case. The same is true of morality. Although everything that I encounter in normal experience may be tainted with some degree of imperfection, reason demands that I strive for goodness that is totally pure.

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______________________________________________________________ Simply put, we should not think of the highest good as something we can get our hands in the near future on but as a task whose fulfilment requires infinite time and therefore infinite effort. In the words of Lewis White Beck, we are told to seek the kingdom of ends, not to settle in it.10 This raises the question of whether the idea of an infinite task makes sense? I can ask you to walk from the library to the student centre because it is a few hundred yards. I can ask you to walk from the library to the Golden Gate Bridge because even though it is thousands of miles away, the task could be completed in a year or so. In a science fiction novel, I could ask you to walk to a distant star because even though it might require millions of years to get there, we are still talking about finite time. But what sense would it make to ask you to walk to a place that is infinitely far off and then tell you not to lose hope in trying to get there? One way of accounting for an infinite task is to say that we approach the completion of it as a function approaches - but never actually reaches - its limit. In practical terms, this means that moral perfection is possible and always in the process of being realized, but it never actually comes to pass. No matter how much progress is made, there will always be something more to be accomplished. In this way, the gap between is and ought gets ever smaller but is never completely closed. Because it gets smaller, hope is always justified; because it is never completely closed, hope is never extinguished. Attractive as this solution is, it too is creates problems. If we get ever closer to the ideal but never actually reach it, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that the ideal cannot be reached. After all, no matter how much progress we make, there will still be an infinite amount of progress left to complete. Rather than a reasonable hope of success, this alternative gives us a guarantee of relative failure. 11 The result is that we would be in the position of pursuing a goal that, while realisable in principle, could never be realised in fact. From a practical standpoint, we would be back with Sisyphus once more. 5.

The Possibility of Fulfilment I want to depart from Kant by arguing that if it makes sense to hope for the highest good, we have no choice but to maintain that the highest good is attainable - in this life rather than the next, in finite time rather than infinite. We can think of this either on an individual level or on the level of the world at large. On the individual level, Kant offers several considerations to show that we cannot bring our will into total conformity with the moral law in this life. First, the distance between us and the holy will of God is too great. Recall Kant’s words: complete fitness of the will to the moral law is a perfection of which no rational being in the world of sense is at any time capable. From the standpoint of this life, human action is and will always be

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______________________________________________________________ deficient. The reason for its deficiency is a propensity to subvert the moral law or what Kant calls a perversity of the heart.12 In this connection he cites Paul at Romans 3:9-10 (“They are all under sin, there is none righteous (in the spirit of the law) . . .”) and 7:15 (“What I would do, that I do not.”). It is clear then that Kant accepted some version of the doctrine of original sin, not that we can inherit the sin of another person, but that we cannot rise above the perversity that afflicts all of us - at least not in finite time. Second, because we can never be sure that our motives are pure, it is dangerous to suppose that we already possess the perfection we seek. As Kant loves to point out: “man is never more easily deceived than in what promotes his good opinion of himself.”13 Third, if there are sins we have committed in the past, we are liable for a debt we can never possibly wipe out. The reason is that morality does not permit one to achieve a surplus by which one can pay two debts at once. Put otherwise, even if one could obey the moral law with a pure heart, this would eliminate any debt one might have accrued at that instant but would do nothing to eliminate past debts. Conclusion: morality puts before us an infinite task. I submit that none of these arguments is persuasive. The first begs the question because Kant offers no proof that human behaviour is always defective and relies instead on scripture or general observations drawn from human history. Thus Religion Within the Limits opens by observing: “That ‘the world lieth in evil’ is a plaint as old as history” and assumes that all cultures adhere to the idea of a fall from grace. We saw however that such observations are never decisive and that no one is in a position to make such an assessment. Ultimately the position Kant winds up with is one in which people pervert the moral law in every action they take even though there is no internal or external force that compels them to do so. The reason there is no compulsion is that if there were, we would not be held responsible for what we do. Evil then is so ingrained that it is not inextirpable by human means.14 The reason for this horrible state of affairs is that people keep choosing evil of their own free will. Accordingly: “Hence we can call this a natural propensity to evil, and as we must, after all, ever hold man himself responsible for it, we can further call it a radical innate evil in human nature (yet nonetheless brought upon us by ourselves).”15 Here one is inclined to ask: If evil is chosen rather than compelled, if we do not inherit it but bring it upon ourselves, what prevents someone from choosing to act for purely noble motives? Why, that is, can people not overcome the perversity of the heart by simply willing to do so? To this question Kant has no answer except to insist that they cannot. The problem with this stance is not just that it relies on a religious dogma for which there is no proof but that it has moral consequences that undermine the very purpose Kant set out to achieve. If I am convinced my

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______________________________________________________________ motives are suspect no matter how hard I try to purify them, I am likely to spend endless hours scrutinising my behaviour looking for the slightest taint of selfishness. In such conditions, it is almost certain that I will find it and feel guilty as a result. The result is that instead of hoping for a better future and taking action to bring it about, I will be led to a new and more debilitating form of depression. Why work for a better future if, upon reflection, I will find that my actions are still motivated by a form of perversity? Second, though we can never be sure that our motives are pure, and must guard against the dangers of conceit, this has no tendency to show that a genuinely moral act is beyond our power. If people typically have too high an estimation of their own motives, they also have too low an estimation of the motives of others. In any event, my claim is not that this or that person has acted out of respect for the moral law but that it is possible that a person can. Third, the issue has nothing to do with whether we can wipe out past debts. No one supposes that we can undo a past error. In that sense, we all carry regrets. The issue is rather whether we can fully satisfy the demands of morality now. I see no reason to pronounce a priori that we cannot. On the contrary, there is every reason to say we can: it would allow Kant to maintain a full strength version of the ought implies can principle. Instead of saying, as he does in a quotation cited above, that man’s duty is to strive for perfection, he could simply say it is to do perfection. Although fulfilment of this duty may be rare, the important point is that it can be fulfilled. In regard to the world at large, Kant is right to claim that while we can work for a situation in which happiness comes to those worthy of it, no finite agent can insure its possibility. For all we know the world will resist our efforts to improve it so that complete success will never be achieved. For a genuine guarantee, we need God. But if the world was fashioned by an allpowerful creator, surely that creator is capable of constructing a world in which improvement is within the reach of human capabilities. This does not mean that I envision a final struggle between good and evil or that I am willing to predict how or when moral perfection will come about. My only claim is that morality requires us to hope that it will - not at a point that is infinitely far off but at some actual point in the future. There is nothing deflationary about this alternative. We can still hold that goodness for the individual consists in fitness of the will to the moral law and that goodness overall consists of a convergence between happiness and moral worth. We can emphasize that neither goal can be achieved without considerable effort. We can even hold that complete certainty about the motivation for action eludes us. All we have to say is that in principle the goals to which we devote ourselves do not exceed human capacity. As I see it, that is the essence of what it is to hope.

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Notes 1

I Kant, On the Old Saw: That It May Be Right In Theory But It Won’t Work in Practice, trans. E. B. Ashton, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, 1974, p. 77. 2 See I Kant, Conflict of the Faculties, trans. Mary J. Gregor, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, NB, 1979, pp. 141-71. 3 I Kant, Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone, trans. T. M. Greene and H. H. Hudson, Harper & Row, New York, 1960, p. 4. 4 I Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, trans. Lewis White Beck, BobbsMerrill, Indianapolis, IN, 1958, pp. 114-5. 5 Y Yovel, Kant and the Philosophy of History, Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1980, p. 68. 6 Kant, Critique , pp. 126-28. 7 Kant, Critique, p. 126. 8 I Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals, trans. Mary Gregor, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1991, p. 241. 9 Kant, Critique, p. 127. 10 L W Beck, A Commentary on Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1960, p. 269. 11 On this issue, see S S Schwarzschild, ‘The Personal Messiah - Toward the Restoration of a Discarded Doctrine’, in The Pursuit of the Ideal, ed. M Kellner, SUNY Press, Albany, 1990, p. 19. 12 Kant, Religion, p. 25. 13 Kant, Religion, p. 62. 14 Kant, Religion, p. 32 15 Kant, Religion, p. 28

Religion Beyond Religion: A. N. Whitehead and the Advancement of Civilisation Kenneth Masong Abstract The English philosopher Alfred North Whitehead argues that the “great social ideal for religion is that it should be the common basis for the unity of civilisation. Religion nurtures the fermentation of the ideals of civilisation truth, beauty, adventure, art and peace - ideals that constitute the reasonable hope for things to come despite the “transient clash of brute forces” of the immediate present. This paper aims to show that in Whitehead an intrinsic link exists between the role and place of religion and the hope of civilisation. Far from providing an apologetic of religion, Whitehead himself is critical of religion. Nonetheless, the religious spirit, despite the deposition of critics and distortion by fundamentalists, remains present in humanity’s pilgrimage to a better world to come. The realisation of religion’s role, however, necessitates reflexivity to its own inherent dynamism as fomenting the hope of adventure of the human spirit. This paper will also argue that “dogmatism”, the reification of religious intuitions, lies at the root of the prevailing decadence of religious influence. Ultimately, religious dogmatism stifles the spirit whereby religion contributes hope for a better world. This is central to Whitehead’s critique of religion. In order to compound and extend Whitehead’s critique, the thoughts of contemporary Italian philosopher Gianni Vattimo will be subsequently introduced, especially his ideas on kenosis and weak thinking. These are concepts that undermine the “fallacy of dogmatism” in religion. In conclusion, a strengthened reflexivity and a cautioned appreciation of religious intuitions that do not reify into dogmatism bring to bear the dynamism inherent in religion; that it needs to go beyond itself in the adventure of the religious spirit: a religion beyond religion. Key Words: Civilisation, dogmatic finality, religion, solitariness, Vattimo, Whitehead. ***** “Those societies which cannot combine reverence to their symbols with freedom of revision, must ultimately decay either from anarchy, or from the slow atrophy of a life stifled by useless shadows.”1 A. N. Whitehead, Symbolism (1927)

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______________________________________________________________ 1.

The “Re-/turn” to Religion Alfred North Whitehead (1861 - 1947) begins his treatment of religion in his seminal book, Religion in the Making, with a peculiar statement that largely defines the contours of our perception of religion. He said, “[i]t is the peculiarity of religion that humanity is always shifting its attitude towards it.”2 It was believed that the legacy of the Enlightenment, coupled with the rise of science and technology, would result in the breakdown of religion. But one can observe that in the horizon of contemporary period, religion is still a thriving domain of human existence. It is true that its appeal to authority seems to have waned; it is true that much of its supernatural claims are either peculiarly questioned or largely ignored by most people, both believers and non-believers; it is true that if one measures the health of religion, say Christianity, by Church attendance and the reception of the sacraments, then religion is definitely before the footsteps of afterlife. Yet, it remains to be said that religion, though a silent presence at the periphery of pedestrian life; it still is there with a presence to be reckoned with. Religion has not gone; we have simply shifted our attitudes toward it. In Western philosophy, it is very striking to notice a strong “re/turn” to religion. The use of this term “re-/turn” largely characterises our shifting attitudes toward religion. First, in some domain, there is a marked number of instances of “returning to the faith.” There are instances of people recovering their own religious roots. After centuries defined by “departures”, we enter into a period of “return.” A going back to our own tradition because we know that such a chunk element of the past defines likewise our identity, and for us to face our future, we need to look back, analyse and hopefully learn to appreciate our own rootedness in a certain tradition; for some people, this tradition involves the domain that religion appeals to. Secondly, for some it is not so much a return as a “turn” to religion. The period between the 17th to the 20th century is markedly influenced by the revolt of some atheistic thinkers that abhor the very notion of an appeal to transcendence. For them, religion is not only false, it is evil, and thus the generations that follow them are given birth in a freedom of life that may even be possibly devoid of the slightest presence of religious influence. For them, there is no return to religion because they have never been there, nor been rooted in there in the first place. For them, it is deliberate attempt to consider religion as it is in itself. Whether we see it as a return or a turn to religion, the important thing is that religion has once again become a matter of consideration for the humanity of this generation. There are a number of factors that may explain this “re-/turn” to religion. For Gianni Vattimo, two factors define the horizon from where religion re-emerges. First is the fin-de-siècle state of anxiety that humanity now experiences. Never before has the human civilisation faced with a threat of global proportion, nuclear war, genetic manipulation,

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______________________________________________________________ ecological disaster and its impending global threat like global warming, and the loss of the sense of meaning in Western culture. All these contribute to a fin-de siècle state of anxiety that leaves humanity with a sense of hopelessness, a feeling of uncertainty, of impending events that rock the boat of complacency. In this century, we encounter a humanity unanchored and being tossed by Herculean waves of uncertainty. In addition, modernity’s sanction on religion has caved in. The philosophical underpinnings that sought to delegitimize religion have become its own undoing. The legacy of the Enlightenment is the close scrutiny of everything under the watchful gaze of reason. Everything has to pass through the thorny passage of reason, otherwise it is thrown into oblivion, or mere superstition that should hardly concern a decent Enlightened fellow. But if there is one strong impulse brought by postmodernism, it is the undoing of rationalism, a species of rationality that has no space for a domain beyond reason. Religion then in this respect won by default; reason could not sustain itself, could not keep up to its game, bowed low at the silent triumph of religion. However, this “re-/turn” to religion is far from a comeback of religion in its traditional garments. What we see is a religion and a humanity transformed by global upheavals and revolutions from the 17th to the 20th century. Perhaps disillusioned by the catastrophic wars of the beginning of the 20th century, the movement of philosophy appears to move beyond the critical to the constructive, a quest to rethink and view differently the reality that confronts humanity. It is this seeking for a fresh view that led to the germination of Whitehead’s process-relational metaphysics. What Whitehead offers is a view of reality where religion and science need not contradict each other, where different religions are not competitors but complementing companions, where religion itself as a concept is a living tradition perpetually open to creative transformations. 2.

Whitehead on Religion and Civilisation Whitehead’s philosophy is a critique of a metaphysical view that gives prominence to being and substances. For him, the ultimate metaphysical categories are becoming and relatedness, in short, process. This explains why he is generally recognised as the father of process philosophy, because he raises the category of process and relatedness to a metaphysical level whereby we see and understand our experience of the totality of reality. In this respect, religion reflects the same dynamic constituency. This is captured succinctly in the title of his 1927 book, Religion in the Making. For him, religion itself is inherently “in the making”, continuously in process, a seeking after novelties. Whitehead admits of the elementary difficulty of an agreed understanding of what religion is.3 In contemporary philosophy of religion

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______________________________________________________________ there are a variety of, and even competing, lines of thought which seek to define what religion is. It is noteworthy that in the approach of Whitehead, drawing heavily from his own background of process metaphysics and philosophy of culture, he focuses not so much on the “eternal essence” of religion (reflective of substance metaphysics). Rather, he reflects on the interrelationships of different elements of religion, an approach that leads him to focus more on the “characters” of religion (reflective of process metaphysics), those elements by which we call it religion as such.4 There are certain difficulties in presenting a strict definition of religion, and very often, most philosophers of religion more wisely rescind to a “family resemblance” characterisation of religion, a peculiar approach of attuning oneself to certain elements that constitute common ascriptions to religion to be religion as such. What then are the characters of religion in Whitehead’s theory? I would like to highlight three characters that constitute his concept of religion. First, religion is dynamically transformed by what he calls “solitariness”, a generic movement of reflexivity that transforms religion internally. Second, this transformation brought about by solitariness brings religion to the closer ideal of a “rational religion,” a religion where internally and externally coherent religious beliefs cohere with a mode of conduct that wins ethical approval. Third, religion engenders the hope of a better future, a future constituted by what he calls the ideals of civilisation. A. Religion and Solitariness Whitehead famously remarked that “[r]eligion is what the individual does with his own solitariness.”5 Though often quoted, it is likewise most often misunderstood, with the claim that suggests that for Whitehead, religion is a matter of personal affairs, the culmination of a certain tendency in Western civilisation of relegating religion from the public domain to the private life. To understand solitariness, one needs to situate this within Whitehead’s argument that religion is a reaction of humanity in its search for God.6 Solitariness is that probing search, the inquisitive exploration into ultimacy.7 Solitariness for Whitehead is primarily a function in religion that promises religion’s own vitality and pursuit of high adventure. It is humanity’s relentless uneasiness to be contented with the being at hand. It is interesting to note that in the sentence just quoted, this is followed by a peculiar note on the “transitions” of God. To quote in full: Religion is what the individual does with his own solitariness. It runs through three stages, if it evolves to its final satisfaction. It is the transition from God the void to God the enemy, and from God the enemy to God the companion.8

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______________________________________________________________ To refer to the first sentence without reference to the succeeding two sentences in this quotation would be to miss out on an important function of solitariness in Whitehead’s theory of religion. In the quotation, religion is described as proceeding through three stages (the third being its final satisfaction), but instead of identifying what these three stages of religion are, Whitehead conspicuously refers to the transitions between three concepts of God: the void, the enemy and the companion. Religion here is in the making precisely in relation to the evolving conceptualities of the religious ultimate; and this dynamism is germane to the function of solitariness in religion. Solitariness here, as reflexivity, is the lever of transition, whereby religion attains its final satisfaction that Whitehead refers to and identifies with what he ultimately calls a rational religion. Lyman Lundeen, in view of his study concerning Whitehead’s theory of language and the faith-claims of religions, argues that solitariness in Whitehead can be understood in two senses. He says that in his theory of religion, Whitehead is seeking a generic description common to all religions, specifically those “immediate aspects of experience” to with whom every religious believer identifies. In Lundeen’s analysis, these immediate aspects refer to the concept of solitariness itself. He says that solitariness is “first of all a generic description of what is common to all religion, and implicit in apparently divergent forms.” He continues, It refers to those immediate aspects of experience which are beyond exhaustive penetration and control. It is the manner in which every individual transcends his environment without being separated from it. It is not solitariness in the sense of being alone, but rather in the sense of appropriating the data of experience in one’s own way.9 Solitariness for Whitehead refers not to a positive and conceptual withdrawal from communal thinking; rather, it is a distinctive manner of appropriating one’s belief with one’s action, to achieve an ordering of elements in one’s life so as to make the conceptualities that comprise one’s attitudinal viewpoint coherent with one’s existential modality of concrete existence. It appears that Whitehead’s aim in suggesting the very notion of solitariness is not so much to introduce into his theory, or compound an already existing cultic practice, a definite mode of religious practice. Rather, it is to introduce a concrete religious label to his metaphysical notion of prehension as applied in concrescences specific to religious aims. The abstract speculative notion of prehension is given a specific religious connotation by the idea of solitariness. Solitariness is the reflexive modality of “appropriating the data of experience” in such a manner that the data of experience becomes infected by the tonality of religious aspirations. Such an

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______________________________________________________________ understanding of solitariness can broach into various domains of human concerns that seek to achieve a higher level of conceptual synthesis that may likewise be labelled “rational.” However, in limiting his discourse of solitariness solely in RM, Whitehead seems to suggest that in his speculative scheme, this concept primarily has a religious purpose. Solitariness as a reflexivity is the “origin of rational religion.”10 In his theory of religion, Whitehead identifies only two phases of religion: communal and rational, with solitariness as the lever of transition between the two. Whitehead highlights the role of solitariness in bringing to birth rational religion from the womb of communal religion. Solitariness broadly conceived then is the genetic rationalisation of the whole religious experience of humanity. B. From Communal to Rational Religion As it has been mentioned above, solitariness is that lever of religious experience that paves the way towards what Whitehead calls “rational religion” as distinguished from communal religion. Communal religion is a generic term describing the phase which includes the predominance of rituals and religious emotions pre-informed by an incipient form of rationality. Communal religion is that phase of religious development that primarily describes itself as a social phenomenon. It is cultic, tribal, parochial and has a minimum co-ordination of beliefs. This is the “stage of uncriticized belief.”11 This is religion’s phase of arrested development that resulted from contentment with satisfactory belief and rituals, devoid of progress and an “impulse towards higher things.”12 This is the stage self-satisfied with what Whitehead calls “the doctrine of dogmatic finality”,13 where the religious adventure becomes stifled with the reification and sedimentation of religious spirit in historically and culturally bound religious expressions. But for Whitehead, this is not the genuine vocation of religion. Religion shares in reality’s “noble discontent”14 with the familiar, with the common, with the mundane. Religion shares in reality’s aspiration for an adventure of ideas that probes beyond boundaries yet remains faithful to its primeval identity. Emotions, ritual and beliefs do have their proper place in religion, but a certain adjustment of beliefs is necessary in order to make religion an effective agent in the ordering of life. This is the phase of what he calls “rational religion.” He argues that rational religion “is religion whose beliefs and rituals have been reorganised with the aim of making it the central element in a coherent ordering of life - an ordering which shall be coherent both in respect to the elucidation of thought, and in respect to the direction of conduct towards a unified purpose commanding ethical approval.”15 For some, the use of the term “rational” may prove unfortunate. It does point to Whitehead’s own bias that religion should, if not conform to reason, at least comes into harmony with it, or manifests a certain degree of

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______________________________________________________________ rationality. Whitehead is no rationalist in the Cartesian-Spinozist tradition. His own brand of rationalism is anchored in the long tradition of intensive studies of applied mathematics and the sciences. For him, “true rationalism”16 is “an adventure in the clarification of thought, progressive and never final. But it is an adventure in which even partial success has importance.”17 The “rational” in rational religion is a probing search for a clarification of belief making religious belief internally coherent and coherent with other beliefs that a religious person may hold. One of the distinctive marks of rational religion is its ability to order life.18 More than suggesting that religion ultimately functions only to “order” human life and societies, religion for Whitehead seeks to be an agent of transformation. Whitehead remarks, But as between religion and arithmetic, other things are not equal. You use arithmetic, but you are religious. Arithmetic of course enters into your nature, so far as that nature involves a multiplicity of things. But it is there as a necessary condition, and not as a transforming agency.19 The ordering function of religion is not the mere proper juxtaposition of religious ideas. In the very metaphysics that Whitehead espouses, every invasion of new data in the process of concrescence becomes constitutive of novelty. If we incorporate new data into our reflective solitariness, our whole religious identity achieves new shade of colour; it is a moment of creative transformation. C. Religion and the Hope for Adventure The story of Pandora’s box illustrates well to us one of the elements why religion has made a comeback in public space. The US-backed so-called war on terrorism contains a nascent flavour of religious concern because of a perceived view that religion engenders violence. It is not my intention here to delve into the issue of religion and violence. My point is to illustrate that Whitehead, in his theory of religion, already points to a certain moral ambivalence of religion. He argues that religion is not necessarily good.20 In certain respects, religion is analogous to Pandora’s box, in the sense that religion contains evil and engenders within itself the promise of sure hope. One of the difficulties of our times is that there is this facile readiness to attribute goodness to religion itself when intrinsic elements within religion may orient itself to the campaign, maintenance and even promotion of evil. In Whitehead’s historical assessment, “religions are so often more barbarous than the civilisation in which they flourish.”21 This is largely due to the failure of religion to take on the spirit of adventure, of probing beyond the comfort zone of religion’s complacency in satisfied dogmatism. When religion has fallen into the doctrine of dogmatic finality, the high hope of

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______________________________________________________________ adventure is stifled. “The death of religion comes with the repression of the high hope of adventure.”22 Far from suggesting that the aim of rational religion is merely the coherent reorganisation of religious beliefs, ultimately, religion for Whitehead is the seeking of order.23 All world religions point humanity to what may generically be called salvation. For the Hindus it is moksha, for Buddhists, it is nirvana, for the prophetic religions it is ultimate redemption. By and large, salvation is the attainment of human existence where we achieve ultimate peace, the intuition of permanence.”24 For Whitehead, this ultimate peace is achieved when order becomes a reality, when reality achieves “eternal harmony.”25 One can ask: How then does religion for Whitehead specifically engender hope? In Whitehead, religion engenders hope because religion is the prime agent in the dynamic quest for the ideals of civilisation. It is not coincidence that, despite some events that cast a shadow on the achievements of religion in a particular civilisation, religion is significantly present in most great civilisations of ancient times, in Egypt, Persia, Rome, Greece, Jerusalem, etc. Whitehead argues that the “great social ideal for religion is that it should be the common basis for the unity of civilisation. In that way it justifies its insight beyond the transient clash of brute forces.”26 Religion is a potent “transforming agency” that nurtures the fermentation of the ideals of civilisation - truth, beauty, adventure, art and peace 27- ideals that constitute the reasonable hope for things to come despite the “transient clash of brute forces” of the immediate present. Indeed, the constant challenge for any religion that sinks back into sociability, that sinks back into tribalism, authoritarianism, xenophobia, is to reorient itself to that fundamental experience of the religious spirit where distinctions and specificity fall asunder under the mantle of universality to which solitariness is fundamentally oriented. Solitariness is that raising of oneself beyond the transient, contingent and mundane. Through solitariness, there “is an endeavour to find something permanent and intelligible by which to interpret the confusion of immediate detail.”28 This apprehension of the permanent and the intelligible coerces us to transcend our complacency in pre-packaged hand-me-down beliefs and practices. The apprehension of the permanent and the intelligible impels us to that reorganisation of belief in order to make religion the potent agent in the ordering of life, a life that gains approval of ethical scrutiny. As with the term ‘religion’, Whitehead admits of the difficulty of defining what civilisation may mean. We know what it means yet the notion remains “very baffling.”29 In his Adventures of Ideas, the last part of the book deals with civilisation, and the sections inclusive of it present to us another “family-resemblance” characterisation of religion. Whitehead discusses truth, beauty, adventure, art and peace. For him, if you have these ideals, or the

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______________________________________________________________ slightest inclusion of these ideals in concrete societies, we generally perceive it to be civilised. 3.

Fallacy of Dogmatism However, religion can only engender hope for the advancement of civilisation only if does not fall into the pit of the fallacy of dogmatism. For Whitehead, Religions commit suicide when they find their inspirations in their dogmas. The inspiration of religion lies in the history of religion. By this I mean that it is to be found in the primary expressions of the intuitions of the finest types of religious lives.30 Dogmatism is the reification of religious intuitions, reification that lies at the root of the prevailing decadence of religious influence. It stifles the spirit whereby religion contributes hope for a better world. This is central to Whitehead’s critique of religion. Although a study has yet to be made between process thought and weak thought (pensiero debole), a certain promise of affinity is already noticeable in both of the school’s critiques of the sedimentation of ideas. Gianni Vattimo (1936 - ), who initiated the second school, finds inspiration and his own return to the Catholic tradition in the Christian doctrine of kenosis, of God’s emptying of himself in order to become man.31 For him, Christianity needs to radicalise its vocation by following the road of kenosis. His idea of weak thought is a certain departure from the traditional thinking of Being, towards its revelation as an Event. Kenosis then becomes the hermeneutical lens by which we see, interpret and make sense of Christian experience. In Vattimo then, Christian tradition is understood more fluidly as the unfolding of event, and not a mere deposit of faith. It is in this paradigm of event, of happening, of actual occasions that both philosophers offer to religion in general, and Christianity in particular, a conceptuality where religion itself not only engenders high hope of adventure but becomes an adventure itself. Religion is grounded on genuine human experience,32 it is not illusion nor a desperate attempt to conceive of hope in a hopeless world. “The religious spirit is always in process of being explained away, distorted, buried. Yet, since the travel of mankind towards civilisation, it is always there.”33 Religion engenders hope because religion itself is a noble discontent. It tries to reach beyond what it is, beyond that which no humanity can even reach. Religion not only engenders hope in itself, it offers to each of its citizen that grain of hope germane in all human experience. It offers this hope because religion itself is a vision. It is

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______________________________________________________________ the vision of something which stands beyond, behind, and within, the passing flux of immediate things; something which is real, and yet waiting to be realised; something which is a remote possibility, and yet the greatest of present facts; something that gives meaning to all that passes, and yet eludes apprehension; something whose possession is the final good, and yet is beyond all reach; something which is the ultimate ideal, and the hopeless quest.34 If religion then engenders hope, is there a hope too for religion in our times? For Whitehead, there is. There need only be a strengthened reflexivity in solitariness and a cautioned appreciation of religious intuitions that do not reify into dogmatism because these bring to bear the dynamism inherent in religion. Religion needs to go beyond itself in the adventure of the religious spirit: a religion beyond religion.

Notes 1

A N Whitehead, Symbolism: Its Meaning and Effect, Macmillan, New York, 1927, p. 88. 2 A N Whitehead, Religion in the Making, (hereinafter RM) Fordham University Press, New York, 1926, p. 13. 3 “There is no agreement as to the definition of religion in its most general sense, including true and false religion; nor is there any agreement as to the valid religious beliefs, nor as to what we mean by the truth of religion.” Whitehead, RM, p. 14. 4 There are a number of instances where it appears that Whitehead sought to define what religion exactly is. The first section of the first chapter of Religion in the Making is on “Religion Defined”, yet what we find immediately is Whitehead’s groping effort to “adumbrate” on the reality of religion by drawing distinct characteristics of it. 5 Whitehead, Religion in the Making, p. 16. In RM, there are ten references to the concept of solitariness; six of which (pp. 17, 19-20, 28-29, 29-30, 47, 5859) refer directly to solitariness and its significant relation to rationalism and rational religion (which will be the topic of the next section). There are two references (pp. 88 and 137) on solitariness and society, and to this we may likewise include the reference to solitariness in relation to religion as world loyalty (p. 60). The remaining reference (p. 16), which is actually the first time the word was used in RM, and the most often quoted reference, is followed by an interesting note on the “transitions” of God. To quote in full: “Religion is what the individual does with his own solitariness. It runs through three stages, if it evolves to its final satisfaction. It is the transition

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______________________________________________________________ from God the void to God the enemy, and from God the enemy to God the companion” (RM pp. 16-17). 6 A N Whitehead, Science in the Modern World The Free Press, New York, 1925, p. 191. 7 St. Paul gave a discourse to the Athenians concerning the shrine dedicated to a “God Unknown” and identified this God with the person of Jesus (Acts 17, 22-34). Despite the known multiplicity of the gods of Ancient Greek that populate its pantheon, this “God Unknown” is a testament to the human mind’s entertainment of that which still escape the human ken, that which borders the beyond of human intellection. 8 Whitehead, RM, pp. 16-17. 9 L T Lundeen, Risk and Rhetoric in Religion, p. 227. Italics added. 10 Whitehead, RM, p. 58. 11 Ibid, p. 28. 12 Ibid. 13 A N Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, The Free Press, New York, 1933, p. 162. 14 Ibid, p. 11. 15 Whitehead, RM, p. 31. 16 “True rationalism must always transcend itself by recurrence to the concrete in search of inspiration. A self-satisfied rationalism is in effect a form of anti-rationalism. It means an arbitrary halt at a particular set of abstractions. This was the case with science.” Whitehead, Science and the Modern World, p. 201. 17 A N Whitehead, Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology, corrected edition by David Ray Griffin and Donald Sherburne, The Free Press, New York, 1978, p. 9. 18 A thesis that Dorothy Emmet, one of the leading Whitehead commentators, likewise observes in Whitehead as mentioned by Santiago Sia in his article “The Function of Religion in Human Life and Thought: A Whiteheadian Exploration.” Cf. S Sia, Religion, Reason and God: vol. 10: Contributions to Philosophical Theology (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2004), p. 127. 19 Whitehead, RM, p. 15. 20 Ibid, p. 17. 21 Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, p. 171. 22 Whitehead, Science and the Modern World, p. 192. 23 Cf. J F Haught, What is Religion? An Introduction Paulist Press, New York, 1990, pp. 171-184. 24 Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, p. 286. 25 Whitehead, Science and the Modern World, p. 192. 26 Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, p. 172.

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______________________________________________________________ 27

Ibid, p. 275. Whitehead, RM, p. 47. 29 Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, p. 273. 30 Whitehead, RM, p. 144. 31 Cf. G Vattimo, Belief, translated by Luca D’Isanto, Polity Press, Cambridge, 1999. 32 Sia, op. cit., p. 135. 33 Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, p. 172. 34 Whitehead, Science and the Modern World, pp. 191-192. 28

The Divine Experience in Lagerkvist’s Works as the Embodiment of the Quest for Hopeful Existence Anna Zebialowicz Abstract In his book Life in Fragments Zygmunt Bauman compares modern life to a pilgrimage: “We are all pilgrims whatever we do, and there is little we can do about it even if we wished,” adding that “for pilgrims the truth is elsewhere, the true place is always some distance away, some time away […]” Par Lagerkvist’s characters are such pilgrims wandering forlorn among the empty eternities in a search for man’s place in the world, universal truths and all those things which make human life meaningful. It is a yearning for hopeful existence as confronted with man’s spiritual exhaustion, metaphysical nihilism and mayhem like reality, and above all it amounts to finding some kind of divinity or God that would reply to one’s existential quandaries and anxieties. With these ideas in mind, I would like to elaborate upon Lagerkvist’s tetralogy: The Sybil, The Death of Ahasuerus, Pilgrim at Sea and The Holy Land - works highly marginalized and shamefully neglected. My intention is to expand upon Lagerkvist’s vision of God who according to Jeff Polet: “may not after all be dead, but only silenced by our Promethean crisis; and God after all may yet again speak, if we become silent.” Furthermore, I would like to focus on Laagerkvist’s philosophical ruminations related to exploring the issues of hope, hopelessness, sense and senselessness of life as constituting the focal point of human existence since as Leif Sjoberg claims: “Par Lagerkvist more than any other professional writer explored religious concerns of both modern heretic and the modern brooder-searcher, an alienated outsider, desperately wanting to believe in traditional values. Persistently he came as nonbeliever, yet always with other possibilities open.” Key Words: Divinity, existence, God, happiness, hope, hopelessness, pilgrimage. ***** Who walked past the window of my childhood and breathed on it? who walked past in the deep night of my childhood, that still was starless? With his finger he made a sign on a pane,

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______________________________________________________________ on the moist pane with the ball of his finger and then passed on to think of other things, leaving me deserted for ever How should I be able to interpret the sign, the sign in the moist afterwards of his breath? It stayed there a while, but not long enough for me to be able to interpret it. For ever and ever would not have sufficed to interpret it. When I got up in the morning, the window pane was entirely clear, and I only saw the world as it is. Everything in it seemed so strange to me, and, behind the pane, my soul was filled with loneliness and longing.1 This poem by Lagerkvist provides a cosmic-religious experience and gives rise to a plethora of complex questions related to religious and philosophical thought, questions which revolve around man’s place in the world, the search for universal truths and all those things which make life meaningful. It is a yearning for hopeful existence as confronted with man’s spiritual exhaustion and mayhem reality, and above all it amounts to an urge of finding some kind of divinity or God who would reply to man’s existential quandaries and anxieties. The words of the Nobel Prize committee, which awarded Lagerkvist for “[…] the artistic vigour and true independence of mind with which he endeavour [ed] […] to find answers to the eternal questions confronting mankind”2 confirm Lagerkvist’s artistic oeuvre in trying to come to terms with these issues. Lagerkvist’s metaphysical inquiries into the nature of divine power are not in any way subordinated to long-established dogmatism, nor are they related to any particular religious view. Jeff Polet aptly remarks that: “[Lagerkvist’s] work is in many ways too religious for people of a secular bent, and too atheistic and disturbing for people of religious orientation.”3 Lagerkvist examines the role of God, his absence, the significance of divine transcendence, the ubiquitous interference of good and evil along with the sources of contemporary crisis using diverse artistic methods. Though in Lagerkvist’s work the world is perceived as chaotic, disordered, incomprehensible, and God’s role is considerably diminished, if not

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______________________________________________________________ eliminated at all, there is a chance for man for hopeful existence, spiritual and cultural recovery. The characters in The Sibyl, The Death of Ahasuerus, Pilgrim at Sea, and The Holy Land are constructed in such a way as to depict a transition from the state of guilt, uncertainty and disquiet to the attempts at finding solace, peace and redemption. Sibyl, Ahasuerus, Tobias and Giovanni all undergo spiritual anxieties, rebellion and/or reconciliation with divinity. They all participate in a metaphorical pilgrimage to quest after meaningful being and God who, as stated by Kai Henmark, constitutes in Lagerkvist’s work “a challenge, constant remorse, emotional burden and phantom which can strangle […]. Lagerkvist’s pilgrims do not head for holy places of a particular church, they look for holy spring within man, within one’s own soul […]”4 The Sibyl, The Death of Ahasuerus, Pilgrim at Sea, and The Holy Land all belong to a series of tetralogy and are interlinked by a common motive of characters yearning for spiritual tranquillity in life and eternal peace while being at the same time perplexed by the mystery of divinity. Their searches burrow in on convoluted problems without explicit and straightforward conclusions and endings. On top of that, through the characters’ inner incertitude, there resonates the acceptance of life as it is with its good and bad sides. “I adore you life, my dear life as the only thing to consider from among the unthinkable,”5 says the old man from The Eternal Smile. Yet, only when man fills one’s own existence with the presence of divine spirit, than the full approbation and acceptance of life may have its true meaning and value and this seems to be deeply rooted in the outlook and the whole work of Lagerkvist. The question of hopeful being and what follows the question of the place of God in man’s soul is a complex one, especially when one takes into consideration non-conventionality with which Lagerkvist attempts to delve into the substance of God and faith. In The Sibyl, the reader finds pagan beliefs intermingled with Christian theology. The character title Sybil, is a former pythia at Delphi. She is now cursed by people, similarly to The Wandering Jew, Ahasuerus, sentenced for an eternal and tedious travelling around the world because of his reluctance and refusal to provide a short rest to Christ going to Golgotha. He perceives God as the unfathomable, omnipresent and yet omniscient power. They both engage into a ruminative colloquy about the nature of God as the latter comes to Sybil asking for his future fate. He is sentenced to eternal wandering which is accompanied by psychological disintegration. The eternity for which he is doomed morphs into the worst unhappiness and curse: “Eternity… This has nothing to do with life […] Rather, it is an opposition to what life is about. It is something boundless and infinite, the kingdom of death at which human has to look with horror.”6 Doubtless, according to Lagerkvist, the rejection of Christ

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______________________________________________________________ makes life devoid of the meaning and puts man in the sphere of isolation and alienation bringing on a purposeless and undirected wandering “where [as Polet states] the only hope can be found in mysterious and inscrutable traces of divine presence.”7 Both, Ahasuerus and Tobias, another central character from Lagerkvist’s tetralogy, appearing in The death of Ahasuerus, endeavour to remain independent of God, but yet they constantly carry a burden on their souls. Ahasuerus blasphemes against God, takes the Lord’s name in vain, and not being able to unravel the divine’s intentions, poses questions which are fundamental to Lagerkvist’s own thought. In his powerful soliloquy he asks God: “Why do you prosecute me? Why do you never leave me in peace? Why do you never leave me? What have I done to you that you have to now take revenge on me? […] Why do you make me persistently think only about you?”8 In a similar vein, Tobias, who became a pilgrim by chance, ponders about the significance of life. He ultimately deduces that in order to be a pilgrim, one has to have a clear purpose for such a pilgrimage and he does not have any. And yet, despite himself he goes to the Holy Land because he was “tormented and pressed by what he did not understand.”9 Over and above that, Lagerkvist foregrounds that only when the soul has opened itself, does life unfurl its full meaning. By doing this, he draws the attention to the wellspring of spiritual crisis and most importantly, seeks solutions on how to contend with it. Thus the characters he constructs undergo a transition culminating in a progressive opening of the soul. Ahasuerus while looking at the face of the Sibyl and her inscrutable old eyes wonders why his own eyes are so saturated with emptiness and metaphorical dryness: “Why was that? Why was he so poor and she so rich?”10 Of great significance is a soliloquy uttered by Ahasuerus symbolizing his gradual liberation allowing him to finally die at peace: Now I understand everything. […] I myself took the curse away from my shoulders; I liberated myself from my fate, I overcame it […] I redeemed myself […] And that is why I am lying here, feeling the closeness of death, good merciful death, the one I was missing so much […] There must exist something which is of paramount importance for man. That I have learned. There must exist something which is of so much importance that it is better to lose one’s life rather than to lose faith in it. Even me, who is the enemy of God, the blasphemer has to agree with it. And I do it eagerly. Beyond gods, beyond everything which falsifies and distorts the holiness, beyond all lies and distortions, all deformed divinities and all foolish products of human

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______________________________________________________________ imagination, there must be something unthinkable, which is inaccessible to us […] Beyond all the sacred clutter, the holy thing must above all exist. I believe in it, I am certain. Yes, God is what separates us from the divinity. He disturbs us from drinking at the spring itself. I do not kneel to God. No, I will never kneel to Him, but I would willingly lie down at the spring to drink from it, to quench my longing desire for something that I cannot comprehend but I know it exists. (translation mine)11 Rebellious as he is, Ahasuerus, achieves peace with himself and dies in serenity. Yet, his liberation stands far away from the long-established images of man gaining freedom and dying at peace with God. In fact, Lagerkvist does not consent to traditional Christian dogmatism, what is more, he goes beyond it since to him, any doctrinal formulations seem to be more equated with false and one-sided ideologies rather than with actual understanding of intricacies encompassing the role of man in the universe, one’s involvement in the creation of meaningful and hopeful existence, and one’s own interpretation of the divine spirit. Furthermore, strictly imposed religious norms do not inspire man to constantly search for a purposeful being having been once established. Ahasuerus craves for something that is beyond the gods and beyond everything which hides the path to the world of holiness. He claims: “God is what separates us from the divinity” asserting that only in reaching beyond conventional dogmatism, can man get closer to the real source of divine power. While analyzing this aspect of transcendence, one may conclude, just as Polet does, that Lagerkvist also points to the fact that an ecclesiastical language is biased and thereby intrudes on man’s search for transcendental reality.12 Ahasuerus claims that it is God who “disturbs us from drinking at the spring itself,” that is to say, the conception of God prevents one from establishing the true contact with divinity and that though Ahasuerus is aware of the spiritual reality going beyond all distortions of the holiness, he cannot find the suitable language to depict what he really feels. Thus, Lagerkvist is all the more distrustful and suspicious towards a widely recognized theological creed and priesthood understood in terms of clearly formulated doctrines. Olaf Lagercrantz writes: Dogmas, articles of faith and institutionalized religions do not have much in common with the Lagerkvistian vision of God. They constitute an outer structure which divides man from the divinity rather than bonds one to it. It separates man from the spring from which one might drink …13

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______________________________________________________________ Lagerkvist, searches for authentic faith and respect for man with one’s desires and feelings, the feelings not suppressed by any catechistic form of religion. He bruits abroad such a faith which would not be hostile to individuals following the words from Soren Kierkegaard that: “An individual is a truth and the crowd is not.”14 Faith represented through hierarchical religious cult and ideological organizations is not able to satiate the real thirst for the divinity. Of great importance is the fact in his construction of the characters, Lagerkvist does not provide the reader with readymade answers and his personae do not give exhaustive hints for straightforward, coherent answers to the questions they are intrigued by. A monk who was taking care of Ahasuerus just before his death wonders: “Was he really a pilgrim? Was he even a pilgrim? No one knew. But his peace was great. That could be seen.”15 So Ahasuerus finally achieves serenity and solace: “He closed his eyes but he felt the light through his eyelids, he felt it. And in the glares of the light, so natural for this world, he passed away […] 16 The Holy Land marks the end of Lagerkvist’s tetralogy, wherein Giovanni and Tobias are involuntarily made to land on a rocky coast amongst warm-hearted, innocent shepherds who do not know anything about the outside world. The characters are still on the way, on their pilgrimage seeking absolute answers in a reality that is still too complex for them to be fully fathomed. It is in this novel where Giovanni and Tobias eventually will reconcile with their fates and their souls will find peace. And although, Giovanni, now an old and blind man, remains indifferent to God to the end when talking with the mysterious woman who claims to come with an attempt to liberate him, he states he is not a pilgrim and instead of expressing gratitude for prospective freedom, he asks: “To liberate me? From what?”17 He passes away with a calm face as if solace filled his heart. After Giovanni’s death Tobias pursues his pilgrimage since: “He who once was a pilgrim, must be always prepared to set on a journey, to begin the journey anew. There is no use talking: ‘I’m not him any more, I’m not a pilgrim any longer.”18 His pilgrimage reaches a pinnacle when he gets to know that love forgives all and does not condemn anybody. But even before that, of great importance is the scene where Tobias sees the triple crucifixion over the hill, against the sky. For all that, he is repelled by Christ’s cross and does not dare touch it with his bloodstained hands, but instead he embraces the one of the two remaining ones: It’s the bandit’s cross. The cross of the criminal. My cross. I dare touch it because it is not innocent […] and if there is any blood there, it is the blood of the criminal, the similar to my own. It is my cross. I could be hung there.19

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______________________________________________________________ Also, in the final scene, Tobias has an obscure dream-like vision of a person literally resembling Christ’s mother, Mary with whom he engages in a conversation whether the state of holiness can be achieved. For him, who admits taking the path of a criminal, this question is even more intriguing. “It is so easy to be a pilgrim if you do not have to change yourself, if you can remain the same person as you were previously. Also, it is easy to be a pilgrim going to a land which does not exist […] The place which you can only long for.”20 Madonna emphasizes to Tobias that the act of a pure longing is not enough. In this sense, it dawn upon him that it is not enough to desire something, to only yearn for the Holy Land as man oneself must be directly faced with these experiences. Polet foregrounds that this stance marks a prominent development in Lagerkvist: […] who moves from seeing human life as determined by a vague longing, to seeing God as the object of that longing, to seeing God as a direct participant in our experience and us as players in the divine drama in history. The inaccessibility of God, emphasized in his earlier works, necessitates that God come to us.21 Tobias finally comprehends that he has to come to terms with his own guilt, his own involvement in a murder of a woman. In a vision after the murder, he is made to face his own morality. He would like to encounter her once again because otherwise, he realizes, he will not be able to achieve peace of mind: “I have been afraid of this and have longed for this all my life. I could not be at peace until I met you again.”22 Tobias, slowly opens himself to the truth and the reality of love by acknowledging his culpability and hollow life. When dying, his face is covered by a bliss and powerful happiness. Also, an empty locket he has been carrying around his neck upon his death starts to shine like the most precious jewel. This signifies his great transfiguration from non-believing to believing in forgiveness. Tobias comes to grips that human love must go hand in hand with divine love and that they are interwoven with each other. It is worth highlighting that Tobias is the only character in Lagerkvist’s tetralogy that finds atonement and holiness all together. As Swanson points out, when Ahasuerus dies the light bathing him is very similar to earthly one, but at Tobias’ death this light is not of this earth: “Ahasuerus finds death and peace, but in all Lagerkvist’s work, only Tobias finds holiness as well.”23 God in the work of Lagerkvist is a complex and ambiguous figure. Neither does his creation fully come to the expectations of Christian believers, nor does it entirely break with its central thought. Lagerkvist’s God may stand for a creation of man’s dreams, desires, aspirations and unfulfilled

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______________________________________________________________ longings as well as one’s pilgrimage through life’s complexities and intricacies. He may be an embodiment of both good and evil, life and death. He may provide man with hopeful existence but he may also dispossess one of it. He remains impenetrable, inscrutable and unfathomable and yet so powerful that man cannot live peacefully without experiencing this divine spirit. Doubtless, life is full of contradictions and inconsistencies that cannot be easily unravelled. The most convoluted of these is God who, as the Sibyl observes is, “[…] both good and evil, the light and darkness, incoherent and full of meaning which we never understand but about which we ponder all the time. It is a riddle that is intended not to be solved but to exist. To exist for us always. To torment us always.”24

Notes 1

P Lagerkvist, ‘Evening Land’ in L Sjoberg, Par Lagerkvist, Columbia University Press, New York, 1978, p.33-34. 2 J Polet, ‘A Blackened Sea: Religion and Crisis in the Work of Par Lagerkvist.’ Renascence: Essays on Values in Literature, vol. 54, 2001, p. 4. 3 Ibid, p. 47. 4 K Henmark, Od Delf do Ziemi Świętej” in Z Łanowski, foreword, Sybilla, Pielgrzym by Par Lagerkvist, Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, Warszawa, 1968, p. 7. 5 A Chojecki, foreword in Z Łanowski (ed), Par Lagerkvist: Wybór Prozy, Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, Wroclaw, 1986, p. XLI. 6 Par Lagerkvist, Wybór Prozy, Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, Wroclaw, 1986, p. 263. 7 Polet, op. cit., p. 48 8 Lagerkvist, op. cit., p. 434. 9 Ibid, p. 430. 10 Ibid, 349. 11 Ibid, p. 436-438. 12 Polet, op. cit, p.56. 13 O Lagercrantz, in Z Łanowski, foreword, Sybilla, Pielgrzym by Par Lagerkvist, Panstwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, Warszawa, 1968, p. 7. 14 S Kierkegaard, in Lagerkvist Wybór Prozy, op.cit., LIII. 15 Ibid, p. 440. 16 Ibid, p. 439 - 440. 17 P Lagerkvist, Ziemia Święta, Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, Warszawa, 1968, p. 291. 18 Ibid, p. 297. 19 Ibid, p. 300. 20 Ibid, p. 308.

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______________________________________________________________ 21

Polet, op. cit., p. 57. Lagerkvist, op. cit., p. 309. 23 R A Swanson, ‘Evil and Love in Lagerkvist’s Crucifixion Cycle’ in Polet, A Blackened Sea, op. cit., p. 57. 24 Lagerkvist, op. cit., p.368. 22

Bibliography Bauman, Z., Life In Fragments: Essays in Postmodern Morality. Cambridge University Press, Malden, Oxford, 1999. Lagerkvist, P., Sybilla, Pielgrzym, trans. Lanowski, Z. Panstwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, Warszawa, 1968. Lagerkvist, P., Par Lagerkvist: Wybor Prozy, trans. and ed. Lanowski, Z and Chojecki A. Zaklad Narodowy im. Ossolinskich, Wroclaw, 1986. -----, The Eternal Smile and Other Stories. Random House, New York, 1954. -----, Par Lagerkvist: Zlo, trans. and ed. Lanowski, Z. Wydawnictwo Poznanskie, Poznan, 1986. Polet J., ‘A Blackened Sea: Religion and Crisis in the Work of Par Lagerkvist’. Essays on Values in Literature, vol. 54, 2001, pp. 47-71. Sjoberg L., Par Lagerkvist. Columbia University Press, New York, 1976.

Cultivating Hope: Simone Weil, metaxu, and a Literature of the Divine Christine Howe Abstract What is hope, why is it important, and what can we do to engender it? The work of Simone Weil, French philosopher, mystic and social activist of the 1930s and 40s, addresses these questions and provides a platform from which to stage a discussion about the contemporary need for hope. In L’Enracinement (The Need for Roots) she emphasizes the power of a living cultural heritage able to provide people with links to what she terms the ‘reality beyond the world’, or ‘absolute good’. These connections enable the growth and nurture of a form of hope that has the potential to affect human relationships on all levels. Central to this is the Greek conception of metaxu: the existence of things that act as mediators, or bridges, between earth and heaven. Certain forms of literature, according to Weil, form metaxu, enabling people to approach the divine. So how is such literature written? What is the process an author undergoes in order that his or her work may be illuminated by hope? This paper, using Alice Walker’s novel The Color Purple as a case study, suggests that as writers draw on those elements of their own heritage that form bridges between this world and the other, and focus their attention and desire on that good which transcends them as human beings, they experience, and subsequently express in their work, a form of hope that is able to illuminate the present and provide the impetus for positive change and growth in the future. Key Words: Alice Walker, beauty, divine, hope, literature, metaxu, Simone Weil, The Color Purple. ***** But the work of art which is the effect of the artist’s inspiration is a source of inspiration to those who contemplate it. Through the work of art, the love which is in the artist begets a like love in other souls. So does absolute Love throughout the universe.1 In the early 1940s Simone Weil, French mystic, philosopher and political activist, articulated a new way of organising social relations in such a way that the physical and spiritual needs of each individual would be met. Central to her philosophy was the concept of “roots”, the importance of focusing

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______________________________________________________________ attention on what she termed “the reality beyond the world”, or absolute good, and the sacred nature of the human heart. The interplay between these ideas demonstrates the hope inherent in Simone Weil’s work. Rather than being equated with an optimistic attitude towards the future, hope, for Weil, is found in the illumination of the present by the light of the divine. Intimately linked with this form of hope is the Greek concept of metaxu: the existence of things that act as mediators, or bridges, between earth and heaven. Certain forms of literature, according to Weil, act as metaxu, enabling people to approach the divine. As the threads of Weil’s philosophy are drawn together a method for writing literature that is able to inspire hope begins to emerge. An analysis of Alice Walker’s novel The Color Purple in relation to Weil’s ideas demonstrates the relevance of her work to a contemporary literature of hope. Returning to Weil’s work in the current world climate is an exercise that sheds an interesting light on what we understand hope to be, and how it may be manifested in people’s lives today. Contemporary Australian anthropologist Ghassan Hage suggests that capitalist societies have traditionally produced and distributed a certain form of hope among their citizens. This hope is equated with dreams of more highly paid jobs, better lifestyles and more commodities, and centres around the idea that upward social mobility is possible.2 Recently, however, and particularly with the growth of global capitalism, Hage claims, the state’s role as producer and distributor of hope has been undermined. The number of people who are deprived of this societal hope has increased to the point where even people with middle class incomes experience a sense of being trapped and deprived of those possibilities which life may have to offer.3 This form of hope, for Weil, would present a problem in that its promises of the possibility of increased material wealth and social prestige ultimately leave us unfulfilled, even if they are realised. “We have only to imagine all our desires satisfied; after a time we should become discontented”, she writes. “We should want something else and we should be miserable through not knowing what to want.”4 She suggests that although we each yearn for something to live for, there is nothing in this world that can satisfy this desire.5 In her essay “Prerequisite to Dignity of Labour”, Weil reveals her method of seeking a different kind of hope in situations where people feel trapped in a monotonous existence: “[only] one thing makes monotony bearable, and that is beauty, the light of the eternal.”6 Unlike clinging to the possibility of greater material wealth and social mobility, what she speaks of here is a desire for the eternal, embodied in beauty. The difference between this form of hope and the other lies in the unique quality Weil ascribes to beauty: that of being able to draw the soul’s desire towards “not what could be or will be, but towards what exists.”7 The form of hope advocated by Weil is not generated by the possibility of a better future, but by the illumination of

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______________________________________________________________ what actually exists, here and now, by a supernatural light mediated by beauty. In order to gain an appreciation of this view, it is necessary to trace Weil’s thought back to its Platonic roots. Her philosophy begins with the idea that absolute good exists beyond the world we currently inhabit. She states: There is a reality outside the world, that is to say, outside space and time, outside man’s mental universe, outside any sphere whatsoever that is accessible to human faculties… That reality is the unique source of all the good that can exist in this world.8 Taking this as her starting point, she goes on to say: “Corresponding to this reality, at the centre of the human heart, is the longing for an absolute good, a longing which is always there and is never appeased by any object in this world.”9 Each person, without exception, is connected to that other reality by the combination of “the longing in the depth of the heart for absolute good, and the power… of directing attention and love to a reality beyond the world and of receiving good from it.”10 Due to the link between each of us and that other reality, every person is held to be sacred and deserving of respect.11 Weil’s subsequent ideas are derived from these initial principles. Furthering her definition of what makes a person ‘sacred’, Weil states that: At the bottom of the heart of every human being, from earliest infancy to the tomb, there is something that goes on indomitably expecting, in the teeth of all experience of crimes committed, suffered and witnessed, that good and not evil will be done to him. It is this above all that is sacred in every human being.12 This statement, taken in conjunction with the belief, stated earlier, that the core of each person consists of a longing for “absolute good”, reveals an essentially hopeful view of the human spirit. If the basic definition of hope is given as “expectation and desire”,13 Weil’s descriptions of the expectation and longing found within the human heart suggest that the sacred nature of each person is an expression of hope itself. Returning to the idea that the sacred core of each human being corresponds to absolute good, it can be said that this longing within the depths of the heart is the direct result of our connection with the divine. If this is the case, seeking to inspire hope then becomes a question of finding ways to nurture the link between the human spirit and what Weil terms the “reality beyond the world.”

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______________________________________________________________ One way of building these connections, according to Weil, is by way of our roots. A person has roots, she says, “by virtue of his real, active and natural participation in the life of a community which preserves in living shape certain particular treasures of the past and certain particular expectations for the future.”14 Roots are not ends in themselves however; their central purpose is to provide pathways to the divine. Weil’s conception of roots is heavily influenced by the Greek idea of metaxu: the existence of intermediaries that form bridges between earth and heaven. Weil placed such importance on these aspects of human existence that she wrote: No human being should be deprived of his metaxu, that is to say of those relative and mixed blessings (home, country, traditions, culture, etc.) which warm and nourish the soul and without which, short, of sainthood, a human life is not possible.15 The value of collective life, art and science, according to Weil, is that they provide an environment in which the impersonal element of the soul can thrive.16 This ‘impersonal’ element of the soul is precisely that which Weil takes to be sacred within each person: the point within the heart that corresponds to absolute good. Absolute good, for Weil, as we have already seen, exists beyond this world. Central to her thought is the idea that this good is able to be made manifest on earth through people who consent to focus their attention on the reality beyond the world.17 People who have practiced this form of attention leave a legacy that, in turn, enables others to deepen their connection with the divine. The special nature of the role played by a collectivity in ensuring that the wisdom of its members is passed on is explained in The Need for Roots: a collectivity has its roots in the past. It constitutes the sole agency for preserving the spiritual treasures accumulated by the dead, the sole transmitting agency by means of which the dead can speak to the living.”18 Now we begin to see the intimate connection between Simone Weil’s conception of hope and her understanding of the role of attention and desire in the manifestation of good on this earth. “If pure good were never capable of producing on this earth true greatness in art, science, theoretical speculation, public enterprise”, she writes, “there would be no hope at all for the affairs of this world; no possible illumination of this world by the other one.”19 Here, hope and the illumination of this world are seen to be analogous with one another. Central to the interplay between hope and the light cast by absolute good is the role of metaxu. These intermediaries, writes Weil, are the

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______________________________________________________________ “truly precious things… which form ladders reaching towards the beauty of the world, openings on to it. […] Numbered among them are the pure and authentic achievements of art and science.”20 Each human being, she continues, “has at his roots here below a certain terrestrial poetry, a reflection of the heavenly glory, the link, of which he is more or less vaguely conscious, with his universal country.”21 The essential element of hope within each human being is strengthened and given life by this connection with the divine, which is made possible by the existence of metaxu. The best works of literature, according to Weil, are those that form metaxu, moving beyond a mere fictional representation towards an illumination of reality.22 The criteria she uses to judge whether literature is able to present reality in all its nakedness, and thus reveal the world by the light of the divine, is whether or not the text is a work of ‘genius.’ John M. Dunaway suggests that Weil’s use of the word genius in this context primarily refers to work that is intimately linked with the writer’s own struggle with necessity, and deals with the suffering inherent in the human condition.23 Weil herself separates her use of the word genius from the more commonly understood meaning of the term. Exceptional talent does not lead to or define genius: on the contrary, real genius, as she conceives it, is nothing but “the supernatural virtue of humility in the domain of thought.” 24 Talent and the manifestation of the author’s personality are not the measure of genius. Rather, truly beautiful works of art are those that are able to reveal the world by providing “pure and true reflections” of its beauty, or openings on to it.25 Literature, seen in this light, has a truly social purpose. Far from being considered as mere entertainment, or appreciated solely in terms of its formal aesthetic qualities, literature that takes the shape of metaxu is able to reveal the true beauty of the world to its readers. This is no panacea for the injustices we both suffer and observe, but can have a profound impact on our perception of the world, our relationships with each other and the changes we are able to make to the very structure of society. In The Need for Roots, Weil states that the contemplation of works of art such as these is one of the things able to sustain us in our search for a social order that enables each person’s physical and spiritual needs to be met.26 Writing in the context of the Second World War, she suggests that those who have instigated violence have been encouraged by the thought that “blind, mechanical force is sovereign throughout the whole universe.” If, however, we look at the world “with keener senses than theirs”, she asserts, we shall find a more powerful encouragement in the thought of how these innumerable blind forces are limited, made to balance one against the other, brought to form a

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______________________________________________________________ united whole by something which we do not understand, but which we call beauty.27 Thus, literary works that reveal the beauty of the world and provide bridges for the reader to cross to the divine, are also able to provide us with the encouragement necessary to seek out a more just society. Weil presents a very limited canon of works that she feels are able to fulfil this role: she mentions, among very few others, the Iliad, the tragedies of Aeschylus and Sophocles, Shakespeare’s King Lear, and Racine’s Phèdre.28 Many of the ideas she expresses in relation to literature and hope, however, are also seen, or at least hinted at, in works by contemporary authors. With no intention of expanding her canon, the examination of these more recent texts in relation to Weil’s ideas is useful in that it enables us to analyse what it is that imbues them with a sense of hope. One such author is the African-American writer Alice Walker, whose novel The Color Purple embodies many of the ideas discussed above. The emphasis Simone Weil places on roots is the most obvious link between her work and Alice Walker’s fiction. Walker draws heavily on aspects of her heritage in The Color Purple, which explores the imagined lives of people belonging to her parents’ and grandparents’ generation. Celie, the central character, gives concrete expression to the voice and language of Walker’s step-grandmother, whose “unique pattern of speech” is the clay used to shape Celie’s character.29 This is important not only in the authenticity it lends to Celie’s voice, and thus to the novel as a whole, but also in the far deeper significance Walker attributes to keeping her ancestors’ voices alive. “If we kill off the sound of our ancestors”, she writes, “the major portion of us, all that is past, that is history, that is human being is lost, and we become historically and spiritually thin, a mere shadow of who we were, on the earth.”30 The use of the language of her ancestors in The Color Purple is one way of maintaining her roots and ensuring that they are kept alive for future generations. The importance Walker places on her roots and the inspiration they provide, mirrors Weil’s understanding of the role played by collectivities in preserving and transmitting the spiritual treasures of the past. Some collectivities however, as Weil recognizes in The Need for Roots, do not provide spiritual food for their members. These societies are structured in such a way that “instead of serving as food, [they] do just the opposite: they devour souls.”31 This dual nature that societies can have, housing within them the potential for both nourishment and disease and decay, is explored in depth in The Color Purple. Celie is faced with a situation where the social structures that shape her existence devalue her worth as a human being. Celie begins writing to God after she has been abused by her step-father. Her perception of the divine is so coloured by

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______________________________________________________________ these social structures that she pictures the God she addresses her letters to as “big and old and tall and graybearded and white.”32 Part way through the novel, Celie is introduced to the idea that God might not be as she has imagined: that instead of being an imposing white man, God has no gender, no image, but is in everything, found everywhere.33 Gradually, Celie works her way towards a greater understanding of a God who is freed from the white patriarchal image imposed by the very society that forms a backdrop of oppression and prejudice to Celie’s community. It is perhaps this process that led Alice Walker to describe the novel as a “theological work examining the journey from the religious back to the spiritual.”34 Celie’s awakening is accompanied by a growing awareness of the beauty of the natural world. True works of art, for Weil, reveal the beauty of the world, and great literature explores the suffering inherent in the human condition. The Color Purple, in addition to revealing the world’s beauty through Celie’s eyes, is also the product of Walker’s own spiritual awakening, which she describes as an encounter with the Great Mystery as she sat in a field contemplating the beauty of the natural world.35 Thus we see Weil’s criteria for literary works that are able to inspire hope taking shape in The Color Purple. Not only is the work a result of the author’s experience of the divine, but, as Pamela Smith points out, it also arises from her own immersion in the “stuff of lamentation.”36 Similarly, the content of the novel explores the central character’s struggle with suffering and oppression, in addition to revealing the beauty of the world as Celie becomes aware of its spiritual significance. The novel itself also draws on, and subsequently forms a part of, the heritage and roots of Alice Walker’s community. According to Simone Weil, each person has the ability, if he or she so chooses, to focus his or her attention on the absolute good that exists beyond the world. “Pure, intuitive attention”, she writes, “is the only source of perfectly beautiful art, truly original and brilliant scientific discovery, of philosophy which really aspires to wisdom and of true, practical love of one’s neighbour.”37 Writers who have practiced this attention in the past have left us a legacy that is a part of our heritage, and forms bridges to the divine. Not only do these works allow for the illumination of the present, they are also able to provide us with the encouragement we need to continue to seek out a more just society. In terms of discovering a way of writing that will inspire hope in the reader, we can conclude that by practising attention and drawing on their roots, writers have the ability to open windows into the “reality beyond the world”, linking the reader with that reality and nurturing the hope they already carry within.

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Notes 1

S Weil, Intimations of Christianity Among the Ancient Greeks, trans. and ed. Elisabeth Chase Geissbuhler, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1957, p. 105. 2 G Hage, Against Paranoid Nationalism: Searching for Hope in a Shrinking Society, Pluto Press Australia, Annandale, 2003, pp. 13-14 . 3 Ibid, pp. 18-20. 4 S Weil, On Science, Necessity and the Love of God, trans. and ed. Richard Rees, Oxford University Press, London,1968, p. 148. 5 Ibid. 6 S Weil, Simone Weil: An Anthology, ed. Sian Miles, Virago Press Ltd., London, 1986, p. 268. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid, pp. 221-222. 9 Ibid, p. 222. 10 Ibid, pp. 222-223. 11 Ibid, p. 223. 12 Ibid, p. 71. 13 The Australian Pocket Oxford Dictionary, 2nd ed. 14 S Weil, The Need for Roots: Prelude to a Declaration of Duties Towards Mankind, trans. A.F. Wills, Routledge Classics, London, 2002, p. 41. 15 S Weil, Gravity and Grace, trans. Emma Craufurd Ark Paperbacks, London, 1987, p. 133. 16 Miles, op. cit., p. 79. 17 Ibid, p. 222. 18 Weil, The Need for Roots, p. 8. 19 Weil, The Need for Roots, pp. 243-235. 20 Weil, Waiting on God, p. 115. 21 Ibid. 22 Weil, On Science, Necessity and the Love of God, p. 162. 23 J M Dunaway, “Simone Weil on Morality and Literature”, in The Beauty That Saves: Essays on Aesthetics and Language in Simone Weil, J M Dunaway and E O Springsted (eds.), Mercer University Press, Macon, GA, 1996, p. 101. 24 Miles, op. cit., p. 87. 25 Weil, Waiting on God, p. 106. 26 Weil, The Need for Roots, p. 11. 27 Ibid. 28 Weil, On Science, Necessity and the Love of God, p. 162. 29 A Walker, Living by the Word: Selected Writings 1973-1987, The Women's Press Ltd., London, 1988, p. 63-64.

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______________________________________________________________ 30

Ibid, p. 62. Weil, The Need for Roots, p. 9. 32 AWalker, The Color Purple, The Women’s Press Ltd., London, 2000, p. 165. 33 Ibid, p. 167. 34 Ibid, Preface. 35 Ibid. 36 P A Smith, ‘Green Lap, Brown Embrace, Blue Body: The Ecospirituality of Alice Walker’, Cross Currents vol. 48, no. 4, 1998/1999, pp. 472-87. 37 Miles, op. cit., p. 273. 31

Bibliography Dunaway, J. M., ‘Simone Weil on Morality and Literature’, in The Beauty That Saves: Essays on Aesthetics and Language in Simone Weil, edited by John M. Dunaway and Eric O. Springsted. Mercer University Press, Macon, GA, 1996, pp. 99-107. Hage, G., Against Paranoid Nationalism: Searching for Hope in a Shrinking Society. Pluto Press Australia, Annandale, 2003. Miles, S., ed. Simone Weil: An Anthology. Virago Press Ltd., London, 1986. Smith, P. A. ‘Green Lap, Brown Embrace, Blue Body: The Ecospirituality of Alice Walker’, Cross Currents vol. 48, no. 4, 1998/1999, pp. 472-87. Walker, A., Living by the Word: Selected Writings 1973-1987. The Women's Press Ltd., London, 1988. -----, The Color Purple. The Women’s Press Ltd., London, 2000. Weil, S., Gravity and Grace. Translated by Emma Craufurd. Ark Paperbacks, London, 1987. -----, Intimations of Christianity Among the Ancient Greeks. Translated and edited by Elisabeth Chase Geissbuhler. Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1957. -----, On Science, Necessity and the Love of God. Translated and edited by Richard Rees. Oxford University Press, London, 1968.

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______________________________________________________________ -----, The Need for Roots: Prelude to a Declaration of Duties Towards Mankind. Translated by A.F. Wills. Routledge Classics, London, 2002. -----, Waiting on God. Translated by Emma Craufurd. Routledge & Kegan Paul, London, 1979.

Ha-Tikva: The Concept of Hope in Jewish History Yoram Lubling Abstract Using the above symbolism, the intention of this paper is two-fold: First, to outline the concept of hope in Jewish history as it is found in texts of worship, philosophy, literature, poetry, and art. Second, to focus and examine the status of this hope today since, it is obvious to the concerned observer that the establishment of the State of Israel did not resolve the problem with antiSemitism. On the contrary, while during the 1930s and 40s anti-Semitism was limited to European sentiments, today it is global in its scope. Finally, the paper will conclude that, the hope of the Jew is not merely for her own sake but for the sake of humanity. As Jean-Paul Sartre correctly observed, “as long as the Jews fear for their lives, no one among us will be free.” Like Plato, Sartre identifies lack of freedom and hope with a sick soul and immorality, and freedom and hope with health and morality. Key Words: Bitakon (trust,) brit (covenant,) cultural Zionism, emunah (faithfulness,) eschatology, tikva (hope,) religious Zionism, transcendence, yihud (unification). ***** There is an old Jewish story about a poor family in Russia struggling to survive the afflictions of life. Every winter, Layzer the husband, would scratch his beard and say to his wife: “If I only wanted to I could go to Chaim Schwartzman; he’d positively lend me a few rubles. He’s a good friend of mine; he’d surely, surely, lend them to me. Oh, he’s a fine man!” Every year his wife would get angry with him for repeating himself. But Layzer did not ask Mr. Schwartzman for the money and somehow his family survived one winter after another. One winter, after several of their children died from sickness brought on by the cold, Layzer turned to his wife with visible sadness and said: “Tomorrow I will see Mr. Schwartzman for some money.” His sadness came from knowing that by asking his old friend for help, the hope which he kept for so many years, a hope that kept him going for so many winters, will now be fulfilled. What would keep him going in the future?1 The concept of Tikva (hope), of the faith in the transcendence and the messianic prophecy, is synonymous with Judaism and is derived from the original brit (covenant) between the human and divinity, or as Martin Buber so profoundly expressed it, between I and Thou. In Sinai, when the Torah

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______________________________________________________________ was received, reports the Book of Exodus, God said to the people of Israel: “obey Me faithfully, and keep my covenant”, and you will become God’s chosen “kingdom of priests and holy nation.” But if you did not obey Me faithfully, “this shall be your burial ground.”2 The covenant involved, then, two moral personalities, albeit unequal, who agree to share a common vision of the world; a world grounded in justice, respect for others, care for the environment, and altruism. The terms of the covenant are also clear to both partners. The human promises to be dedicated to this moral vision of the world and to be faithful to the Commandments through deeds and character. God, on the other hand, promises to protect and make successful his faithful human partners. Hope, from the position of the human in the brit, is based on an existential “leap of faith”, of emunah (faithfulness), which gives expression to the trust humans have in God. As noted above, this reciprocal relationship between the human and divinity is obviously unequal in strength and wisdom. As a result, much of God’s reasoning and behaviour usually escapes human understanding. Such is the contradiction at the very heart of Judaism as it was expressed through the Biblical stories of Abraham’s binding of Isaac, and the series of inflictions brought upon Job; neither one lost trust in God’s ultimate wisdom and good intentions. Historically, for the people of Israel, this contradiction manifested itself continuously through collective physical destructions, repeated exiles and expulsions, countless pogroms, collective poverty, academic, civic, religious, and political discrimination, and finally the murder of two-thirds of European Jews during the Holocaust. The artistic expression for this contradiction of religious faith was best provided by Shalom Aleichem’s celebrated story of Tuvia the Milkman, or what popularly came to be known as Fiddler on the Roof. The ability to maintain emunah (faith) and bitakon (trust) in God, despite the contradiction that is inherent in the human condition, is the essence of the Jewish Tikva (hope). The latter is to be understood in a temporal sense of ‘to wait for’ God’s rescue.3 More specifically, hope as an existential reaction to the absurd can only be understood in relation to the religious leap of faith. The latter, in turn, can only be understood in terms of the original covenant between divinity and the human. It should be noted, however, that in the case of the people of Israel, the mutual trust was never individualistic and personal but always communal and universal. The great hope of religious faith, as first expressed in Judaism, is the unity of all existence. The overcoming of all divisions and false dichotomies that keeps life in a constant state of conflict and disharmony. For example, mankind, the prophet Isaiah envisioned, “shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning forks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”4 Written in the 8th Century B.C., Isaiah expressed a fundamental Jewish hope of a world free of physical violence and free of poisonous education. The

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______________________________________________________________ same vision can be found in the prophet Zachariah (4th Century B.C.) who dreamed of a world ruled by spirit and not physical violence. “Not by might, nor by power, but by spirit, says the Lord of hosts...And I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim, and the horse from Jerusalem, and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall speak peace into the nations.”5 Philosophically speaking, then, it is the belief in the existence of the transcendence and eschatology that produces the existential and cognitive state of faith in the human. Hope, on the other hand, is the concrete expression of faith through actual physical acts and overall character. For example, it was Job’s trust in God’s ultimate intentions and wisdom that despite all the inflictions that befallen him, kept him faithful. But it was his hope that ultimately carried him and shaped his actions day by day until God restored his life. Even more specifically, it was trust in God’s ultimate goal of universal unification that kept the faith in some of the Holocaust victims. However, it was the force of hope that carried them daily and compelled many of them to resist the Nazis and even to ultimately survive the war. There is an obvious danger, we must note with Aristotle, if either faith or hope are taken to their extreme positions. Faith can degenerate quickly into a passive state of contemplation followed by a pathological resignation from the dynamics and conditions of lived experience. Hope in the form of deeds, on the other hand, if taken to the extreme can degenerate into a narrow reliance on human actions alone without any consideration for God’s ultimate moral goal of universal unity. As such, only an act of hope that is also consistent with the faith in God’s ultimate goal is a genuine, and permissible, case of Jewish hope. Given world history, however, religious Jewish hope sadly remains above the process of history and the latter’s inherent inflictions and moral contradictions. Today it is commonly associated and expressed through the continuous study of Torah, and with serious disregard to concrete historical and political reality. Conversely, the creation of Israel as a political state out of attention to historical reality, and with disregard to God’s promise of universal unification, poses the danger that such form of Jewish existence will abandon the essence of Jewish hope and its covenant with God. For “this people Israel”, observed Leo Baeck, “the one and the same was and remained, from generation to generation, constant in its foundations and its goal of the One God, the one way, the one kingdom, the one great hope.”6 This hope is expressed at every closing of a Jewish service in the form of The Kaddish. Exalted and sanctified be the name of God in the world which He has created. And may He let His kingdom come to rule in your life, and in your days, and in the life of the

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______________________________________________________________ whole house of Israel, speedily and in an approaching time.7 This inherent Jewish hope for Yihud (unification) found its expressions in the works and personalities of many of Israel’s creative and insightful children. It is evident in the 16th century’s Jewish mystical movement in Safed that searched for the hidden meaning of sacred books and teachings, and waited to welcome the Messiah upon his arrival to the Holy Land. It can be seen through the 17th century’s tragic episode of the selfproclaimed king of the Jews and Messiah Sabbatai Zevi, who converted to Islam and brought mass suicide upon his followers. It can be observed in the16th century’s Joseph Caro’s practical writings of Shulhan Arukh, and the latter’s attempt to assist the people of Israel in their search for redemption and unity, as well as in the 12th century’s works of Moses Maimonides who attempted to unite the Eros of healing with the Eros of learning. Philosophically, furthermore, the great Jewish hope for unity can be seen in the 17th century philosopher Baruch Spinoza’s Pantheism in which all divisions and modes of existence are unified within the reality of the one being. Even more, we can locate the search and hope for unification in the 18th century mystical Hassidic movement of Eastern Europe with its kabalistic conception of the Shekinah (the feminine Presence of God) under which all divisions, and broken relations, are unified. Martin Buber’s dialogical philosophy celebrated this mystical tradition and its notion of divinity as a “living centre.” We can observe the Jewish notion of hope in 19th century’s work and personality of Moses Mendelssohn who attempted to make consistent the values of the European Enlightenment with Jewish faith and hope, i.e., between the Law of Reason and Law of Revelation. His translation of the Bible into German, furthermore, allowed the Jewish conception of hope to become part of humanity’s hope in general. Karl Marx, albeit removed from Judaism, is another child of Israel who expressed in his work the essence of Jewish hope for ultimate unity. What Marx located in the process of history was an inevitable moral development that culminates with a social utopia not unlike the one expressed in the messianic hopes of the Jewish people. In the depth of Marx’s Communism we can easily observe the deep and inherent spirit of Judaism seeking to overcome the alienation caused by all social, religious, political, cultural, and intellectual divisions, and returning human existence to what it used to be, i.e., a state of perfect relations. Marx’s rejection of Judaism as an institutional religion (cf. The Jewish Question) does not necessarily contradict his overall expression of Jewish hope in the unity of all existence. Lastly, using the 19th century’s language of political rights and their consistency with divine revelation, Moses Hess expressed the historical

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______________________________________________________________ Jewish hope for unification by calling on the return of the children of Israel to their promised land. In his writings he expressed the everlasting longing of the Jewish people for political justice which, under his vision of Judaism, was granted to all through divine revelation.8 Hess’ writings and period further brought another Jewish expression of hope in the form of Theodor Herzl and contemporary political Zionism. Here too, however, the messianic hope for unity was not lost in the early secular and socialistic days of the state. Soon after the 1967 Six-Day War in which vast areas of religious significance fell into Israeli hand, Gosh Emonim (Faithful Block), a new political and messianic movement surfaced in Israel. Their messianic platform, to the dismay of many Israelis, is insensitive to political and historical constrains, and continuously threatens possible compromise and peace with the Palestinians and the Arab world. To recapture our discussion so far we may say that, the Jewish concept of hope originated as a result of the covenant between divinity and human. The covenant captured the agreement between two moral personalities or agencies with the common goal of establishing God’s kingdom on earth, understood morally and ethically. It is in this sense, I suggest, that those who internalized Jewish hope believe or feel that they are God’s helpers in the continuous work of creation. As we observed above, such hope in God’s way and vision was expressed countless times by the children of Israel; from the Stoic’s philosophy of piety and insistence on the natural right of man, through Jesus’ call on his followers to establish God’s kingdom on earth in which individuals treat each other as “brothers and sisters”, and the ethical vision of Karl Marx, and finally culminating in the form of Cultural Zionism. Looked at empirically and logically, however, while the Jews carried their part of the original covenant with an extraordinary amount of success and dedication, God’s part in the covenant can be questioned. Time and again, Jewish faith and hope were challenged by physical and mental inflictions that appear to question God’s responsibility, and/or ability, to fulfil his part of the covenant. The Nazi Holocaust, however, seems to have been the death nail in this long history of Jewish hope. This event has challenged Jewish faith and hopes as no other misfortune before. For many Jews it was the death of the hope in humanity. Many Jews hold, as Elie Wiesel so brilliantly expressed their sentiment that, “not only men died in Auschwitz but the idea of man died as well.” After the Holocaust, wrote Eugene Borowitz, It was no longer possible to make the goodness of man the cornerstone of Jewish faith. Yet who could see God acting in this horror-filled history? That is not because it was traumatic. The Jewish people had been able to see God in

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______________________________________________________________ disaster before. The prophetic interpretation of the Biblical catastrophes had long since set the standard that the Jews utilised to explain disasters as substantial as the destruction of the Second Temple, the defeat of Bar-Cochba, the expulsion from Spain, the rampage of Chmielnick. None has caused a break with the Jewish tradition of hope, though it had often been reinterpreted. Now, however, the social suffering was too great to be seen as any sort of divine punishment or instruction.9 Even more, Any God who could permit the Holocaust, who could remain silent during it, who could “hide His face” while it dragged on, was not worth believing in. There might be a limit to how much we could understand about Him, but Auschwitz demanded an unreasonable suspension of understanding. In the face of such great evil, God, the Good and powerful, was too inexplicable, so men said, “God is Dead.”10 However, a Jewish ‘Death of God’ theology, Borowitz correctly points out is a contradiction in terms. “By what right”, he asks, “are we disgusted; nauseated, overwhelmed, and outraged, at what took place to the innocent if it was only an honest reflection of reality and not an intolerable violation of a standard of right inherent in the universe itself?”11 However, one reaction to God’s death after the Holocaust came in the form of a nationalistic and socialistic political state that, it is clear today, continuous to challenge the very foundations of traditional Judaism and its concept of hope. Secular Zionism rejected faith in God and the hope in a miracle of non-historical nature. Nor was their hope in the ultimate goodness of human nature, or its ability, to overcome evil through reason and education. Together with Herzl they held anti-Semitism cannot be overcome, eliminated, or its cause eradicated. They put their trust in real politik and in the conviction that without power there can be no dignity. Empirically, the Jews of Israel have done better than their previous European ancestors of whom two-third have been murdered between the years 1930 to 1945. In the past sixty-four years since its establishment, only 21,000 Israeli Jews have been killed or murdered by non-Jews. However, the Israeli-Jewish community is at the moment a relatively small community. The majority of world Jewry continues to live in the Diaspora and maintain a generally traditional faith and hope in God and in the original covenant. Like Layzer in the old Jewish tale above, faithful

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______________________________________________________________ Jews outside of Israel prefer to hold to the universal hope of Judaism rather than to its concrete realisation. The sadness, with which some Jewish communities received the news about the creation of the State of Israel, is analogues to the sadness expressed by the Alyzer above. What would religious Jews hope for after their people have achieved personal and collective freedoms in the land God promised them? However, a critical voice within modern Zionism, that of Martin Buber and Cultural Zionism, warned against forfeiting this historical moment. The Jewish people, Buber argued, are both a nation and a community of faith with a bestowed, as well as freely accepted, historical and universal charge. As a nation, Israel has the same rights and obligations as any other nation. But as a community of faith, it must act in accordance with what he called the Spirit of Israel. ...what it (the spirit) does have to tell us, and what no other voice in the world can teach us with such simple power, is that there is truth and that there are lies, and that human life cannot persist or have meaning save in the decision in behalf of truth and against lies.12 On the one hand, it doesn’t take a serious argument to show that the hostile and homicidal environment still facing secular Zionism, cannot lend itself to a life within the historical spirit of Israel. Continuous challenges to the very existence of the Israeli-Jewish community inevitably “corrupt” the local, and sometimes the collective, Jewish soul. The ongoing need to engage in killings, even for justified self-defence, has created deep wounds in the Israeli moral character. As Golda Maier, the late Prime Minister of Israel once noted: “We will always be able to forgive the Arabs for killing our children, but we will never forgive them for forcing our children to kill theirs.” As Jean-Paul Sartre correctly observed after the Holocaust, the Jew can only be understood as a product of a situation created by others.13 A genuine Jewish character, therefore, could not have been established for nearly 2000 years since the Jews were always in a situation not of their making. The same, I strongly suggest, is true in the case of the Jewish State. Secular and political Zionism is an understandable and logical response to the situation the Jew found herself after the events of the 19th and 20th centuries. This sentiment is clearly expressed through the Zionists’ national anthem that, not surprisingly, was entitled The Hope. As long as deep in the heart, The soul of a Jew yearns, And forward to the East, To Zion, an eye looks,

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______________________________________________________________ Our hope will not be lost, The hope of two thousand years, To be a free nation in our land, The land of Zion and Jerusalem. It should be noted that the hope expressed in the national anthem is not the traditional and messianic Jewish hope for universal unification. The hope expressed is for personal and national rights and freedoms that were lost after the exile by the Romans in the year 70 A.D., and the loss of political sovereignty. Again, however, Martin Buber challenged this understanding of political Zionism and insisted that Israel, first and foremost, constitutes a community of faith. As such, the fundamental attitude of the state must be that which is embodied in the idea of the Yihud (unification), or as Buber so profoundly put it: “the unity of the divine in the manifold nature of its manifestation.” Buber made it clear that he has, ...accepted as mine the State of Israel, the form of the new Jewish Community that has arisen from the war. I have nothing in common with those Jews who imagine that they may contest the factual shape which Jewish independence has taken. The command to serve the spirit is to be fulfilled by us today in this state, starting from it. But he who will truly serve the spirit must seek to make good all that was once missed; he must seek to free once again the blocked path to an understanding with the Arab people.14 Despite Buber’s resistance to the creation of a political Jewish State, he hoped that in its political form she can still serve the spirit. For Buber it was the historical commitment of the Jewish people, and therefore of Zionism, to bring God’s lived Presence back to the world. For Zionism to be a genuine Jewish movement, he insisted, it must always be constrained by the humanistic hope that is inherent in the historical covenant. Yet, it should be pointed out that to ask a nation, recently established by the victims of the Holocaust, to be strictly constrained by religious and pacifistic commitments is to exhibit a profound lack of understanding regarding the nature of concrete political reality. Many will argue that if Zionism didn’t turn to the use of force in establishing the goal of independence, it is doubtful whether Buber and Cultural Zionism would have succeeded in establishing a centre for the revival of the Jewish spirit in Palestine. Indeed, Buber was accused by many of being unrealistic and suffering from serious “leaps of judgements”.

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______________________________________________________________ Finally, the contemporary Jew is faced with the following dilemma: She can either choose to live a normal political, secular, and public existence in Israel. Here the collective attitude may no longer be based on a messianic hope, but merely on ordinary relines on force, real politik, scientific predictability, and economical development. Or, she can join the majority of world Jewry who still put their faith in the original covenant and hope for universal redemption and unity. More plainly, she can wilfully choose to live the ideational life of an enchanted universe based on questionable religious metaphysics which stand in total opposition to reason and science; or a disenchanted universe of multiplicities and diversities with no hope for ultimate unity or redemption. As for myself, with the contemporary wave of global anti-Semitism in which traditional hatred is passed-on as legitimate criticism of Israel and Zionism, I would caution against a collective or personal reliance on a hope in a trans-empirical partner. As history taught us, this trans-empirical partner sometimes forgets to lift us out of the ordinary process of history. Together with the American pragmatists, furthermore, I will choose self-reliance since, as Emerson remind us, “For the true scholar, action is always prior to intellect.”15 Yet, the traditional Jewish hope in Yihud is still, and always will be, a worthwhile ideal to motivate our moral life. As for those who constitute the situation that defines the Jew, Sartre correctly cautions that, “as long as the Jews fear for their lives, no one among us will be free.”16 Like Plato, Sartre identifies lack of freedom and hope with a sick soul and immorality, and freedom and hope with health and morality.

Notes 1

A Peisen, “The Last Hope”, quoted in Nathan Ausubel, A Treasury of Jewish Humour (ed.), Galahad Books, New York, 1993, pp. 40-42. 2 Exodus, 19:5. 3 E B Borowitz correctly writes that: “The major Hebrew term for ‘hope’, kv-h, means in the Bible not just a state of soul but an expectation in time. The dictionaries often give its meaning as ‘to wait for.’ Hope in God is the trust a man has, in his present distress that God will soon act to bring him relief. That temporal sense of hope is reinforced by the frequent parallelism of terms from the root k-v-h with those from y-h-l, which far more specifically means ‘to wait’ or ‘to look for.’ Another root similarly but less frequently used in these contexts, h-k-h, even more concretely denotes temporal expectation.” E B Borowitz, How can a Jew Speak of Faith Today, The Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1980, p. 41. 4 Isaiah, 2:4. 5 Zachariah, 4:6; 9:10 6 L Baeck, This People: Israel, UAHC, New York, 1964, p. 291.

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J HHH Hertz, The Authorized Daily Prayer Book, (ed.), Jewish Press, New York, 1952, p. 106. 8 M Hess, Rome and Jerusalem, Philosophical Library, New York, 1958. 9 Borowitz, op. cit., pp. 51-52. 10 E B Borowitz, The Mask Jews Wear, Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1973, p. 199. 11 Borowitz, 1980, p. 53. 12 M Buber, The Writings of Martin Buber, Meridian Books, New York, 1956, p. 294. 13 J P Sartre, Anti-Semite and Jew, Schocken Books, New York, 1965, p. 59. 14 Martin Buber in a speech to the American Friends of Yihud in 1958, quoted in M Friedman, Martin Buber’s Life and Work: The Later years 19451965, Wayne State University Press, Detroit, 1983, p. 334. 15 R W Emerson, “The American Scholar”, quoted in S E Whicher, (ed.) Selections from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, 1960, p. 70. 16 Sartre, op. cit., p. 88.

Bibliography Ausubel, N., (ed.) A Treasury of Jewish Humour. Galahad Books, New York, 1993. Baeck, L., This People: The Meaning of Jewish Existence. UAHC Press, New York, 1964. Bible, The Jerusalem. Koren Publishers, Jerusalem, 1984. Borowitz, E. B., How Can a Jew Speak of Faith Today. The Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1980. -----, The Mask Jews Wear. Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1973. Herberg, W., (ed.) The Writings of Martin Buber. Meridian Books, New York,1956. Hertz, J.H., (ed.) The Authorized Daily Prayer Book Jewish Press, New York, 1955. Hess, M., Rome and Jerusalem. Philosophical Library, New York,1958. Sartre, J.P., Anti-Semite and Jew. Schocken Books, New York, 1965.

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______________________________________________________________ Whicher, S.E., (ed.) Selections from Ralph Waldo Emerson. Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, 1960.

Hope in the Age of Genetics: Coping with Genetic Susceptibility for Cancer Daphna Birenbaum-Carmeli Abstract In the mid 1990s, scientists found that mutations in the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes increased carriers' risk to develop breast or ovarian cancer to a level of 50-80 per cent for the former and 25-40 per cent for the latter. These figures are particularly important in Israel, owing to the distinctive distribution of mutations among Jewish women: First, in the Jewish population, three specific mutations comprise the great majority of deleterious mutations. Second, mutation prevalence is substantially higher than in non-Jewish populations, reaching 2.5 per cent of Jewish women of Ashkenazi (European) descent. Consequently, 12-25 per cent of Jewish Ashkenazi breast cancer patients in Israel are carriers of a BRCA mutation, as well as about 40 per cent of Ashkenazi ovarian cancer patients. Testing for mutations is available and straightforward (by means of blood test.) For Jewish women it is also inexpensive, because only three mutations need to be searched. In Israel, testing is state funded for cancer patients, as well as for their relatives. Women who are found to carry a mutation are offered various risk-reducing measures, primarily intensive surveillance, but also experimental chemoprevention and prophylactic surgery (namely, removal of the ovaries and/or breasts.) My paper reflects on the issue of hope as present in the personal accounts of women with family history of cancer, who had been diagnosed with BRCA mutations. Assuming that testing for genetic predispositions for multi-factorial, late onset diseases is likely to become increasingly common in the future, the ways in which women construct hopefulness, how they sustain and incorporate the notion into their personal bio-narratives, may be instructive at both the practical, as well as the epistemological level of contemporary existence. Key Words: breast cancer, culture, family genetics, hope Jewish, Israel ovarian cancer, optimism. ***** 1. In the mid 1990s, scientists discovered that mutations in the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes significantly increased the carrier's risk for developing breast or ovarian cancer. Women who carry any of these mutations have a lifetime risk of 50-80 per cent for breast cancer and 25-40

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______________________________________________________________ per cent for ovarian cancer1. This means that while they are not bound to develop a disease, women who carry a mutation are much more likely to become ill than women who don't. This understanding is of particular significance in Israel, owing to two characteristics of mutation distribution among Jewish women. First, whereas in general, BRCA genes can be mutated in hundreds of ways, in the Jewish population, three specific mutations comprise the great majority of deleterious mutations; i.e., if none of these three mutations is found, then it is highly unlikely that a different mutation will be identified2. Second, mutation prevalence is substantially higher than in non-Jewish populations, reaching about 2.5 per cent of Jewish women of European descent3. These figures translate into a high incidence of carriers among Israeli patients: 12 - 25 per cent of Ashkenazi breast cancer patients and 40 per cent of Ashkenazi ovarian cancer patients4. Testing for BRCA is available by means of blood test. For Jewish women it is also inexpensive, owing to the small number of mutations that need to be searched. In Israel, women with family history of cancer are entitled to state-funded testing. If found positive, the woman is offered various risk reducing measures, primarily surveillance (by clinical examination and mammography), but also experimental chemoprevention and prophylactic surgery (i.e., removal of the ovaries and/or breasts.) My paper looks at the personal accounts of two healthy women with family history of breast and ovarian cancer and a positive BRCA diagnosis. Their outlook on life, as conveyed through their accounts and practices, is the basis for some thoughts on the meaning of hope in situations of health risk and uncertainty. Such situations, so I believe, may become increasingly common, when more and more people will learn that they carry a genetic pattern that predisposes them to a late onset disease. Hope is pertinent to this life situation. In some studies on states of health uncertainty, hopefulness was taken as virtually synonymous with optimism, and both were found to have a positive impact on clinical outcome5. At the mental level, these outlooks on life were associated with a better quality of life. In the particular case of BRCA mutations, the mental health of unaffected carriers was found to be inferior not only to that of noncarriers, but also to that of breast cancer patients6. With this background in mind, I now turn to present excerpts from the accounts of the two women. The women share some general social characteristics: both are native Israelis, Jewish but secular. Both are of Ashkenazi (European) descent and have lost some relatives in WWII. Personally, they have both lived through the regional wars. Both women are married and have children, and both have post-secondary education. Interviews were carried out in the women's homes in 2001. Nora was 57 when we interviewed her. She was married, the mother of a grownup son and

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______________________________________________________________ daughter, and grandmother of four grandchildren. Nora's mother, aunt and grandmother have all had breast cancer. Her sister, who was unaffected, had been diagnosed as a BRCA carrier. Nora's niece, 36, also carried the mutation, as did Nora. Nora's 30 year old daughter, mother of a young child and expecting her second one, had not been tested, although she did go for regular check-ups. Formerly a special needs teacher, Nora had retired seven years earlier, at age 50, two years prior to her diagnosis. Nora declared herself 'an optimist'. In the BRCA context, this self-perception has probably underpinned her proactive approach to risk management: Nora went regularly to clinical examinations and mammography. When her HMO refused to fund an annual mammography, she moved to a different one, which did offer the service. Nora also took the more drastic measure of prophylactic ovarian removal. Here, again, she was highly entrepreneurial: she set out to explore existing surgical options, until she eventually found out about the - then novel - laparoscopic method, to which she attributed her subsequent easy recovery. This unwavering vigilance further augmented her optimism: I do all I can to prevent cancer: check-ups, had my ovaries removed. So I fulfilled my part. So if [the doctor] does [find a lump], it will be early enough, I hope… I'll go on living a few more good years! No hysteria. If we have to cope with something - we will. But no need to tie the carriage before the horses. Nora thus construed her adherence to medical recommendations namely, her agency - as a basis for a hopeful outlook. Moreover, her sense of rational/moral deservedness seemed to allow Nora to contain and enclose the issue of her health. Thus, talking about her ovary removal, Nora belittled its impact to the point of dismissal: At 52, I had no intention to bear any more children! And my quality of life? Some hot flushes, but nothing serious. At most, I am suddenly too hot at night. So I take off the blanket. But I can't say I'm suffering, that it damages my quality of life. In fact, I feel better today, and enjoy life more than I did at 30! Much more! Why? Because I am my own master. Nobody tells me what to do. I come and I go just as I please. Besides the marginalisation of health issues, Nora's depiction also revealed the importance she attributed to controlling her life, which seemed

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______________________________________________________________ vital to her ability to project a favourable future. A central manifestation of this conviction was her pronounced passion to living life to the fullest: Do you know what I've said to my husband? If I die, write on my tomb: here lies a woman who was happy to the end of her life. That's it. I am happy and have no problem, and it doesn't shadow my life. See, I don't live in fears. I am a healthy woman. No need to make a sick woman out of me, when I am not. What's the point? To sit and grumble: 'oh, my goodness, I'm gonna be sick, I'll develop this and that'. I'll tell you the truth - it scares me much more to get Alzheimer, way more than having cancer. Why? Because you lose control and this is the thing that scares me the most. Cancer, if I am sick and there's no cure, I can take pills and finish it off. See, I am not a coward, so I'm saying, I live well as long as I can, and that's it! I spend a lot of time with my grandchildren. I love to dance and to eat well and go out and travel. That's why I like the French term: bon vivant, people who are passionate about life. They know how to live! So we [she and her husband] go to the small [French] villages, walk into a restaurant at 7, and out at 10 o'clock. Everything is slow, comme-il-faut, they get you a bottle of wine, then at the end, some cheese, a nice desert. It's an event. So when we are in France, our only problem is which restaurant to choose. As I've said, when I was young, I did not enjoy life as much. These are the best years of my life. Nora, then, regarded joy of life and a belief in a good - or at least manageable - future, as inherent to her personality, as her way of being in the world, as given. Nevertheless, she also took active steps and adhered to all recommended measures in order to curb her cancer risk. Her positive view of the future - which contained many elements commonly regarded as signs of hopefulness: enthusiasm, enjoyment, controlling her life, acknowledging that there is a future - could thus be viewed as both consequential to her general upbeat perspective on life, as well as a product of her agency. Ann was different. 30 years old, married and mother of a young girl, Ann described her life with BRCA as steeped with anxiety. When Ann was 15, her mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She had been operated on and recovered. Five years later, when Ann was 20, and about to complete her military service, her mother developed breast cancer. Again, she was treated successfully. Eight years later, at 64, her mother was operated on for a tumour in her hip, which left her with a limp. A malignant tumour was later

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______________________________________________________________ removed from her leg. Ann’s mother is now well and active. Ann's aunt had had breast cancer at 51. Two years later she developed a brain tumour, and died. Ann's grandmother had had leukaemia, but lived to 88 and died of a heart condition. At the age of 29, Ann, working as an insurance agent, tested positive for BRCA. A main focus of Ann's worries was her daughter, Lee. Ann's depiction of a recent period, when she had suffered from severe anxiety, revealed a fear of parental inadequacy: I felt I was harming her because I had no patience. When I was anxious, I only wanted her to sleep. I'd put her to bed at 7 o'clock, hoping she'd fall asleep. When the anxiety took a hold of me… it was like vampires, when it became dark, I started to feel the pressure building up, I couldn't look after her. I just waited for her to fall asleep. Ann also doubted her ability to protect Lee's physical well-being: I always worry. If she has fever, I see the worst right away. When she was little, she used to have pain in her mouth whenever she had fever. I would go to the doctors and insist that they checked her, that she didn't make it up. I always had this fear that eventually they'd find out it was cancer. Ann's general outlook onto the future was as anguished and focused, again, on her daughter: My greatest fear is that I won't be around to see her grow; that she'll need me but no one will be there to look after her. I find myself sitting beside her bed, at night, stroking her face and hair, talking to myself out loud, saying how I wish to see her grow. Sometimes I look at her and pray that she'll have nothing, that nothing bad would ever happen to her. As if I am no longer here, envisioning the worst possible things. Yet, in spite of her fears, or maybe because of them, Ann tried to cultivate a more positive perspective on her situation: My cousin said to me that I could view the diagnosis as a source of power. She said: 'it's having the strength to know, to listen to your body. Because this finding hovers above

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______________________________________________________________ your head, you check-up more often, so even if they do find something, it will be early and this gives you a power that other women do not possess'. So I said to myself that this was true optimistic thinking. Ann also assumed a proactive approach to risk management. Similar to her unrelenting alertness regarding her daughter's health, she was vigilant about monitoring her own body by maintaining the prescribed screening routines. She also planned to obtain supplementary health insurance as soon as she could afford it (She did not, however, modify her diet nor introduced sport into her life routine).Generally, Ann seemed to make a conscious effort to counterweight her anxiety. Adopting her cousin's empowering view of her own situation, assuming responsibility for her daughter's health and for her own, could be seen within this framework as aiming to construct/restore a sense of control over her life, which could translate into an ability to envision a more hopeful future. Discussion On the basis of my preliminary exploration I wish to suggest a provisional characterisation of hopefulness by means of comparative reference. First, hope vs. anxiety. As emerging from Nora and Ann's accounts, hopefulness is not a constant mindset. Rather, both women described a dialectical dynamic, wherein hope was enmeshed with anxiety (as noted in other studies)7. While Ann was more explicit regarding her fears of inadequate functioning or imminent demise, Nora, too, envisioned her end through cancer. However, alongside such bleak scenarios, both women were vigilant about their health, and also demonstrated keen involvement in life by maintaining meaningful relationships, planning to bear more children (Ann), by enjoying immediate pleasures, all of which are commonly considered in the literature as indications of hopefulness. My second reference is to optimism, often used as synonymous with hopefulness. I'll start with looking at Nora's account. For Nora, viewing the future favourably, as a continuation of an essentially positive present, was so she said - a general life perspective. Within this perspective, she could marginalise her cancer risk almost as a 'gut reaction'. Still, being fully aware of her risk, she proactively tried to reduce it, thus restoring her initial optimism. Now, looking at Ann, whose 'baseline' was that of horror, for her, envisioning a positive future required a more conscious effort, like importing her cousin's words in order to produce a more favourable interpretation of her circumstances. Drawing upon these two illustrations, I would suggest, very cautiously, that optimism could possibly be characterised as a positive future outlook that one experiences as being carried 'within' oneself, as a personality trait. Hopefulness, on the other hand, would then represent a more active endeavour, carried out against a background of great anxiety. As such,

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______________________________________________________________ hopefulness would entail a stronger sense of construction, requiring more human agency, aiming to countervail an essentially bleak vision of the future. (The linguistic distinction between 'being an optimist' and 'having a hope' may be instructive here.) Viewed within a broader cultural political context, we may mention Christopher Lasch's contention that only a recognition of human limits, of human vulnerability and finiteness, can furnish the basis for 'a generous and decent hope' (as opposed to what he viewed as unbounded American optimism which he criticised as an arrogant self-deception in denial of death8.) This last vein of thought could possibly be summarised in the following table: 'Given' 'Accomplished' Control Optimism Hopefulness Lack of Control Pessimism Despair? Looking at the more immediate context of Ann and Nora's lives, I will briefly consider the Jewish Israeli context of their accounts. Viewing oneself as the subject to impending existential threat has long been an element of Jewish self-imagery. In public discourses in Israel, this concern has been supplemented with an ethos of persistence and endurance. Most commonly, this ethos is applied to issues of community survival9. However, here, in the women's accounts, one can hear its echoes at the individual level, disguised as the ability to maintain a hopeful outlook in the face of personal misfortune. In other words, in the Jewish Israeli context, the women's hopefulness also reproduced a broader ethos according to which threat and trouble were inescapable, but also inseparable from hope. And again, hope appears here against a background of difficulty, as a product of intended effort. Moreover, in a country whose national anthem is entitled Hatikvah, The Hope, the ability to hope could be experienced by some as almost imperative. In this more political context, it becomes more significant that neither Ann nor Nora (or in fact, any woman we had interviewed) had turned to community-oriented activity to relieve their concern. Rather, without exception, women have invested their time and energy in their family and relatives (maybe another Jewish characteristic), occasionally in friends, in themselves, but never in their social surrounding. To sum up, some women with BRCA mutations may actively produce hopeful attitudes to the future, which enable containment of the cancer risk in a more limited way. For them, hopes are not for promising changes of expansion. Rather, Ann and Nora's hopes were essentially for the least possible change, for current life to flow on undisturbed, as it was, turning the ordinary, the uneventful, into a central source of meaning. Phrased in Ann's words: So this week, I went to my aunt's grave. Because tomorrow I have to go to the gynaecologist. So I wanted to talk to her and tell her and ask her… as if… to be close to her. It's

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______________________________________________________________ because she was sick, and went through the illness and died, it is as if she understands me, knows what I am talking about, what I am asking of her: That if she can, that she please makes that the lump turns out to be nothing. Just nothing at all. That it will go away. That if something bad is awaiting me, say a disease, it will not be until 15 years from today, so Lee can grow up, and can take care of herself, that she'll be at an age when she does not need me, when she can look after herself; that mom will be healthy; that nothing bad should ever happen to Shai [her husband]. That's it, more or less.

Notes 1

Struewing JP, Hartge P, Wacholder S, Baker SM, Berlin M, McAdams M, Timmerman MM, Brody LC, Tucker MA. The risk of cancer associated with specific mutations of BRCA1 and BRCA2 among Ashkenazi Jews. New England Journal of Medicine. 1997 May 15;336(20):1401-8 ; Antoniou A, Pharoah PD, Narod S, Risch HA, Eyfjord JE, Hopper JL, Loman N, Olsson H, Johannsson O, Borg A, Pasini B, Radice P, Manoukian S, Eccles DM, Tang N, Olah E, Anton-Culver H, Warner E, Lubinski J, Gronwald J, Gorski B, Tulinius H, Thorlacius S, Eerola H, Nevanlinna H, Syrjakoski K, Kallioniemi OP, Thompson D, Evans C, Peto J, Lalloo F, Evans DG, Easton DF. Average risks of breast and ovarian cancer associated with BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutations detected in case Series unselected for family history: a combined analysis of 22 studies. American Journal of Human Genetics. 2003 May;72(5):1117-30 ; Satagopan JM, Boyd J, Kauff ND, Robson M, Scheuer L, Narod S, Offit K. Ovarian cancer risk in Ashkenazi Jewish carriers of BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutations. Clinical Cancer Research. 2002 Dec;8(12):3776-81. 2 Moslehi R, Chu W, Karlan B, Fishman D, Risch H, Fields A, Smotkin D, Ben-David Y, Rosenblatt J, Russo D, Schwartz P, Tung N, Warner E, Rosen B, Friedman J, Brunet JS, Narod SA. BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutation analysis of 208 Ashkenazi Jewish women with ovarian cancer. American Journal of Human Genetics. 2000 Apr;66(4):1259-72. 3 3 Struewing et al., ibid. 4 Warner E, Foulkes W, Goodwin P, Meschino W, Blondal J, Paterson C, Ozcelik H, Goss P, Allingham-Hawkins D, Hamel N, Di Prospero L, Contiga V, Serruya C, Klein M, Moslehi R, Honeyford J, Liede A, Glendon G, Brunet JS, Narod S. Prevalence and penetrance of BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene mutations in unselected Ashkenazi Jewish women with breast cancer. J Natl Cancer Inst. 1999 Jul 21;91(14):1241-7; Moslehi et al., ibid.

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______________________________________________________________ 5

David Clarke, Faith and hope, Australasian Psychiatry, 2003, 11, 2: 164. Dagan E. and Gil, S. 2004. Being a BRCA1/2 mutation carrier: Women's psychological distress of coping. Journal of Psychosocial Oncology; Dagan E. and Gil, S. ; unpublished. The psychological effect of BRCA1/2 genetic testing in Jewish Israeli women: A prospective study. 7 E.g., Jari Kylmä, Katri Vehviläinen-Julkunen,& Juhani Lähdevirta, Hope, despair and hopelessness in living with HIV/AIDS: a grounded theory study, Journal of Advanced Nursing, 2001, 33, 6: 764. 8 Elshtain, Jean Bethke, Limits and Hope: Christopher Lasch and Political Theory, Social Research, 1999, 66, 2, summer, 531-543 9 Katriel, T. & Shenhar, A. (1990) "Tower and Stockade: Dialogic Narration in Israeli Settlement Ethos. "The Quarterly Journal of Speech 76(4): 359-380. 6

Author Identification Daphna Birenbaum-Carmeli is a medical sociologist in the Department of Nursing, University of Haifa, Israel. Her work concentrates in the field of health and technology, primarily reproductive technologies and genetics. Women's health comprises a special focus within this field.

Fostering Hope in a Psychiatric Hospital Kelley A. Raab Abstract Religiousness is, by definition, hopeful. Psychiatric patients are particularly vulnerable to hopelessness, and the fact that they suffer from illnesses of the mind makes it that much more difficult to foster a hopeful mental state. Yet to be human is to be hopeful, and the task of the religious professional is to tap into that basic humanness and draw it forth. In the paper I explore Snyder’s notion that hope is a cognition in addition to being a positive emotion and its implications for those who find meaning in a religious orientation. I examine ways hopefulness can be fostered in a psychiatric institution through use of spiritual resources such as study of religious texts, prayer, and religious services. These practices, it is suggested, promote agency and goal setting, key sources of hope. Resources drawn upon include the work of theologians Capps and Moltmann and the author’s experience as a chaplain at a long-term care psychiatric facility. Key Words: Capps, chaplaincy, mental illness, Moltmann, psychiatric hospital, spirituality. ***** Religiousness is, by definition, hopeful. Psychiatric patients are particularly vulnerable to hopelessness, and the fact that they suffer from illnesses of the mind makes it that much more difficult to foster a hopeful mental state. Yet to be human is to be hopeful, and the task of the religious professional is to tap into that basic humanness and draw it forth. To date there has been relatively little study of the relationship between hope, spiritual practices, and recovery from mental illness. As a chaplain at a psychiatric hospital, the author has had opportunity to observe ways that spirituality can foster hope in the severely mentally ill. These are examined, with background material provided on the nature of hope, the importance of hope for the mentally ill, and sources of hope. Spiritual practices, it is suggested, are an important means of increasing hope for the mentally ill patient who adheres to a religious belief. Definitions of hope abound. Hope is the general tendency to construct and respond to the perceived future positively.1 Hope is not merely cognitive, but conative (i.e, an inclination to act purposefully), and therefore implicit to motivation.2 According to Miller,

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______________________________________________________________ Hope is an anticipation of a future which is good and is based upon: mutuality (relationships with others), a sense of personal competence, coping ability, psychological wellbeing, purpose and meaning in life, as well as a sense of the ‘possible.’3 For Melges, hope consists of an overall positive attitude toward the personal future, similar to optimism but entailing a more active yearning for a positive future outcome.4 Snyder and colleagues offer the following definition: “Hope is a positive motivational state that is based on an interactively derived sense of successful a) agency (goal-directed energy), and b) pathways (planning to meet goals).”5 Erikson posits that hope is the first, most basic, and yet the most lasting virtue. Moreover, hope is the ontogenetic basis of faith. What begins as hope in the individual infant is in its mature form, faith.6 For theologian Jürgen Moltmann, humans are creatures of hope, looking beyond the present and into the future. There is no expression of life without the unconscious or conscious entrance of an intended future. Hope is a primal mode of existing, the most important constituent of human life. One hopes as long as one lives, and one lives in one’s peculiar liveliness as long as one hopes.7 Thus, hope is central to what it means to be human. While Capps suggests that hope arises out of a sense of deprivation,8 perhaps this is too narrow a view. Hope, it would seem, arises whenever one looks to the future and envisions something in it that is of value. This fundamental mark of humanness - looking to the future - is also a characteristic of psychological health. Many studies correlate mental illness with low hope. Loss of hope, for example, has been shown to predict suicide as or more powerfully than depressive disorder.9 The principal feature of the syndrome of institutionalisation is hopelessness.10 Persons who evidence extreme reality distortions, i.e., delusions, are very low in hope, and their illusions interfere with the attainment of desired goals. This can be the case with schizophrenia, delusional disorder, mood disorders with psychotic features, etc.11 Moreover, increased hope is considered necessary for healing from mental illness. Psychotherapies “work” fundamentally by increasing hope.12 Hope, for example, is central to the process of reconstruction of a sense of self in patients with chronic mental illness.13 Shorey and colleagues note: “Hope provides the belief that positive outcomes are possible and thus engenders a sense of personal empowerment as clients come to see that they can make positive change in their lives.”14 Patients speak most often of accepting their illness, maintaining a hopeful attitude, and having the right kind of support as the most important factors in their recovery.15

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______________________________________________________________ How can one foster hope? The literature suggests that promoting agency or self-motivation and goal-setting are key components. Landeen and colleagues interviewed 15 mental health professionals representing a variety of disciplines concerning ways they instilled hope in their patients. Responses included: believing in the patient; assisting the patient with meeting goals; in particular setting small achievable goals; and persevering with the patient despite obstacles.16 Averill, Catlin, and Chon propose two rules of hope: being realistically achievable and accompanied by a willingness to take action to achieve the hoped for goals.17 Melges proposes “self-futuring”, a therapeutic process of bringing the future into the psychological present in order to choose and clarify realistic personal goals.18 In other words, patients need to become more self-directed towards future goals. Nunn notes that the role of hope is evident in treatments which promote mastery, provide meaning, reduce anticipated isolation or alienation, and all therapies that increase one’s sense of dignity and self-worth to face the future positively.19 Snyder’s hope theory puts emphasis on agency, goals, and pathways. Hope theory is concerned with people attaching themselves to desired positive outcomes vs. distancing themselves from negative outcomes.20 Agency thought - the perceived capacity to use one’s pathways to reach desired goals - is the motivational component in hope theory.21 Hopeful thinking requires both pathways and agency thought; the two feed each other. For Snyder, most people lack hope because they were not taught to think in this manner, or circumstances intervened during their childhoods to destroy such hopeful thought. He discusses several ways for promoting hope agency: helping the individual to recall past successes, reconceptualise goals as challenges rather than threats, prioritise goals, and engage in energypromoting activities, such as physical exercise. Snyder also proposes a correlation between hope and meaning.22 Thus, it would seem that there are many available sources of hope. Keeping an eye on the future is key, as is self-motivation to work towards a future goal. Also important is finding meaning in one’s current situation. Frankl notes three primary ways to discover meaning in life: one’s contribution to the world, one’s experiences of values (such as love), and the attitude one takes toward unavoidable suffering.23 The severely mentally ill patient is familiar with suffering, but he/she may not have found meaning in it. Spiritual practices can assist with this endeavour. It should be pointed out, however, that finding meaning does not mean justifying suffering (i.e., there is a reason for everything; God wants me to suffer), but rather finding a way to accept and learn from it. In addition, spiritual practices, such as pastoral counselling, prayer, and religious services, can aid in setting future goals and in motivating individuals to work towards them. Religiousness is closely correlated with meaning. While not everyone looks to religion for meaning, many in North America do. It is for

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______________________________________________________________ those who find meaning in religion that spiritual practices can increase hope. J.S. Mill maintained that the fundamental question in religion is not, “What is it legitimate to believe?” but, “What is it legitimate to hope?”24 Hope is a central feature of Jewish and Christian doctrine.25 In both the New Testament and Hebrew Bibles, hope is centred on God and God’s word. Moltmann has articulated that hope is a primal mode of existing. Christian hope is grounded in faith, a theology growing out of hope in God. Its basis lies in the promise of the coming of God, incarnated in the promissory history of Israel and in the promissory history of Jesus of Nazareth.26 For Capps, the pastor (or religious professional) is an agent of hope - to offer hope is central to what pastors do. Pastors help individuals reframe problems and difficulties in their lives, placing issues within a new perceptual framework, i.e., they help them find meaning. Images of hope are based on our felt sense that God is “within” us and therefore always present. Hope, suggests Capps, is threatened by contrary attitudes to which all persons are susceptible: despair, apathy, and shame. Yet struggle against one of these attitudes can be the means by which hope is enabled to grow and mature. Trust is the necessary condition for hope - hope is based on the assurance that a certain reciprocity exists between ourselves and the world. For Capps, God is the original and eternally hopeful Self, providing an example for individuals to hope.27 Connecting with God, the cosmos, or the community in any spiritual tradition can increase hope. Snyder, for example, indicates that among religious individuals higher hope is related to prayer. Prayer is a means of increasing one’s mental energy or willpower, potentially through a “recharging” of the mind and body. Meditation also accomplishes this, for in praying or meditating one shuts off the draining processes associated with thinking about daily stressors.28 Moreover, positive cognitive self-talk has been shown to increase energy levels and mood.29 Cheavens points out that it is important to encourage clients to speak to themselves in a positive manner to increase agency and hope. A phrase like “God loves me” can accomplish this goal, as can worship focused on affirming the value of each individual. As hope begins to increase, clients likely will begin to replace typical negative self-statements with positive ones.30 Despite the above indications, little data exists concerning the relationship between spiritual practices and increased hope. To date, for example, no study has examined whether high-hope persons are more religious.31 In the next section, observations are made from weekly church services and sacred text study group to suggest a correlation between religious involvement and increased hope. The following specific foci are examined: promoting connection with something greater than the individual, a promise of support by divinity and community, affirming the inherent worth of each individual and his/her gifts, reframing obstacles as challenges that can be overcome, and looking to the future rather than the past. These

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______________________________________________________________ foci, it is suggested, promote both agency and goal setting, key sources of hope. As a chaplain, I hold weekly religious services at the long-term care facility. These are attended by 15-20 individuals, and attendance is entirely voluntary. Often one of the residents assists with set-up and clean-up. This in itself fosters hope, because it makes the resident feel useful (He received a volunteer award for his assistance with church). Several aspects of the service seem meaningful for residents. One is reading scripture passages. Likely it is not the passages, per se, that are meaningful, but the fact that residents read them. Similar to assisting with set-up and clean-up, this activity gives purpose for those who read. Singing comprises a large portion of the service. Residents choose hymns from a songbook, and a volunteer plays the tune for them on the piano. The very act of singing is hopeful, for, as stated previously, images of hope involve movement, are kinetic.32 Moreover, the tunes of the songs are peppy and the words hopeful - replete with ways that God has and will continue to keep promises. “Amazing Grace” is a favourite hymn, as is “Morning Has Broken.” Once, in the middle of the message, one of the residents raised her hand and asked, “When is the next song?” For her, the singing was the message. Similarly, William Styron writes of an occasion late one evening when he felt he could not go on, but then he heard Brahms’ Alto Rhapsody: “This sound, which like all music - indeed, like all pleasure - I had been numbly unresponsive to for months, pierced my heart like a dagger, and in a flood of swift recollection I thought of all the joys the house had known ... And just as powerfully I realised I could not commit this desecration on myself.”33 The next day he arranged to be admitted to the hospital. For Styron, like the above-mentioned resident, music proved more effective than words. The worship services also include a message (or sermonette) and a prayer time. The message is focused on divine promises and God’s care for each individual, and the prayers on gratitude and individual and community well-being. A weekly study group of sacred texts (to date, Jewish and Christian) also offers a window into understanding the value of prayer and of scriptural elaboration. This small-group activity consists of a close reading of a gospel or other text, with group members taking turns reading passages. In both the worship services and the Bible study, the chaplain asks questions concerning the meaning of a passage and how it is relevant to one’s current life. Through doing so, patients are invited to come to a better understanding of their personal stories in light of Biblical tales. For example, one text read during a worship service centred around the call of Abraham in Genesis 12:14. In this passage, Abraham is asked to leave his country and go to a place he has never been. I emphasised the uncertainty Abraham must have felt in honouring this request, God’s promise to bless him, and Abraham’s trust that

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______________________________________________________________ God had his best interests in mind. Upon hearing my elaboration, one resident offered that she too had felt a great deal of uncertainty upon coming to the long-term care facility, but it had worked out very well for her. Clearly, she related to the underlying tone of the passage, one of encouragement to face an uncertain future with a hopeful attitude. Another passage read during worship, also from Genesis (18:9-15), describes how Sarah laughed when told she would bear a son, so old was she by then. In my elaboration I emphasised patience, promise, and the benefits granted even in the face of doubt. When I offered this elaboration to a group of young men during a service at the main hospital, one explained that his impatience with himself had led him to try to commit suicide. Another expressed confusion at what he would do upon leaving the hospital, because he could see himself going in many directions. The biblical Sarah’s example encouraged him to take the “long view” - i.e., perhaps it would take him a while to realise all his dreams. It should be mentioned that in working with persons with mental illnesses, problematic and difficult stories in religious texts should not be not avoided; rather, tales of violence, abuse, etc., can open dialogue with individuals regarding their own struggles with similar issues as well as beliefs concerning God’s absence or abandonment. Finally, as Snyder has indicated, higher hope among religious individuals is associated with prayer. Many patients at the hospital request prayers. They ask for prayers for self-esteem, for healing from physical ailments and bad habits (e.g, smoking), for staff and family members, for starving children in Africa, for the youth in Canada. Prayers for others are just as common as prayers for oneself. One particular woman, K, was told by a nurse that if she did not improve her behaviour she would have to leave the hospital. K at times lashes out at other residents when upset, causing bad feelings. K has nowhere to go if she leaves the hospital, and her experiences at previous institutions have not been positive. One day during sacred text study group K wanted to offer a prayer, and in her prayer she asked for help with her behaviour. It was a long and moving prayer, during which another woman, herself depressed, contributed, “God bless K.” K will lose hope if she has to leave the hospital, and prayer, study of sacred texts, and religious services help her keep focused on her goals of staying and continuing to improve both mentally and physically. On another occasion, I prayed on K’s behalf, emphasising her basic goodness and value, stressing that stealing a cigarette was out of character for her. In so doing, I attempted to assist K with self-futuring,34 prompting her to clarify the kind of individual she wants to be and to develop a clear image of herself as that person. To conclude, it has been argued that hope is evidenced in treatments which: 1) promote mastery; 2) provide meaning; 3) reduce anticipated isolation or alienation; and 4) increase one’s sense of dignity and self-worth to face the future positively.35 Spiritual practices such as religious services,

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______________________________________________________________ study of sacred texts, and pastoral counselling have the ability to accomplish these ends. Yet it might be argued that certain religious traditions particularly Judaism and Christianity - teach individuals to put their hope in an external source rather than an internal one, i.e., God vs. themselves, thus taking away from self-mastery.36 However, this view fails to take into account the complexities of religiousness within those traditions. While God is the ultimate source of hope, one’s soul is also divine. Thus, hopefulness also resides within oneself. The concept of self as potentially divine is found within both Orthodox Christianity (known as deification) and Methodism (known as sanctification). Other religious traditions, Buddhism and Hinduism in particular, also convey the notion that enlightenment or divinity is found within, not external to the self. In working with patients, the religious professional can choose to emphasise those aspects of the patient’s spiritual tradition that are self-empowering, promoting basic human goodness and the divine self within (many persons with mental illnesses already have an understanding of evil and sin). An approach centred on human depravity and an authoritarian God can take away personal agency rather than promote it. In contrast, a perspective centred on the loving, forgiving divine nature within all of us is wholesome, healing, and entertains a hopeful future.

Notes 1

K Nunn, ‘Personal Hopefulness; A Conceptual Review of the Relevance of the Perceived Future to Psychiatry’, British Journal of Medical Psychology, 69, 1996, p. 227-245. 2 W A Hershberger, Volitional action - conation and control, North-Holland, Amsterdam,1989. 3 J F Miller, Coping with Chronic Illness: Overcoming Powerlessness, 2nd ed. Davis, Philadelphia, 1992, p. 14. 4 F T Melges, Time and the Inner Future: A Temporal Approach to Psychiatric Disorders, John Wiley and Sons, New York, 1982. 5 C R Snyder, L Irving, & J R Anderson, ‘Hope and health: Measuring the will and the ways’, in Handbook of Social and Clinical Psychology: The Health Perspective, C R Snyder & D R Forsyth (eds.), Pergamon, Elmsford, NY, 1991, p. 287 6 E H Erikson, Insight and Responsibility: Lectures on the Ethical Implications of Psychoanalytic Insight, W. W. Norton, New York, 1964. 7 J Moltmann, The Experiment Hope, trans. M.D. Meeks, Fortress, Philadelphia, 1975. 8 D Capps, Agents of Hope: A Pastoral Psychology, Fortress, Minneapolis, 1995.

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J A T Dyer & N Kreitman, ‘Hopelessness, Depression and Suicidal Intent in Parasuicide’, British Journal of Psychiatry 144, 1984, pp. 127-133; R D Wetzel, ‘Hopelessness, depression and suicide intent’, Archives of General Psychiatry 33, 1976, pp. 1069-1073. 10 R Barton, Institutional Neurosis, Wright, Bristol, 1966. 11 D Czuchta & B Johnson, ‘Reconstructing a Sense of Self in Patients with Chronic Mental illness”, Perspectives in Psychiatric Care 34, 1998, pp. 3136. 12 C R Snyder et al, ‘The Roles of Hopeful Thinking in Preventing Problems and Enhancing Strengths’, Applied and Preventive Psychology 9 , 2000, pp. 249-270. 13 Czuchta and Johnson, op. cit. 14 H S Shorey et al, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow: Hope Theory Weathers Its First Decade’, Psychological Inquiry 13, 2002, p. 323. 15 A B Hatfeld & H P Lefley, Surviving Mental Illness: Stress, Coping, and Adaptation, Guilford Press, New York, 1993. 16 J Landeen et al, “Factors Influencing Staff Hopefulness in Working with People with Schizophrenia’, Issues in Mental Health Nursing 17, 1996, pp. 457-467. 17 J R Averill, G Catlin, & K K Chon, Rules of Hope, Springer, New York, 1990. 18 F T Melges, op. cit. 19 Nunn, op. cit. 20 C R Snyder, et al., op. cit. 21 C R Snyder, ‘Hope Theory: Rainbows in the Mind’, Psychological Inquiry 13, 2002, pp. 249-275. 22 C R Snyder, The Psychology of Hope: You Can Get There From Here, The Free Press, New York, 1994. 23 V Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy, trans. I. Lasch, Washington Square Press, New York, 1963. 24 J P Day, ‘Hope’, American Philosophical Quarterly 6, 1969, pp. 89-102. 25 J Moltmann, ‘Hoping and Planning: Future Anticipated Through Hope and Planned Future”, Cross Currents 18, 1968, pp. 307-318; K Menninger, ‘The Academic Lecture: Hope’, The American Journal of Psychiatry 116, 1959, pp. 481-491. 26 Moltmann, op. cit. 27 Capps, op. cit., p. 175. 28 C R Snyder, The Psychology of Hope: You Can Get There From Here, The Free Press, New York, 1994, p. 62. 29 R E Thayer, R Newman, & T M McClain, ‘Self-regulation of Mood: Strategies for Changing a Bad Mood, Raising Energy and Reducing

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______________________________________________________________ Tension’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 67, 1994, pp. 910925. 30 J Cheavens, ‘Hope and Depression: Light Through the Shadows’, in Handbook of Hope: Theory, Measures, and Applications, ed. C R Snyder Academic, San Diego, CA, 2000, pp. 321-340. 31 Snyder, op. cit. 32 Capps, op. cit. 33 W Styron, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness, Random House, New York, 1990, p. 67. 34 Melges, op. cit. 35 Nunn, op. cit. 36 J Eliott, 2005, ‘What Have We Done With Hope? A Brief History”, in Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Hope, ed. J. Eliott, Nova Science Publishers, Inc., New York, 2005, pp. 3-45.

Bibliography Averill, J.R., Catlin, G., & Chon, K.K., Rules of Hope. Springer, New York, 1990. Barton, R., Institutional Neurosis. Wright, Bristol, 1966. Bland, R., & Y. Darlington. ‘The Nature and Sources of Hope: Perspectives of Family Caregivers of People with Serious Mental Illness.” Perspectives in Psychiatric Care 38, 2002, pp. 61-68. Capps, D., Agents of Hope: A Pastoral Psychology. Fortress, Minneapolis, 1995. Cheavens, J. ‘Hope and Depression: Light Through the Shadows.” In C.R. Snyder (ed.), Handbook of Hope: Theory, Measures, and Applications, Academic, San Diego, CA, 2000, pp. 321-340. Czuchta, D., & B. Johnson. ‘Reconstructing a Sense of Self in Patients with Chronic Mental Illness.” Perspectives in Psychiatric Care 34, 1998, pp. 3136. Day, J.P., ‘Hope.’ American Philosophical Quarterly 6, 1969, pp. 89-102. Dyer, J.A.T., & N. Kreitman, ‘Hopelessness, Depression and Suicidal Intent in Parasuicide.’ British Journal of Psychiatry 144, 1984, pp. 127-133.

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______________________________________________________________ Eliott, J., “What Have We Done With Hope? A Brief History.” In Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Hope, edited by J. Eliott, Nova Science Publishers, Inc., New York, 2005, pp. 3-45. Erikson, E.H., Insight and Responsibility: Lectures on the Ethical Implications of Psychoanalytic Insight. W. W. Norton, New York, 1964. Frankl, V., Man’s Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy. Trans. I. Lasch. Washington Square Press, New York, 1963. Hatfield, A.B., & H.P. Lefley, Surviving Mental Illness: Stress, Coping, and Adaptation. Guilford Press, New York, 1993. Hershberger, W.A., Volitional Action - Conation and Control. NorthHolland, Amsterdam, 1989. Hicks, M.B., ‘A Community Sojourn from the Perspective of One Who Relapsed.’ Issues in Mental Health Nursing 10, 1989, pp. 137-147. Landeen, J., H. Kirkpatrick, H. Woodside, C. Vyrne, A. Bernardo, & J. Pawlick, ‘Factors Influencing Staff Hopefulness in Working With People with Schizophrenia.” Issues in Mental Health Nursing 17, 1996, pp. 457-467. Melges, F.T., Time and the Inner Future: A Temporal Approach to Psychiatric Disorders. John Wiley and Sons, New York, 1982. Menninger, K., ‘The Academic Lecture: Hope.’ The American Journal of Psychiatry 116, 1959, pp. 481-491. Michael, S.T., ‘Hope Conquers Fear: Overcoming Anxiety and Panic Attacks.” In Snyder, op. cit., pp. 301-319. Miller, J.F., Coping with Chronic Illness: Overcoming Powerlessness, 2nd ed. Davis, Philadelphia, 1992. Moltmann, J.,’Hoping and Planning: Future Anticipated Through Hope and Planned Future.” Cross Currents 18, 1968, pp. 307-318. Moltmann, J., The Experiment Hope, trans. M.D. Meeks. Fortress, Philadelphia, 1975. Nunn, K., ‘Personal Hopefulness; A Conceptual Review of the Relevance of

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______________________________________________________________ the Perceived Future to Psychiatry.’ British Journal of Medical Psychology, 69, 1996, pp. 227-245. Shorey, H.S., C.R. Snyder, K.L. Rand, J.R. Hockmeyer, & D.B. Feldman. ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow: Hope Theory Weathers Its First Decade.” Psychological Inquiry 13, 2002, pp. 322-331. Snyder, C.R., The Psychology of Hope: You Can Get There From Here. The Free Press, New York, 1994. -----, ‘Hope, Goal-blocking Thoughts, and Psychological Reports 84, 1999, pp, 206-208.

Test-related

Anxieties.”

-----, ‘Hope Theory: Rainbows in the Mind.’ Psychological Inquiry 13, 2002, pp. 249-275. -----, J. Cheavens, & S. T. Michael, ‘Hope Theory: History and Elaborated Model.” In Elliot, op. cit., pp. 101-118. -----, J. Cheavens, & S. Sympson, ‘Hope: An Individual Motive for Social Commerce.” Group Dynamics: Theory, Research, and Practice 1, 1997, pp. 1-12. -----, D.B. Feldman, J.D. Taylor, L.L. Schroeder, & V.H. Adams. ‘“The Roles of Hopeful Thinking in Preventing Problems and Enhancing Strengths.” Applied and Preventive Psychology 9, 2000, pp. 249-270. -----, C. Harris, J.R. Anderson, S.A. Holleran, L.M. Irving, S.T. Sigmon, L. Yoshinobu, J. Gibb, C. Langelle, & P. Harney, P., ‘The Will and the Ways: Development and Validation of an Individual Differences Measure of Hope.’ Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 60, 1991, pp. 570-585. -----, L. Irving, & J.R. Anderson. ‘Hope and Health: Measuring the Will and the Ways.” In Handbook of Social and Clinical psychology: The health perspective, edited by C.R. Snyder & D.R. Forsyth, 285-305. Elmsford, NY: Pergamon, 1991. -----, T. Tran, L.L. Schroeder, K.M. Pulvers, V. Adams III, & L. Laub. ‘Teaching the Hope Recipe: Setting Goals, Finding Pathways to those Goals, and Getting Motivated.’ Researching Today’s Youth 4, 2000, pp. 46-50.

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______________________________________________________________ Styron, W., Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness. Random House, New York, 1990. Thayer, R.E., R. Newman, & T.M. McClain. ‘Self-regulation of Mood: Strategies for Changing a Bad Mood, Raising Energy and Reducing Tension’. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 67, 1994, pp. 910925. Wetzel, R.D., ‘Hopelessness, Depression and Suicide Intent’. Archives of General Psychiatry 33, 1976, pp. 1069-1073. Wing, J.K. & G.W. Brown, Institutionalism and Schizophrenia: A Comparative Study of Three Mental Hospitals, 1960-1968. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1970.

Children’s Experiences of Family Violence in Aotearoa/New Zealand: A Manifesto for Hope Jennifer Infanti Abstract This paper is based on the author’s current doctoral fieldwork with children ages 5 to 12 years that have lived with family violence in Aotearoa/New Zealand. It begins with a brief discussion about the important role that hope plays in the stories of women and children who have lived with family violence. Next, it traces the author’s motivations for considering hope-related questions in her research. Finally, using an extended excerpt from the life story of one of the author’s research participants, the paper attempts to highlight the value of understanding hope as a social process and something we can all practice or exercise in our daily lives. Key Words: Children’s experiences, family violence, practices of hope, relational hope. ***** Introduction My first experience of anthropological fieldwork was in 2001, working for a small social work organisation in Rio de Janeiro’s favelas (urban slums). Visiting the parents of two former street children, living at that point in the organisation’s foster home, I first heard hope incorporated into narrative so poignantly that it remains etched in my memory: “Here, you have to really hope because, here, it is a very hard and rough life”, Senhor Silva1 told us, speaking about his life in the favela Morro do Fogueteiro. “There is no ‘way’ here”, he continued: 1.

Here, we are living life as is God’s will…I think the dream of everyone who lives here is to get out of here. I’m so worried about [my son] coming back and turning to his old ways that I’m capable of killing myself [from the grief of that happening]. The ideal would be to move away to a better environment, but that is very difficult. So that’s the way it is. We keep on living our lives by God’s will. It would be better to move away for the kids, but… For us, as long as we’re healthy. First comes God, then health… My dream is for them, [my children]. For us, there is no fixing. We are already like this. We are ok. We just keep going.2

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______________________________________________________________ The wellsprings of Senhor Silva’s hopes in this excerpt of our conversation lie in his children; Senhor hopes they will forge lives vastly different than his own so they can avoid his kind of suffering. Five years later, I found myself two and a half years into my doctoral research on children’s experiences of family violence in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Right from the beginning in New Zealand as well, I realised that hope and the various meanings assigned to it - not to mention the ways it is incorporated into expressions and stories of family violence - are crucial to women and children living with violence and the service-providers working with them. The attitudes of many mothers I have spoken to about the violence they have endured in their lives and relationships belie a sense of powerlessness similar to Senhor Silva’s in Brazil to significantly improve their own life circumstances. Yet they still often retain hope that their children will be able to build violence-free futures and shift the culture of abuse in their families. Occasionally, this hope is the decisive catalyst for women to leave abusive relationships. Thus I began to see how crucial hope can be at both practical and epistemological levels. With my curiosity on hope piqued at this point, I started to look at the various ways hope has been conceptualised in different academic disciplines. I looked at hope in its traditional homes - philosophy, literature, and religious studies - and also in psychology, counselling, and a growing body of research on childhood resilience more relevant to my own interests. It was when I tried to apply this reading and research to the stories of family violence I had been gathering from 5-12 year old children in New Zealand for my dissertation that I ran into troubles. I found myself ‘stretching’ my data, again and again, attempting to show the relationships between my research participant’s hopefulness (or lack of hope) and their abilities to cope with the violence and uncertainty in their lives. The results seemed circumscribed and I was certain, most of all, that I had failed to capture the realities and nuances of the children’s experiences as they had been described to me. So I decided to step back and, reflecting again on all my research data, made the decision to abandon my efforts to deal with hope academically (per se) in this paper. Rather, I want to turn again to narrative, for it is here in the stories we tell about our lives and the lives of other people - that I think hope, like all cultural knowledge, ultimately resides. I have decided to share a lengthy piece of narrative from one of my research participant’s life stories. She is a 12-year-old girl; I’ve called her Pania. Pania’s story begins with a poem I constructed based on one scene in her life, horrifyingly frightening for her at the time, but not uncommon during her first 11 years. The poem’s format is intended to breathe some life into Pania’s description of the event and convey some of the multiple and fragmentary sensations - voices, thoughts, feelings, fears, both real and

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______________________________________________________________ imagined - that are part of a witnesses’ experience of family violence. I will let Pania narrate her story for a little longer, following the poem, before turning to some reflections on how Pania’s hopeful outlook on life has affected my own philosophy of life (and hope) and compelled me to think about hope as something we can all practice in our relationships. 2. Pania’s Story Witnessing (A poem for four voices)3 Fear Moments like this I have to go in there Voices My feet move quietly Uncle and his girlfriend are here I hurry towards Mum Yelling Frozen with fear Thump Dad comes back from the kitchen Tick-tock Blurry…it’s all blurry A knife is dancing in Mum’s face now I think My brother is there too Dad is telling Mum “You are so useless”

I wake up I think “Is there no end” How can I help her There are so many voices this time Down the hall Mum is yelling at Dad

Gasping for air But Mum needs me, and I need to show her I love her It’s really late

Uncle grabs me “Get out of here” My legs feel weak

A tight grip on my arm “Stay out of this” I slide down the wall behind Mum Footsteps pound in my head A dancing knife in Dad’s hand Uncle grabs for Mum The knife points at Mum

Thump There is a knife And in just a second really Mum is between Uncle and Dad I can’t breathe My body is shaking I see small bare feet and sleepy eyes You are so useless…

The lounge is dark “Stop fighting”

Something is crushing my chest Somehow - I don’t know how Uncle leaves Now Dad is punching Mum Useless.

“Why is Daddy hurting Mummy?” I don’t remember the details because I was only about five, but I know the first time I saw my Dad punch my Mum and I remember thinking why? Why is he doing this? I remember that very clearly. It was about this time too, when I was five, that my grandmother passed away. This was a huge thing in my life, in all our lives. It really changed everything. Have you ever seen a dead person before? It’s like everyone says it is: the life had been sucked out of her. I saw her face. My grandmother’s cold dead face:

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______________________________________________________________ Cold, blank, and empty Where I am now, once was she Alive, sparkling…oomph! It was depressing. Everyone was depressed. Everyone had known my grandmother and loved and respected her. About a week after the celebration to honour her life my Mum and Dad left us with my Auntie. They went back home and we didn’t see them again for about a year. I think they stayed in touch with my family over the year, but they never spoke to us. But it was then, when my brothers and sisters and I started living with my Auntie, that I began to know who my family actually was. I guess I realised then how much family and support I had. It just showed me I had a lot of love from more people than just my Mum and Dad. For parts of my life, my Dad always seemed to hurt other people. Whenever I saw my Dad hitting my Mum I just thought how they weren’t supposed to be doing that because they loved each other. Someone I loved was always hurting someone else that I loved. One of the lowest points in my life was when my Dad beat me up. I think that really changed the way I thought about myself as a person cause I’d always gotten away with things because I was a Daddy’s girl. When he hurt me, it just made me realise that nothing was always going to go my way. I was always thinking about the good things before but I realised then that it’s not always going to be good. And I had to understand this and try to overcome it so that it wouldn’t take over me, like, as a person. And just so I could be supportive for my brothers and sisters too. They’re the ones who helped me with this really, with having a family that wasn’t perfect. I don’t think I would have been able to have dealt with anything without them. You know how people say, “I hate my brothers and sisters.” I always used to say that, like: “I hate you’s. I wish you’s had never been born.” But, I don’t think I would have been able to cope without them because they’ve always been there. Even though they’re, you know, annoying, when something bad had just happened they’d be like “Um, Pania, I’m hungry. Can you make me some toast?” or something. And even though I’d be like “Don’t you see that something’s just happened”, I’d say “Yeah, I will later” and it would just kind of put me off the whole thing. They’d always try and distract me. They were always saying: “It’s alright Pania. It’s going to be ok.” Even though I should be saying that to them. I’ve probably actually become closer to my brothers and sisters than if… I guess, when you don’t live with family violence, you live with your siblings but you do your own thing. You aren’t as close. Probably the saddest thing that’s happened in my life is being separated from my brothers and sisters. My Mum had to move away from us and we all went to live with different family members and in foster homes. It

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______________________________________________________________ was just a really big loss. You know how you spend so much time with someone and then when you’re apart you feel like you’ve lost a part of you? We’d been together forever, and then I guess Mums need to know that their children are feeling their pain. When you’re away from your brothers and sisters you realise how much you miss them. Sometimes it really gets me down. Sometimes you wish you weren’t born or you could just die or something, you know? But I would never intentionally hurt myself or anything. I don’t grieve about it all the time. I don’t really have time for that actually. And I wouldn’t change my life either. You know how people tell you that what’s happened in your life makes you who you are? My Aunties and teachers were always telling me that. I think that’s why I wouldn’t change my life - because I’m happy with the person I am. My life has made me me and if I’d grown up any other way I wouldn’t be me. I don’t want to be someone else. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not because I’m not happy with my life. And I think all the hard things in my life just make me more grateful for the good things that happen. The really important thing I’d like other kids to know - other kids that live with a lot of violence in their families too - is that no matter what happens, they always love you and they will– no, someone will always be there for you. 3.

Reflections on Pania’s Story As I drove away from the conversation with Pania where she shared these pieces of her life story with me, I was temporarily overwhelmed with guilt thinking about all the times I have lamented my own misfortunes without learning anything from them and, therefore, without growing from them or transforming my circumstances as a result of that learning either. Pania, at 12 years old, has come to terms with her family exactly the way it is, and she says, “I wouldn’t change my life…I am happy with the person it has made me.” Rather than blaming her parents, feeling resentful, or lingering on her feelings of pain, grief or anger, Pania has made conscious decisions throughout her life (since, she thinks, she was eight years old) to appreciate it just as it is - the good, the bad, and the ugly - what Jon KabatZinn calls “the full catastrophe living.”4 There is something so wise and hopeful in this life philosophy that it has the capacity, in my opinion, not just for personal healing but for social or cultural healing as well: namely, no matter how dire one’s circumstances there is always more right in our lives than there is wrong.5 Pania has been encouraged by other people in her life, especially her aunties and siblings, directly and indirectly, to make the choice to pour her energy into what is right. I decided to share Pania’s story of hope also to highlight the value of understanding hope as a social process, something we can all exercise in our

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______________________________________________________________ daily lives. My conversation with Pania was ultimately a reciprocal practice of hope, for when she read her transcribed story later, Pania told me she couldn’t believe the life on the pages was hers; that she had been through so much and coped with it all. She thanked me many times for the opportunity to share her story and for making her “feel so special” about it. By simply listening then, with my full being, Pania felt both heard and appreciated - a tiny example of how hope can be (and is) co-created. It is also illustrative of the processes by which Pania’s aunties, siblings, foster families and teachers have helped her maintain a hopeful outlook on life despite all the abandonment, uncertainty and loss she has experienced. Hope, as I see it now, clearly extends far beyond the individual. It is rooted in our social relationships - those past, and those evolving in the present moment. Like all organisms, children are immersed in social worlds from the very beginnings of their lives and they learn as they go (or grow) in constant interaction with other people and places.6 Tim Ingold puts this eloquently when he says “Life will not be contained but rather threads it way through the world along the myriad lines of its relations.”7 If one’s myriad relations are meaningful - at least some of them - and if they generate a sense of hope and point to what is right in one’s life, then I think children are more able to construct a positive sense of self; sometimes, like Pania, they even find value in otherwise devastating circumstances. More than 20 years ago, Rycroft suggested that we can “normally” expect hope to predominate in youth because, quite simply, “there is little past to look back on and a long future to look ahead to.”8 But is hope still “normally justified” if a child’s past, however short, has brought her up against potentially traumatic events or, at least, like for all my research participants in New Zealand, required her to tolerate a high degree of uncertainty and violence? Do children living with family violence share the hope that is often invested in them by their mothers, the family violence service-providers working with them, or society at large? My research suggests the answer is “not necessarily.” For every child like Pania, I have met another who is less able to distance herself from the negative events in her environment and, therefore, feels more depressed, powerless, and hopeless about her current circumstances. These children, I believe, have generally not had other people in their lives ‘skill’ them in hope as a (coping) tool or strategy for dealing with their worlds. Nor do I think it is their responsibility, as individuals - or the responsibility of any individual, whatever age - to try to be hopeful on their own. On the contrary, if we accept that hope is a product of social relationships, or as Kathy Weingarten calls it, an “emergent quality of relationships”,9 then I think we are compelled to take some responsibility, as individuals and communities, to practice hope with the people we love and the people we work or research with for that matter. We can all cultivate our

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______________________________________________________________ own practices of hope and when we consider how essential hope is to the wellbeing of young people and the worlds they inhabit (of course this means our worlds too), then, indeed, I believe we should.

Notes 1

All names have been changed to protect the identities of research participants. 2 Personal field notes, 9 May 2001. 3 Witnessing is meant to be performed by four people simultaneously. The voice that threads the piece together reads horizontally across the three columns. Each of the three vertical columns, however, form stand-alone poems in themselves. It is these overlapping voices that convey a sense of the lived emotional experience of family violence from the point of view of a witness. Thank you to Kristina Lyons for inspiring me to create a poem using the same form as her winning entry in the Society for Humanistic Anthropology’s poetry contest (2005). 4 J Kabat-Zinn, Full catastrophe living: How to cope with stress, pain and illness using mindfulness meditation, Piatkus, London, 1990. 5 J Kabat-Zinn, ‘Healing through mindfulness’ on CBC Radio: The Best of Ideas, 11 May 2006, retrieved on 2 July 2006, . 6 T Ingold, ‘Up, Across and Along’ in Creativity and Research Papers, W Gunn (ed), Creativity and Practice Group, Dundee, 2005. 7 Ingold, ‘Up, Across and Along’, Dundee, 2005, p53. 8 C Rycroft, ‘Steps to an ecology of hope’ in The sources of hope, R Fitzgerald (ed), Pergamon Press, Rushcutters Bay, 1979, p15. 9 K Weingarten, ‘Witnessing, wonder, and hope,’ Family Process, vol. 39, 2000, p401.

Bibliography Eliott, J., and I. Oliver, ‘The discursive properties of “hope:” A qualitative analysis of cancer patients’ speech.’ Qualitative Health Research, vol. 12, 2002, pp. 173-193. Ingold, T., ‘Up, Across and Along.’ In Creativity and Research Papers, Gunn, W. (ed), Creativity and Practice Group, Dundee, 2005.

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______________________________________________________________ Itzhaky, H., and A. B. Porat, ‘Battered women in shelters: Internal resources, well-being, and integration.’ Affilia Journal of Women and Social Work, vol. 20, 2005, pp. 39-51. Kabat-Zinn, J., Full catastrophe living: How to cope with stress, pain and illness using mindfulness meditation. Piatkus, London, 1996. -----, ‘Healing through mindfulness’ on CBC Radio: The Best of Ideas, 11 May 2006, retrieved on 2 July 2006, . Lyons, K., ‘Then silence.’ Anthropology and Humanism, vol. 30, 2005, pp. 232-233. Miyazaki, H., The method of hope: Anthropology, philosophy, and Fijian knowledge. Stanford University Press, California, 2004. Rycroft, C., ‘Steps to an ecology of hope.’ In The sources of hope, Fitzgerald, R. (ed), Pergamon Press, Rushcutters Bay, 1979, pp. 3-23. Snyder, R.C., The psychology of hope: You can get there from here. Free Press, New York, 1994. -----, (ed), Handbook of hope: Theory, measurement, and applications. Academic Press, San Diego, 2000. -----, ‘Hope theory: Rainbows of the mind.’ Psychological Inquiry, vol. 13, 2002, pp. 249-275. Weingarten, K., ‘Witnessing, wonder, and hope.’ Family Process, vol. 39, 2000, pp. 389-402.

Communication, Education and the Human Spirit: Notes Towards a Pedagogy of Hope John L. Hochheimer Abstract This paper describes an effort to create a communication pedagogy of hope founded on the theory that people can create their own sense of possibility and meaning through dialogue around issues they find of importance to them. It draws upon Martin Buber’s contention that, as we move from an ‘I-It’ perspective (in which we treat other people and the world as ‘objects’) to ‘IThou’ series of relations (in which we treat others as ‘subjects’ who are as fully equal of love, pain, suffering, struggle, spiritual transcendence, and mutual respect as we are), true ‘communication’, that is, the sharing of meaning between equal actors, becomes more possible. This “pedagogy of hope” seeks to create a space within which media and journalism students learn non-violent communication skills to lift each other up, rather than tearing each other down. Co-operation replaces conflict to help create a society that gives people the time, resources, and support to develop their inner lives and to find the underlying unity of all beings. As students become more confident in their abilities to find meaning and to work co-operatively, hope emerges as the means to counteract fear. Key Words: communication.

Communication

pedagogy,

meaning,

non-violent

***** My teacher always said that, if there is to be any hope whatsoever of living well on this earth, we have to take the ancient root and put new sap in it. That doesn’t mean we need to do something new, but to do something old in a new way, which takes great courage. Martin Prechtel Prayer is meaningless unless it is subversive, unless it seeks to overthrow and to ruin the pyramids of callousness, hatred, opportunism and falsehood. The liturgical movement must become a revolutionary movement, seeking to overthrow the forces that continue to destroy the promise, the hope, the vision. Abraham Joshua Heschel, On Prayer

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______________________________________________________________ I really feel there's lots of hope. But hope will come out of courage, and courage requires deep love. It's only when you love life deeply, you love the earth deeply, you love each other deeply, that you can turn round and say: I will not let this be annihilated. I will not let it be extinguished. Vanadana Shiva, Poverty, Globalisation & Peace ***** A story is told of the Baal Shem Tov (1698-1760), the Ukrainian rabbi who founded the Chassidic tradition of Jewish life and faith. The Jewish people of Russia and Poland had been victims of a wild series of pogroms and other means of rampant oppression in the mid 17th Century. Feudal lords, many of whom were virulent in their anti-Semitism, made life miserable for the Jews. Bogdan Chmielnicki, leader of the Cossacks, oversaw the destruction of so many villages that some historians see the massacres of 1648 as the worst suffering of the Jews prior to the Holocaust of the mid-20th Century.1 This persecution was seen by many contemporaries as foretelling the coming of the Messiah. They clung to this fragile sense of hope that salvation would come in the aftermath of the suffering. So, when in 1655, Shabtai Tzvi appeared proclaiming himself to be the Messiah, he soon attracted a huge following. Many people, including some noted Torah scholars, had come to believe what they so passionately wished to be so. But, it all came crashing down, and upon their physical oppression was loaded depression and despair2. Into this milieu came Yisrael Baal Shem Tov. He brought with him spiritual teachings of hope, love and joy, grounded in prayer, love of God, and love of one’s fellow Jews. Through devotion to these principles, he taught, we can remain connected to the Spirit that infuses all of humanity. While the oppressor can imprison the body, the Spirit within that connects will always remain free. Jews, said the Baal Shem Tov (also fondly called the BESHT), are not chosen of God because of great numbers or due to physical strength, but due to the strength of the Spirit within.3 His teachings resonated for many Jews of the area in spite of their pain and despair, and they continue to resonate to this day in the lives and work of his disciples, the Chassidim.4 The BESHT lived and taught in a world we can only imagine today. His was an isolated world of eastern European Jews and non-Jews, of chosen people and the rest of humankind which was known to be only those in close physical proximity to them. His was a world limited by the distance one could go by foot or by horseback. He could look backward to experiences of Jews and non-Jews in the lands of the Tanach, but not much beyond that. The lands of pre-Columbian Peru, or Tasmania or the Kwakiutl, much less the spiritual practices and traditions of people living in those places, would have

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______________________________________________________________ been unknown to him. Understanding his world, its traditions and its teachings, and that of those immediately around him and affecting him, was of primary importance. This was true not just of the BESHT, but of all people of spiritual learning and interest.5 Today, however, we stand on the threshold of a new age. For the first time in the human experience a person standing on any spot on the earth can know about, can speak with and can learn from any other person anywhere else on the planet. Indeed, due to newly developing communication media such as the cell phone, the satellite dish, and the internet-linked computer are all wonders of the modern age which could be used for ever greater connections between human beings. Indeed, this has already been the case.6 What this age of information has meant, in part, is that we can know about so much more of the goings on of the world than could people at any previous time in history. We see more of what is good, and more of what is problematic. Our perceptual world is shifting right before our eyes and our ears. Among the things we now know is there is a greater degree and variety of human suffering than could ever have been the case in the past. In a postHolocaust world, one for which the leaders of the world declared that “Never Again” would such things be allowed to occur, we know at least about the pain and suffering of two billions of our fellow beings starving on a dollar a day or less. We know about great genocides in Biafra, Cambodia, Darfur, Kosovo, the Congo, Rwanda (the list seems endless). We see AIDS running rampant in the poorer parts of the planet. But we can also use media to assist in the reconciliation of past and current fractures. With new, inexpensive and ubiquitous media of communication at their disposal, ever-greater numbers of people have the ability to enter into dialogues with one another as they seek to reconcile their desires.7 The more we communicate with one another through respectful dialogue, the more we can discover the universality of our own desires; we are, in essence, one in this Spirit. A new, globalised democratic ethic will be based, therefore, on the mediation of these unifying desires in the myriad ways in which we experience the world. We can imagine a new foundation phrase for the globalised democratic experience: “De unus Pluribum” (Out of One, Many). In so doing, we can emerge from the fear of the Others as potentially hostile forces to embrace them as our equals in their ability for laughter, fear, pain and joy.

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______________________________________________________________ Each of us has a unique path in the realisation of these desires, but all of us must work together to mediate our actions to their attainment.8 While we are provided with information, we are provided little in the way of explaining why these things occur, and even less in knowing what to do about them. In a world seemingly gone mad, many people seek a greater degree of certainty, and a way of making sense, not only of the present, but also of how to cope in the world in the future.9 Contemporary students are not immune to this, of course. The yearning for meaning is becoming widespread. A recent national survey by the Spirituality in Higher Education Project (2005) at UCLA finds that well more than half of U.S. college and university undergraduate students say they are seeking a higher sense of purpose and a more profound sense of meaning than they have been receiving in their formal education. They seek to be connected to something greater than themselves, something more profound than the focus on a subject area, or jobs and careers. What they seek, fundamentally, is a sense of hope in a world apparently going more perplexing, more hostile, more fearful, more insane every day, exacerbated by contemporary cultural efforts to create a heightened sense of fear in journalism, cinema, literature, radio, television. Among the great challenges before us at the outset of this new age is to consider how to reconceptualise the structures and functions of teaching and learning to find hope in the seemingly endless barrage of hopelessness that floods in from all sides. Doing so would mean rethinking and restructuring media so that people utilise them to share their experiences, give voice to their concerns, hates, fears, pains, as well as being able to reconcile their differences,10 in the hope that to do so might make for a better world in the future. People must have the space and the support to express themselves and to listen to each other (beyond merely hearing them) in a meaningful, respectful dialogue in which all parties perceive benefits from the re-establishment of relationships between them.11 This paper continues my exploration of the ways in which inward and outward reconciliation may be facilitated and promoted via the most pervasive medium of all, education. They are notes from my experiences teaching classes in spirituality, and how these can be infused with a sense of hope, of a sense of faith that things can and will get better despite all evidence to the contrary. Media can then become platforms for reconciliation both within ourselves and outwards toward others who are struggling with similar issues by being tools for dialogue, compassion (i.e., “suffering together”) and regeneration12.

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______________________________________________________________ Go to Google and type in the word “Hope.” You will receive 136 million sites immediately, many of which (I stopped after a couple of hours) referred either to a place with the word Hope in its title, or it referred to some ministry or service which promised to bring “Hope” to someone, as if it were delivering bottles of milk to thirsty customers. Yet, hope is not a thing; hope is not a body of knowledge to be mastered. Instead, it is a lie of the mind, a way of thinking about, and being in, the world. Hope does not exist out there, that is outside an individual. Instead, it emanates from an inner sense of meaning and trust. It is a lifelong process of reconciling one’s self internally to the lifelong exploration of who on truly is, and externally to reconcile with the world as it is found and, hopefully, to help reconstruct it for the better. Reconciliation refers to the restoration of fractured relationships13, by overcoming grief, pain and anger. It is “a societal process that involves mutual acknowledgement of past suffering and the changing of destructive attitudes and behaviour into constructive relationships toward sustainable peace”14. The path toward reconciliation is a lifelong journey going in two directions: inward, towards discovering the self, and outwards, toward recognising and, hopefully, accepting others. It is both an intrapersonal and an interpersonal exercise, each advancing the more deeply a person discovers the reconciliation possible both within and without. Inward reconciliation may be defined as the effort to come to terms with who one truly is, by acceptance of the fact that whatever life’s struggles may be, their recognition and embrace can result in personal growth and acceptance. Ideally, inner reconciliation comes as the result of a constant effort to move the socially constructed ego out of the way in order the better to listen to the “still small voice” of truth, sanity, wholeness, authority.15 It is an effort to release oneself from the burdens of pain, hate, and quite often the desire for retribution. This then is combined with the act of bearing witness to that effort with others in order to reach some mutual place of growth and support, that is, to act in every way to honour the soul.16 Outward reconciliation may be defined as “a societal process that involves mutual acknowledgment of past suffering and the changing of destructive attitudes and behaviour into constructive relationships toward sustainable peace”.17 It connotes a reuniting of community, a restoration of broken relations to friendship and harmony between two or more people. Although there are various factors of reconciliation to be considered--the religious, socio-cultural, economic, political, psychological, and juridical aspects - at its base is the decision to move forward in peace. Contrition where we have wronged, and forgiveness where we have been offended, may have their own rewards in an inner peace, a lessening of bitterness and struggle, the relief

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______________________________________________________________ of aligning our behaviour with what we know to be right. In the most dire circumstances, we have the inner freedom to choose our own response.18 Inward and outward reconciliation are connected: the more I can reconcile myself with myself fully, the more I reconcile differences with you. The more fully I can accept myself, forgive myself, love myself, the more fully I come to recognise that you and I are fundamentally joined and the more fully I can accept, forgive and love you. If I cannot reconcile myself to my own being, understanding that I am a part of a greater life force in the world, then I cannot reconcile myself with others who are similarly trying to find meaning and purpose in the world. More complete reconciliation means that we engage co-participants honestly and respectfully in the construction of a world through meaningful and faithful relationships. “We find truth by pledging our troth, and knowing becomes a reunion of separated beings whose primary bond is not of logic but of love”.19 The bonding through love, both inward and outward, provides the foundation for a “pedagogy of hope.” This “pedagogy of hope” seeks to create a space within which students learn non-violent communication skills to lift each other up, rather than tearing each other down. Co-operation replaces conflict to help create a society that gives people the time, resources, and support to develop their inner lives and to find the underlying unity of all beings. As students become more confident in their abilities to find meaning and to work co-operatively, hope emerges as the means to counteract fear. Hope is the connective oil that lubricates and cools fear’s friction. It links both inner and outer experience, providing the solid foundation upon which to stand and walk securely in the world. By the time my students get to be seniors in college, they have learned in their particular fields of communication work (whether in advertising or certainly journalism - which is where I've done most of my work - or public relations, or audio/video production) to think of the rest of the world as different from them. Or, to put it another way, they have been taught to think of themselves as being separate from the rest of the world. The journalism student is taught to not be emotionally involved with people they go out to cover. The advertising or PR person, or media production student is taught to think of the test of the world as ‘markets,’ as targets. Student journalists are taught from the same premise. Individual human beings don't really exist except as a member of an audience for whom the journalist goes out into the world to find out what is going on and reporting back to you as a member of that audience. The only exception to that is when you are engaged in some newsworthy event, in which case you become a source of information, not to suit your needs, but only to provide what the journalist needs for the story. The degree to which the reporter

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______________________________________________________________ becomes engaged with you at any level been the most superficial is deemed to be a threat to something called “journalistic objectivity”, which is some imagined place of non-engagement.20 After three and a half years of hearing this from their teachers, and after seeing that the mass media industries are set up to reflect and act upon this mind-set, students have pretty much bought into it. They come to think of the rest of the world of being “out there” someplace, or to think of the rest of humankind as the great unwashed, or whatever. It’s not unique to communication students; that’s for sure. It speaks to that arrogance: we’re different from you, we’re smarter, we’re worldlier than you are because of the level of our formal education. Our students pick that up very clearly. They think, “I now have a college education; I now know how to be a journalist. I’m better than you are.” The point is, the student has been taught, and quite often believes, that he or she is different from the rest of society. And, of course, arrogance is the product of the fear of loving others as you love yourself. They have been carefully taught to see themselves as different, as separate. The bias of doing journalism, for example, is that the journalist, representing the viewing public, comes to look at something that the viewing or reading public can’t, from the outside. This outsider comes into the locus of an event, gathers information he or she deems relevant to the story, makes some judgement as to what is newsworthy and why, and then leaves to report back to the public: I went over there, here is what I saw and heard, and this is what it means, as an outsider. And so, by the time that students come into my class as college seniors, they have this idea very well inculcated: “I’m the outsider. I’m different. And, I have to keep myself that way in order to be effective as a journalist.”21 Which means that this creates a fundamental schism in their whole being, because, of course, at a deeper level of spiritual awareness through meditative practice or prayer--which is a variation of meditative practice what they would find is that there is something that connects every one of us, not only as human beings, but also connects us to those tress, to this plant, and to everything in the world. The Jews call it God or Yahweh or Hashem, the Christians call it God, the Muslims call it Allah, the Taoists call it the Tao, the Buddhists call it Buddha consciousness, the Hindus call it Brahman, but they all point to the fact that we are all connected. And we all know it. It’s locked in our hearts. Most of our formal education has been dedicated to telling us that what is there, locked in our hearts, is not important. The only thing that matters is that which can be approached through our senses and which can be known through our heads. And yet, you know that the things in your heart are so vitally important that you wish you could deal with them, but you can’t. It just takes a few words, a momentary remembrance of that truth of

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______________________________________________________________ connection, and how cut off you feel from this realisation and tears start rolling down your cheeks. It’s true for all of us. Bill Barlow and Jannette Dates wrote a book called “Split Image” which is about the African American experience as actors in the movies, as actors on television in the 1940s-1960s. The argument they made in that book was that Black actors and actresses had to have two lives, project two faces in order to survive. One image was to be the representation of Black folks to be the character that they were expected to be to make it in their chosen profession. But, they were also Black men and women who knew very well what was going on for Black people in the United States and they had to live two lives, essentially. This Dates and Barlow called a “Split Image.” That schism also occurs for every one of our students who thinks in order to succeed in the media, that they will have two play two roles: the public role in which they see themselves as apart from the rest of their communities, and the private roles in which they are very much a part of their communities. This schism removes hem from their hearts which are telling them that this is wrong, since we are all connected. This schism causes a great deal of trauma. It’s not for nothing that a lot of reporters drink a lot, and writers, and observers of the human scene. It is an effort to compensate for that pain, for that split that cannot be reconciled.22 I have one chance to reach out to all of my students Indus call it BrahmanHinduknown cogntively to get them to think in those terms about who they are in a class called, “Communication and the Human Spirit.” Initially the course was called “Issues and the News” which, of course, could mean anything. I thought it would be an interesting experience if we looked at the issues that were out there and current, but not as how we define them, and not as the leading news media like the New York Times define them, but as the people who live in this community define them. How were the students to find this out? I told them to go out into the community to find this out. However, I wanted them not to go out as reporters, as analysts, as outsiders who peer in, but rather to go into the community as members of it, and to work with people who are working in the community. The best place to do that is with social service agencies: a rape crisis hotline, a battered women and children’s centre, an after-school literacy project, a hospice program, doing AIDS work, helping in a soup kitchen. I ask the students to work at least three hours a week, working with people, not reporting on them, not looking on them as subjects, but rather to see what they could see about them.23 This was what I wanted my students to begin to experience. It could never be duplicated in the classroom, never be imagined as long as students were led to believe that they must separate themselves from the messiness of the human experience. Textbooks couldn’t get them there; neither could cut and dried classroom exercises. The only way to learn about the world is to be in the world, with all of its grit and sweat,

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______________________________________________________________ with all of the uncertainties, and all of the different kinds of people one encounters. And yet, the greatest encounter for my students is themselves. Throughout their entire education, they have been led to believe that allimportant knowledge lies without themselves, that all important, meaningful learning is to be done through the mind. They have learned that the teacher is the centre of all learning, and that the important things they need to learn will be given to them to memorise. Whatever it is that they have experienced, whoever they are, is really irrelevant to the process of their own education, so they have been led to believe. The teacher, and the knowledge the teacher possesses, is what is important, not they. By the time they come into my class, they have totally mastered this pedagogical approach. There is an inherent power dynamic here, of course, in which power is vested in authority so deeply that the two are tightly wound. The teacher has the power to reward and punish, so students had better attend to what their teacher says for fear of the lash. This is false, totally false, to them, to their potential, and to their promise for this world. Each of them, each of you, is a precious, unique, vital part of God’s creation in the world. Each is a necessary part of a greater whole. Each brings precious gifts into the world which need to be discovered, nurtured and supported in order to grow and to be offered to the world for the greater good of all. These gifts lay waiting to be discovered by each of us just below the surface of conscious experience. All the major faith traditions of the world point to the Kingdom of God, or Christ consciousness or Buddha nature or the Tao being within you, or words to that effect. Through prayer, through meditation, through loving work can you best begin walking the path towards self-discovery. This path leads away from fear toward love: love of self, love of others, love of God. It is built upon a firm foundation of faith, which can only be attained through inner exploration and outer confirmation. It is a back-and-forth, in-and-out process, much like breathing. In is not for nothing that the realisation of the good and the God within is called “inspiration”, the taking of the spirit within. The discovery of the spirit within themselves is the highest, deepest, most profound level of learning my students need to engage. In order to do this, however, I need to work with them to overcome all the years of being led away from these truths. I need to face their fears that I am leading them down an unfamiliar path in which they are at the centre of their own education. They are not used to this. They don't know what I am looking for. Many fear they are being tricked; they would much prefer the kind of disengaged, cognitive learning that they have seen in almost all of their other classes. This takes time and it takes compassion. It takes a vision, not so much of where I want them to go, but rather the path they will need to take. It takes a lot of reassurance, a lot of patience. It takes a firm belief in

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______________________________________________________________ each of them, quite often a greater belief than they have of themselves. It means helping them to open up a way for each of them to learn how to love and respect themselves as they discover their own gifts lying just beneath the surface of their conscious experience. It means, I think, that I need to love my students more than they know how to love themselves. And, when they begin to embrace the idea that each is worthy of love and respect, and begin to discover this within themselves, they learn, too, that other people are equally as deserving of love and respect. This provides the true, in fact, the only strong foundation for transcendence, for respect, tolerance, forgiveness, reconciliation. It lays the foundation for a journalism of meaning, a journalism from within; as each student discovers that the linkage they share with everyone else is grounded in love. These, too, form the true foundation of community. The fifteen weeks of a semester provides sufficient time to engage them in the initial stages of this process. This is fine, since the whole idea is for each of them to learn a set of skills and to utilise those skills in whichever directions their unique life paths take them. Once they begin to engage this approach, as well as the generative power that comes from walking the inner path, they can begin to take control of their own learning, of their own education, of their own lives. This pedagogical approach provides them a foundation in which to engage the professional world, the political world, the world of relationships, of community, of life in all of its manifestations. To do this, we start with a book called “A Tribe Apart” by Patricia Hersch. It was published in 1998. In it, she describes her three-year work within a junior and senior high school in Reston, Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D.C. She reported on what the world looked like through the eyes and experiences of the children she worked with there. What she found was that their experience of life was totally different from what the adults in their community thought was their experience of life. The children who, in suburban Washington, D.C., quite often are children of two-career families and have to create their own culture in order to sustain themselves. And they do create their own culture, because they need that commonality, that connection with each other, that mutuality of support. The children described by Hersch deal with all kinds of contemporary issues experienced by our students, too. They deal with issues of rape, suicide, racism, coming out, pregnancy, drugs, alcohol, fear of ostracism, fear of being different, longing for acceptance…you name it. It’s all in there. All of it. It’s a wonderful book for students, because it takes place in the same time frame when they were the same age. And what the students do is that, in reading the book, and on reflecting upon it in their journals, they begin to see themselves in this book. Even if they do not see their specific experiences directly in the book, they do see “my cousin, Jenny” or “my ex-boyfriend” or “my Dad” being presented here. They relate to it very easily and very

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______________________________________________________________ directly. They say, “Oh, yeah, I’ve seen this” or “Oh, God, my bother Billy…”, whatever. In talking about that, the students for the first time in their school lives, most likely, are finding that there is a space to talk about their own experience. In doing so, they get the validation that their own experience is important, and useful, and valuable, and that there are things to be learned about it. And they find that the teacher is no longer the “expert” around and through whom all learning takes place. Rather, the teacher is the facilitator to help them begin to look at these issues, and at themselves, and at each other in different ways, based upon different premises of what is important to be learned, and how do accomplish this. But, it does not mean that I have any special ability to experience the world any better than they do. My experience is not better than theirs, nor can mine be a substitute for theirs. They can, they must, do it for themselves. My job, as their teacher, is not to tell them how smart I am or how much I know; my job is to help them learn how to become engaged in their own lives. I am not here to impress you with the wonderfulness of my being. I am here to help each student discover the wonderfulness of all being that each can begin to discover within him or herself, if only they have the courage to look. It means that they can invest themselves in their own education, in their own lives. For the first time in their lives, here’s an opportunity to look at their own lives, at their own experiences, and to realise that these are important, too. Once the students begin to understand what is going on here, they begin to say, “Wow. No one or no teacher ever took me that seriously before. That’s kind of neat. Whoa. Yeah, I've got a lot to say here.” “Great! Let’s hear it.” “Okay. What Hersch is describing wasn’t my experience at all. I had a completely different experience.” “Great! Well, let’s hear about your experience.” Someone else will say, “No. I see myself clearly in Hersch’s book.” “Great! Let’s hear what you have to say.” And it doesn’t take very long for everyone to get seriously invested in the discussion, in the class, in the learning. What Patricia Hersch’s book does is that it provides students the space, it gives them permission to look at themselves, to see themselves, and to embrace themselves and their experiences in the context of learning how to reach out to others by reaching within themselves. This process, this mutuality of experience, can provide the basis for a journalism of meaning, a journalism from within. Meanwhile, they are out doing this volunteer work in the community. In doing the work in the community, they feel more comfortable letting some of the guards down and talking about themselves. They start out

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______________________________________________________________ talking about some of their experiences working in the community as an assignment. This is what they are used to doing in a class. You know, they’ll say, “Okay. I’m looking at these people, and here’s what they seem to be doing.” They still are operating from the outside observer mode of experience. They begin to engage the people by talking with them, by being with them about the issues that they see and hear being discussed with community members that come naturally from the work they are doing. They become more comfortable being among them, being a part of them. Over time, they realise that those people are no different from who they, the students, are, and they, too, have fears and confidence and experience, their own pain, their own suffering. And they realise that the struggles of these people are no different from their own, and “they’re just like me. And I’m just like them.” Right. What would it mean to have a journalism from within?24 Or, instead of being the outsider peering in, now the focus becomes: how do we help each other express ourselves to each other in the best ways possible? Instead of a journalism in which human weakness is exploited for cheap entertainment, how can we transform the enterprise into helping each other reach a higher good, a deeper sense of meaning and purpose? It is, as Oprah Winfrey (certainly a successful media producer in several forms) suggests, an effort to use the media for their higher good, that is, “to create shows that encourage and inspire as much as they entertain (and inform) - television (in her case) that leaves our guests with their dignity and helps us all see our lives in a different way.” As their teacher, how can I help them become the best that they know how to be in the process of discovering who they really are? As a media student, how can they learn to use your unique gifts to create media to reach out? To uplift? To help inspire others find their own unique gifts so that we can all gain by the experience? Again, if you delve into a lot of the spiritual writings, the closer you get to the core, the more meditation, the more prayer, the more focused you are on doing this work, you find that there’s really another you in there. That other you has always been talking to you your whole life, and you've been carefully taught to disregard her, to pile stuff on so you don't have to listen to her.25 Yet, she’s locked away in your heart; she’ll never go away. You can always find her. If you start removing the extraneous stuff, by getting your ego out of the way, she will guide you to figure out who you really, truly are. You don't even know who she is yet. You may have some inklings, and it’s a lifetime path to walk. The more you go down that path, the more you will discover about yourself. You will see the reasons why you like certain things and you don't like other things; why you fear certain things and why there are other things you feel confident about.

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______________________________________________________________ I walk this same path, but my path is different from your path. It’s a process of discovery. For both of us, for all of us. To do it with the students is much the same. Once you can come to recognise this, then you see that we are all in the same boat, we are all in the process of discovery throughout our lives. The degree to which we do this actively, we can make progress along our individual paths. The degree to which we ignore this, is the degree to which we face suffering, denial, pain, and efforts to overcome that pain with all kinds of external distractions and/or internal punishments, the drugs, addictive gambling, excessive alcohol, all the things we shouldn’t be doing to excess. It also comes out in self-destructive ways, of which so many students know all too well: eating disorders, excessive drinking or drug use, and so on. The division between journalist and audience, between advertiser and audience, between media producer and audience is a false division. The students vitally need to learn this. You’re not different from these people; you are these people, and these people are you. If we are ever going to reconcile the great problems we have in the world, it can only happen when I start doing this, when you start doing this, when the people I talk with start to recognise that we have to nurture each other to healing the great hurts we have experienced, rather than put each other down.26 We can create media that demeans, or we can create media that uplifts, just as Oprah said. That is, we can create media of hopelessness, or we can create media of hopefulness. And we have a choice. What I want to provide my students with is the ability to recognise that the choice exists, for each and every one of them, all the time. And, Oprah’s work demonstrates clearly that one can make the choice to make media that uplifts and still be highly successful in the commercial marketplace which, to many students, is the only bottom-line assessment they know in the beginning of their work with me. There’s another book that I use called “Kitchen Table Wisdom” by Rachel Naomi Remen. She is a pediatric oncologist on the faculty at Stanford University Medical Centre. But, she also had Crohn’s disease, diagnosed when she was a teenager. This is a chronic illness that one must learn to live with and adapt to, as there is no known cure. So, she is a doctor who knows what it means to be a patient, and she is a patient who knows what it means to be a doctor. On both sides of the equation she is living with lifethreatening, overpowering, monstrous illness. In her book she writes short, reflective essays about people’s humanity, about the lessons to be learned, for example, from a five year old child who has cancer and who knows he has but a few days to live. And yet, with that cancer, and with that knowledge, he is stronger than are his family who is all around him. She ponders, what can we learn from that? About life? About dying? About strength? About grace?

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______________________________________________________________ I tell the students that after they do all they need to do during the day, when everything else is done, just before lying down at bedtime, they should take out this book and read one or two essays (each is about three to five pages long) and think about them. They easily recall the essays during our class discussions, and how they affected their feelings. Through this they become more introspective in their learning. They become more introspective in their being, as a result.27 What happens in the classroom comes about from their work. They are assigned to do journaling about their experiences with their community work, about their reactions to what they are reading, about what they hear and share in class with their peers, and about their own reflections on their introspective journeys as a result of all this. By discussing what they have written, they begin to learn more about themselves and about each other. Over time, the masks start coming down, as they begin to reveal more about themselves to each other. The people who they thought they knew during the previous three and a half years, they discover, turn out to have much richer, more nuanced, more complicated lives than they had imagined. In learning of this, they feel more at ease to reveal some more things about themselves, and the process cycles on and on, ever deeper. Yet, most do not feel threatened at all by this, they feel secure in the nurturing and support they get from their peers. This is remarkable to me, given what competitive environments the school, and especially the student-run media, are. In this class, we have heard stories about date rape, suicide, alcohol, cutting, eating disorders, drugs, and so on. This comes, I think, because for the first time they feel confident enough to show who they really are to their peers without the fear of being put down because they recognise that they are all in this together.28 It is only the sickness of our culture that tries to convince us that we are all individuals and that we don't need anybody else and that we can succeed by ourselves. Well, we see where that has brought us. At its most profound levels, this is about Spirit. But, it is not for me to be saying something like, “Now that you recognise this, I have the answer for everybody, and here it is!” As soon as I do that, the entire enterprise is sunk. Rather, I need to say that, “You have a legitimate right to explore these questions for yourself. There are plenty of people who walk the path with you, but each of us has to walk our own path uniquely. It’s not something you have to figure out today or this week or this semester, but there are things that will be in front of you and within you your whole life to help guide you through your life.” So, what happens? Students start being highly suspicious, not wanting to invest themselves in this work, because they’ve never been asked to before. By the end, however, there’s such a feeling of buoyancy, of camaraderie, of support as they reveal more and more things. Now, not

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______________________________________________________________ everyone is there already to participate. Indeed, some are reluctant to engage on that level, and we all musty respect their right to participate only to the level of their comfort. Women are more typically able to engage this sooner in the semester than guys are. Again this is due to a whole lot of issues dealing with our culture. But, that’s all right. It doesn’t matter if you are ready to go down deeply, much less to speak about what you find, today or this week or this semester. Even if they can’t, I still hope that they can recognise that that kind of inner work is possible, and that it will yield many benefits to each of them. I hope that they can begin to appreciate and respect that there are whole other ways of living and being in the world, based on different premises and experiences. To fully embrace this world of difference, and to respect it, is one of the most important skills any person could master. It also has impacts on such questions as what do I want to do with my life? Who do I want spend my life with? How do I find the good in this life? And so forth. Indeed, it is a universal challenge to us all. It always has been, and always will be. As students come to embrace this notion more intensely, hope emerges. Where better to begin to engage such questions than with your peers in a relatively safe environment? So, they can take this larger awareness into the field with them as they engage the people where they volunteer, and they can come to understand that, in fact, everyone is engaged in the attempt to find meaning and purpose in their lives. This, too, helps them to become better professionals, in the highest sense of possibility that Oprah Winfrey made reference to. And, it doesn’t matter when they come to this realisation, whether it is right now, or this semester, or next year or 25 years from now. Now I may think that the sooner the better, but each of us is on our individual path, and each can engage it only at their own time and pace. I know, quite certainly, that some day they will find themselves in some situation when the realisation will come. And they will look around themselves, and think that everyone else is coping while they are not. And, in that moment, they can recognise, “Oh. That’s what that guy was trying to tell me.” It doesn’t matter one bit if they remember my name or my face. What is of absolute importance is the realisation that they are never alone. And they won’t feel all alone, since they will be able to draw upon the memory that we are all in this, together, all the time. There has been a movement to promote inner exploration as a part of college life started in the last half-dozen years in a few places. They had a big conference at Wellesley College about 1998 called “Education as Transformation.” Five years ago I attended a conference called, “Phoenix Rising” which was held at the University British Columbia in Vancouver. Four hundred campus chaplains, priests, ministers, rabbis, imams, Sufis, Sikhs, Hindus and so on, attended. I think I was the only non-clergy member there. We came from colleges and universities all over the world for a week.

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______________________________________________________________ The main issue on the agenda was the widespread recognition that there is a real crisis of purpose and meaning among college and university students all over the world, and what were the attendees, whose major interest is the spiritual life of students, going to do about it? We both acknowledge this and try to deal with it, or we ignore it at our own peril. No immediate answers were forthcoming, except that now the issue is on the table, and we recognise that it is much more profound, more deeply an issue, than we had imagined beforehand. I was at North Carolina State University in October, 2002, with something called the “Self-Knowledge Symposium.” Its purpose was about giving permission, encouragement and space for students to do the inner exploration. About 325 students came from all over the country, as did about 40 professors. For three days, they attended a number of workshops, did several exercise, all intended to provide the space and support to go within while being members of a community of seekers. By all accounts, it was a great success, and new student chapters of the SKS program are being started all over the country. Institutionally, many colleges and universities are not prepared to deal with this yet, are not prepared to engage these issues in any kind of meaningful way. There is too much inertia to overcome, too many vested interests in keeping the status quo. What would it mean to really engage the faculty seriously in their missions as teachers? By and large, most of us are not trained to be teachers in graduate school, we are trained to be scholars. Our professional reputations, our survival, our advancement are all predicated to maintaining a highly productive, and visible, research program and profile. In many institutions of higher education, in fact, a robust and noteworthy teaching profile (such as winning an award for teaching) is considered counterproductive to one’s professional survival and advancement, since, implicitly, you could not have been spending enough time with your research. After all, a recent national survey by the Higher Education Research Institute at UCLA (2005) finds that 80 per cent of U.S. college and university undergraduate students say they are seeking a higher sense of purpose and a more profound sense of meaning than they have been receiving in their formal education. They seek to be connected to something greater than themselves, something more profound than the focus on a subject area, or jobs and careers. What they seek, fundamentally, is a sense of hope in a world apparently going more perplexing, more hostile, more fearful, more insane every day, exacerbated by contemporary cultural efforts to create a heightened sense of fear in journalism, cinema, literature, radio, television. As long as we imagine our students as objects, into whom we pour knowledge, then the only fount of knowledge is ourselves, the faculty, because we are scholars of the world outside.29 But the fount of knowledge also lies within each of us, and is waiting to be unlocked through rigorous

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______________________________________________________________ discovery. The degree to which I can find a way to inspire a student to reach within him or herself to find the foundation, the strength to begin life’s inward journey is the degree to which I have helped set in motion that person’s desire to work to discover a truly meaningful life. Once he or she finds the keys to self-love and self-growth, that person will move heaven and earth to increasingly enrich what s/he knows, and will apply it to her/his own existence and to others. By helping to tap into the limitless resources that lie within each of us waiting to be discovered and used, in fact, we assist in increasing the sum total of human knowledge, not among the few of us, but more broadly among the many. Thus, teaching is not inimical to increasing the sum of human knowledge; it is profoundly twined with it. The scientific method has vastly increased our knowledge and understanding of the nature of how things work to the betterment of us all. However, by separating our research from our teaching functions, by thinking of knowledge as the protectorate of the few rather than the servant of the many, we have cloistered ourselves into an untenable position. It is not research versus teaching as the means to add to the sum of human knowledge; it is the research of teaching as a vehicle to tap into the largely untouched storehouse of human potential that provides a part of the key to hope. The degree to which we embrace our students, and ourselves, as cocreators of the world is the degree to which we may be able, together, to fashion a more just, more humane, more peaceful existence, one in which every single one of us is invested and participates with every gift we have to offer. This, too, is a manifestation of the human spirit that connects us all, if only we have the humility and the faith in ourselves and in each other to see it. All that fear and the lack of self love do is hold us back from realising who we really are, that we are all, each and every one of us, deserving of love, needing of love, capable of giving love. This is not selfish, it is life-affirming. In Science of Religion Paramhansa Yogananda writes that our lives revolve around two linked realities: the seeking of bliss and the avoidance of pain. To seek bliss is not to be selfish, it is, instead, the birthright of every child, of every woman, of every man who walks the earth, who has ever walked the earth, and who will ever come after us. Bliss is to be found in love, which is to be found within. This is where self-love comes from; this is where hope comes from. The pain we try to avoid occurs when we disregard that our highest aspiration is to discover the bliss that resides within. All paths away from this truth lead to pain, to dislocation, to fear. All paths toward this truth lead to hope. Upon hearing this, many students respond with something like, “Yeah. But you should see the wretch who I see within me.” I know this response all too well. It was fed to me like mother’s milk from many sources.

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______________________________________________________________ But all that mindset does is hold us back, is hold you back, from discovering your own true identity. I tell my students with every bit of assurance at my command, that they can and they will overcome the self-loathing, the self-judgment, if they let go of fear and embrace love. With this they can start walking the path within, which ties in directly with Jesus’ notion of love and forgiveness. It is, truly, the foundation of all faith traditions, which lay out some of the possibilities for discovering hope throughout the history of the human experience. The first person you need to love and forgive is yourself. The degree to which you do this is the degree to which you can move out from there to embrace others in the spirit of the limitless possibilities of life. Hope is the only way any of us can counteract the great struggles we see all around us. Our children are the future of humankind. A pedagogy of hope is a profound act of faith that is renewed with every girl and boy, every woman and man who comes into our classrooms. We can provide students with a set of possibilities for each of them to consider how they are going to take control of their own lives, of their own destinies. We can provide learning experiences in ways that make sense to them so that they can discover the good and the happy and the hopeful as they unlock what is possible in their own hearts. But, we can do this for them only to the extent we can do this for ourselves. Hope emerges from the strength of the Spirit within and among each and all of us, just as the Baal Shem Tov pointed out, no matter how dire the circumstances may seem. The difference between his world and ours is that modern communications allow us to see and to recognise the commonality of the human experience across its entire range. We can share hope, love and joy with any and all of God’s children--women and men, of different races, cultures, religious experiences, gay or straight, north or south, rich or poor wherever and whenever we are. We can realise the power of the Spirit as we develop the skills and knowledge to make love--the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth,30 wherever that may lead-manifest in our lives. Its realisation is truly the foundation and the goal of the pedagogy of hope. The choice is always yours and mine to make. The time to choose is always now.

Notes 1

M Margoshes, ‘The Rampaging Cossacks of 1648,’ Jewish Observer, Summer. At: http://www.innernet.org.il/article.php?aid=187; see also

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______________________________________________________________ A J Twerski, Not Just Stories: The Chassidic Spirit Through its Classic Stories, The Shaar Press Brooklyn, NY, 1997. 2 Twerski, op. cit., p. 236 3 Ibid, p. 237 4 This is not to say that his teachings were universally accepted, especially by powerful elements in the Jewish community. Many efforts were made to stifle this new movement, such as ex-communication and a prohibition against marrying into a Chassidic family. It took three generations for fierce opposition to begin to subside. See Twerski, op. cit., pp. 232-251. 5 Indeed, a primary reason for a 1990 meeting between a group of American and Israeli rabbis and a group of Buddhist monks, including the Dalai Lama, in Dharamsala, India was to discover how the Jewish and Buddhist spiritual traditions could have been so similar in their esoteric traditions and their experiences with Diaspora and suffering despite their physical isolation for many centuries. See R Kamenetz, The Jew in the Lotus: A Poet's ReDiscovery of Jewish Identity in Buddhist India. Harper, New York, 1994. 6 J Hochheimer, ‘Education, communication and the human spirit: Challenges for a democratizing world,’ in Charles Nieman (ed.) Democracy and Globalization. Kent State University Press. Kent, OH, 2005. At: http://upress.kent.edu/Nieman/Education_Communication.htm 7 We are all children of some Universal Spirit (however that presence manifests itself) endowed by that Spirit with certain inalienable Desires. And, among these, in the words of the Sufi master Hazrat Inayit Khan are the Desire to Live, the Desire to Know, the Desire for Power, the Desire for Happiness and the Desire or Peace. These Desires are the bedrock of the Human Spirit. Different spiritual traditions express these in different ways, but they are omnipresent. See W James, The Varieties of Religious Experience. Modern Library, New York, 1902 and H Smith, The Religions of Man, Harper and Row, New York,1958. 8 See Hochheimer, op. cit. 9 One answer to uncertainty is to assert certainty in a religious faith imagined once to have existed. A fundamentalist argument asserts that there is one true manifestation of God’s will, that it is best known through a strict interpretation of some holy text, and that all people should ascribe to the tenets of this fundamentalist faith, or suffer the consequences, not just in the hereafter, but also here on earth. There are, by some accounts, five religious fundamentalist thrusts alive in the present world, each seeking to wrest political, social and cultural control: Protestant Christianity in the United States, Islam in the Middle East and in Afghanistan, Orthodox Judaism in Israel, the Chinese response to the Falung Gong movement, and Hinduism in India. But, as Jacob Bronowski observed, the only possibility for hope in this

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______________________________________________________________ world is to live with tolerance, grounded in the uncertainty that we can know about the world. I would urge you to consider that, ultimately, we must Love with tolerance, for we are all bound together in a Spirit that infuses and connects us all. In it, through it, cognizant of it, the possibilities for survival, for joy, for hope are grounded (See J Hochheimer, op. cit.). This has been the teaching of all the major spiritual traditions of the world. There is, to quote Alan Watts, a “Wisdom of Insecurity.” 10 Grassroots-level media (also called “Grass-tops Media”, i.e., the media that hold together, speak for, and promote dialogue between grassroots efforts and individuals) are being used as loci of community dialogue and exchange among and between different cultures on radio: B Girard, A Passion for Radio, Black Rose Books, New York, 1992; J Hochheimer, ‘Organizing Democratic Radio: Issues in Praxis’, Media, Culture & Society, vol 15, no. 3, 1993, pp. 473-486, and ‘Planning Community Radio as Participatory Development’, in The Art of Facilitating Participation: Releasing the Power of Grassroots Communication, edited by Shirley White, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1999, pp. 245-258; television: T Dowmunt, Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment, British Film Institute, London, 1993; N Thede and A Ambrosi, Video the Changing World, Black Rose Books, New York, 1991; theatre: A Boal Theatre of the Oppressed, Urizen Books, New York, 1979, M V Mzamane, ‘The Impact of Black Consciousness on Culture’, in Bounds of Possibility: The Legacy of Steve Biko and Black Consciousness, edited by N. Barney Pityana, Mamphela Ramphele, Malusi Mpumlwana and Lindy Wilson, David Philip, Cape Town, South Africa, 1991, pp. 179-193, Z Mda, ‘Marotholi Travelling Theatre: Towards an Alternative Perspective to Development’, in Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in Southern Africa, edited by Liz Gunner, Witwatersrand University Press, Johannesburg, South Africa, 1994, pp. 203-210; song and dance: S Chifunyise, ‘Trends in Zimbabwean Theatre since 1980’, in Gunner, op. cit., pp. 55-74; the Internet, photomontage and film, among others: J Downing et al, Radical Media: Rebellious Communication and Social Movements, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2001. 11 J Hochheimer, ‘Journalism education in Africa: From critical pedagogical theory to meaning-based practice’, Critical Arts: A South-North Journal of Cultural and Media Studies (South Africa), vol 15, no. 1 and 2, 2001, pp. 97116. 12 J Hochheimer, ‘Independent Participation in Emerging Democracies: Constructing Media as Platforms for Reconciliation’, Paper presented to the Pathways to Reconciliation and Global Human Rights Conference, Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina, August, 2005.

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H Adelman, ‘Rule-Based Reconciliation’, http://www.humiliationstudies.org/documdents/adelmanreconciliation.pdf 14 K Brounéus, Reconciliation - Theory and Practice for Development Cooperation. Stockholm: Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency, 2003, p. 5 15 D Riley, ‘A Voice Without a Mouth: Inner Speech’, Qui Parle, vol 14, no. 2, 2004, pp. 57-104. 16 P Palmer, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life. Jossey-Bass Publishing, San Francisco, 2004, p. 170. 17 Brounéus , op. cit, p. 3. 18 P Green, ‘Reconciliation: A Path of Courage, Commitment and Compassion’, Keynote Address to the Pendle Hill Conference, April. At http://www.karunacenter.org/ReconciliationAPathofCourage...htm2004. 19 P Palmer, To Know As We Are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey. Harper SanFrancisco, New York, 1993, p. 32. 20 As David Mindich points out, this is not an eternal value, but one that evolved over the 19th and 20th centuries for very specific reasons. This altered, in fact, the public’s understanding of issues and events. See D Mindich, Just the Facts: How ‘Objectivity’ Came to Define American Journalism, New York University Press, New York, 1998. 21 This split, the demand to be both insider and outsider, was noted especially by the great German sociologist, Max Weber, in a 1918 speech in Munich following the Great War. He notes: (T)he journalist’s life is an absolute gamble in every respect and under conditions that test one’s inner security in a way that scarcely occurs in any other situation. The often bitter experiences in occupational life are perhaps not even the worst. The inner demands that are directed precisely at the successful journalist are especially difficult. It is, indeed, no small matter to frequent the salons of the powerful on this earth on a seemingly equal footing and often to be flattered by all because one is feared, yet knowing all the time that having hardly closed the door the host has to justify before his guests his association with the ‘scavengers from the press. Quoted in D Gerth and C Mills, (eds.) From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, Oxford University Press, New York, 1958, p. 98. 22 As Max Weber wrote, “It is not astonishing that there are many journalists who have become human failures and worthless men. Rather, it is quite astonishing that, despite all this, this very stratum includes such a great number of valuable and quite genuine men, a fact that outsiders would not so easily guess”. Gerth and Mills, op. cit., p. 99. 23 Having read a lot of George Orwell, I knew his experiences in On the Road to Wigan Pier or Down and Out in East London, or as he describes them in

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______________________________________________________________ Homage to Catalonia. I thought of John Steinbeck writing about the Joad family in Grapes of Wrath and their travails as only an insider could. I recalled Dale Minor’s riveting radio essays on Pacifica Radio reporting from the battlefields of Vietnam as only a combat veteran could have (I learned a lot from him as a 16-year old novice radio reporter at WBAI in New York). Here, too, we could sense the insider’s special knowledge, that special sense of what was real. Theirs was a decidedly different kind journalism than what was generally practiced, but it was effective nonetheless. Its effectiveness was heightened from the reader’s or the listener’s sense that they had lived among what they were writing about, the people and the events and the tenor of the times, and that the points of view expressed through the characters were from the real voices of real people involved with the issues of their times, as they were experiencing and perceiving them. 24 This can lay the foundation for what E J Graff has called “intimate political journalism.” See J Hochheimer, ‘Independent Participation in Emerging Democracies: Constructing Media as Platforms for Reconciliation,’ Paper presented to the Pathways to Reconciliation and Global Human Rights Conference, Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina, August, 2005. 25 It’s what Denise Riley calls “inner speech.” See D Riley, op. cit. 26 Which is what so much of contemporary journalism and all of the “Reality Show” phenomenon is about. Why do we have this need to put each other down? So we don't have to look at our own pain. You know, “look at what a fool he is. Look at what he did.” Then, I don’t have to look at myself, or such is the mind set. But, as we have seen, this is based on a faulty premise, that you can ignore the inner longings and desires of your own heart. 27 There are a few more books I have used, such as: S Dinan (ed.), Radical Spirit: Spiritual Writings from the Voices of Tomorrow, New World Library, Novato, CA, 2002; P R Loeb Soul of a Citizen: Living With Conviction in a Cynical Time, St. Martin’s Griffin Press, New York, 1999; C Horwitz The Spiritual Activist: Practices to Transform Your Life, Your Work, and Your World, Penguin Compass. New York, 2002; and F M Lappé and A Lappé, Hope's Edge: The Next Diet for a Small Planet, J.P. Tarcher. New York, 2003. Each is dedicated to broadening their understanding of people attempting to find meaning in the world, and also to applying the spiritual search to some practical action. These books change semester to semester as new material becomes available. 28 I should say “we are all in this together”, since I am also a participant. However, I tend to leave my personal stuff out of it, unless asked, since we are there for their benefit.

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Within the past few years, several scholars and teachers have been trying to reconcile this gap. One approach has been through the Metanexus Institute in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. “The Metanexus Institute advances research, education and outreach on the constructive engagement of science and religion. Metanexus is part of a growing network of individuals and groups exploring the dynamic interface between cosmos, nature and culture in communities and campuses throughout the world. Metanexus sponsors lectures, workshops, research, courses, grants and publications. Since July, 2001, Metanexus has published a monthly online magazine and discussion forum with over 180,000 monthly page views and more than 7,000 subscribers in 57 countries.” They can be found at www.metanexus.net Another approach has been the Center for The Study of Values in College Student Development at Florida State University. Since 1991 they have sponsored the Institute on College Student Values which is “an annual conference for student affairs professionals, educators, campus ministers and other individuals interested in character development in college students. The Institute is concerned with five broad areas of interest: ♦ Trends in college students’ values ♦ Ethical issues in college life ♦ Character building educational models and strategies ♦ Moral development research ♦ Civic education The Institute provides an opportunity to learn about the most current issues, research, and educational activities pertaining to character education in college. In addition, the Institute is designed to be a “think tank” for individuals who have particular interests in exploring more effective ways to promote civic education and the ethical development of college students.” The also publish a monthly Journal of College Student Values. They can be found online at http://www.collegevalues.org/ 30 See M S Peck, The Road Less Traveled, 25th Anniversary Edition: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth, Touchstone Books, New York, 2003.

Bibliography Adelman, H., (n.d.) “Rule-Based Reconciliation.” http://www.humiliationstudies.org/documdents/adelmanreconciliation.pdf. Boal, A., Theatre of the Oppressed. Urizen Books, New York, 1979 . Bronowski, J., The Ascent of Man. Little, Brown and Co., Boston, 1976.

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______________________________________________________________ Brounéus, K., Reconciliation - Theory and Practice for Development Cooperation. Stockholm: Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency, 2003. Chifunyise, S., ‘Trends in Zimbabwean Theatre since 1980’, i n Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in Southern Africa, edited by L. Gunner, Witwatersrand University Press, Johannesburg, South Africa, 1994, pp. 55-74. Dates, J. and Barlow, W., (eds.) Split Image: African Americans in the Mass Media, 2nd Edition. Howard University Press, Washington, D.C., 1983. Dinan, S., (ed) Radical Spirit: Spiritual Writings from the Voices of Tomorrow. New World Library, Novato, CA, 2002. Dowmunt, T., Channels of Resistance: Global Television and Local Empowerment. British Film Institute, London, 1993. Downing, J. D.H., with T. V. Ford, G. Gil and L. Stein, Radical Media: Rebellious Communication and Social Movements. Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2001. Gerth, D. and Mills, C. W. (eds.), From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology. Oxford University Press, New York, 1958. Girard, B., A Passion for Radio. Black Rose Books, New York, 1992. Green, P., ‘Reconciliation: A Path of Courage, Commitment and Compassion’. Keynote Address to the Pendle Hill Conference, April 2004. At http://www.karunacenter.org/ReconciliationAPathofCourage...htm Hersch, P., A Tribe Apart: A Journey into the Heart of American Adolescence. Fawcett Columbine, New York, 1998. Higher Education Research Institute, The Spiritual Life of College Students: A National Study of College Students’ Search for Meaning and Purpose. UCLA School of Library and Information Science, Los Angeles, 2005. Hochheimer, J.L., ‘Organizing Democratic Radio: Issues in Praxis’, Media, Culture & Society, vol. 15, no. 3, 1993, pp. 473-486.

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______________________________________________________________ -----, ‘Planning Community Radio as Participatory Development’, in The Art of Facilitating Participation: Releasing the Power of Grassroots Communication, edited by Shirley White, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1999, pp. 245-258. -----, ‘Journalism Education in Africa: From Critical Pedagogical Theory to Meaning-based Practice’, Critical Arts: A South-North Journal of Cultural and Media Studies (South Africa) , vol. 15 no 1 and 2, 2001, pp. 97-116. -----, ‘Education, Communication and the Human Spirit: Challenges for a Democratizing World’, in Charles Nieman (ed.) Democracy and Globalization. Kent State University Press, Kent, OH, 2005. At: http://upress.kent.edu/Nieman/Education_Communication.htm -----, ‘Independent Participation in Emerging Democracies: Constructing Media as Platforms for Reconciliation’, Paper presented to the Pathways to Reconciliation and Global Human Rights Conference, Sarajevo, BosniaHerzegovina, August 2005. Hochheimer, J. L. and P. J. Kareithi, ‘Communications Media in Emerging Democracies: Towards a Praxis of Intercultural Reconciliation’, to be published in Proceedings of the 2nd Global Conference on Interculturalism: Exploring Critical Issues. (In press). Horwitz, C., The Spiritual Activist: Practices to Transform Your Life, Your Work, and Your World. Penguin Compass, New York, 2002. James, W., The Varieties of Religious Experience. Modern Library, New York, 1902. Kamenetz, R., The Jew in the Lotus: A Poet's Re-Discovery of Jewish Identity in Buddhist India. HarperSanFrancisco, New York, 1995. Khan, H. I., The Sufi Message of Hazrat Inayat Khan. Vol. 1. Barrie and Jenkins, London, 1973. Lappé, F. M. and Anna Lappé, Hope's Edge: The Next Diet for a Small Planet. J.P. Tarcher, New York, 2003. Loeb, P. R., Soul of a Citizen: Living With Conviction in a Cynical Time. St. Martin’s Griffin, New York, 1999.

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______________________________________________________________ Margoshes, M., ‘The Rampaging Cossacks of 1648’, Jewish Observer, Summer 1999. At: http://www.innernet.org.il/article.php?aid=187 Mda, Z., ‘Marotholi Travelling Theatre: Towards an Alternative Perspective to Development’, in Gunner, op. cit., pp. 203-210. Mindich, D. T.Z. Just the Facts: How ‘Objectivity’ Came to Define American Journalism. New York University Press, New York, 1998. Mzamane, M. V., ‘The Impact of Black Consciousness on Culture’, in Bounds of Possibility: The Legacy of Steve Biko and Black Consciousness, edited by N. Barney Pityana, Mamphela Ramphele, Malusi Mpumlwana and Lindy Wilson, David Philip, Cape Town, South Africa, 1991, pp. 179-193. Palmer, P., To Know As We Are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey. Harper SanFrancisco, New York, 1993. -----, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life. JosseyBass Publishing, San Francisco, 2004. Peck, M. S., The Road Less Travelled, 25th Anniversary Edition: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth. Touchstone Books, New York, 2003. Remen, R. N., Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal. Riverhead Books, New York, 1996. Riley, D., ‘A Voice Without a Mouth: Inner Speech’, Qui Parle, vol 14, no. 2 2004, pp. 57-104. Smith, H., The Religions of Man. Harper and Row, New York, 1958. Thede, N. and Alain Ambrosi, Video the Changing World. Black Rose Books, New York, 1991. Twerski, Abraham J. (1997). Not Just Stories: The Chassidic Spirit Through its Classic Stories. Brooklyn, NY: The Shaar Press. Watts, Alan (1968). The Wisdom of Insecurity. New York: Vintage.

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______________________________________________________________ Winfrey, Oprah (2003). “Become the change you want to see - those words I live by.” O: The Oprah Magazine. July, p. 186. Yogananda, Paramhansa (1953). The Science of Religion. Los Angeles: SelfRealization Fellowship.

Assessment of Hope - The Process of Constructing a Gender-Sensitive Scale for Hope Within a South African Context David J.F. Maree and Marinda Maree Abstract Hope within a South African context is currently not an investigated phenomenon albeit a crucial dimension in its development of a multicultural and non-discriminatory society. This paper tries to understand hope, within a South African context, from a gender perspective by means of constructing a hope-scale aimed at South Africans. The view of hope as a psychological construct is based on Snyder’s view that hope consists of three cognitive components, namely: goal, pathway and agency thoughts. It is further supplemented by the idea that hope has similarities with expectancy. A number of students, male and female, were asked to describe what hope means to them in a South African context. Content analysis was used to interpret the responses. Themes were identified which were further divided into sub-themes. This information was used to generate a number of items focusing on evaluating hope. A rating scale was developed to assess the written responses of the sample. Item response analysis was used to test the dimensionality of the scale and determine the basic functioning of items. Language and gender groups were compared on personal hope measures and situational hope. Key Words: Assessment instrument, hope, measuring hope, South Africa. ***** 1.

Introduction South Africa as a new democracy is currently experiencing a number of crises and transitions on many levels. The problem of HIV/AIDs and the extent thereof is but one example. Recent figures released by the Department of Health estimates that by 2004 over six million persons were infected as opposed to the four million figure given by Statistics SA.1 Crime statistics are high in this country, while political issues, poverty, corruption in government circles and human rights events in Africa, such as the recent Zimbabwean clean-up atrocity, continue to haunt South Africa as well. Interest groups fighting for rights also vie for our attention, and in some instances it is very urgent to give them a voice. An example is the rights of women: in this country women are subjected to abuse, rape and

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______________________________________________________________ discrimination on a number of levels and the issues are not yet addressed sufficiently in our society. In the light of these events and processes, how do South Africans remain hopeful? How do they view their future and how hopeful are they? This paper would like to address the question of hope amongst South Africans starting on very small and limited scale. The aim of the research reported on in this paper is to develop a hope instrument assessing persons’ levels of personal hope and situational hope given the circumstances they are living in. Given the fact that women are bearing the brunt of the tumultuous events in South Africa, our research also focuses on gender differences in the experience of hope. 2.

Importance of Hope In the light of recent developments in positive psychology the focus on hope is not surprising. A number of psychometric instruments have been and are now being developed focusing on the construct of hope and related concepts. The current trend in positive psychology is to focus on those aspects that enable resilience, survival, growth and potential development, trends that are very relevant in South African society today. 3.

Aim and Process of the Research The research postulated differences between male and female experience of hope. This assumption will be investigated in the course of the project. The part of the project reported here involves a survey of written reports on experiences of hope. From these reports or protocols a conceptual model was developed comprising hope as a construct, personal hope (which in general can correspond to dispositional hope) and hope in South Africa which corresponds roughly to situational hope. The model was followed by coding responses, obtaining frequencies and then a development of a rating scale to score the written responses of respondents. Differences were compared between language groups and genders for personal and South African situational (SA) hope. This rating scale and the results of the models will be used to develop the final psychometric instrument to assess hope. Some examples of items are provided. The next phase in the project will be to assess a larger group and more diverse group to calibrate the final instrument. 4.

Hope as a Construct and its Elements Snyder and his research teams did much of the recent work on hope measurement and he seems to be a leading proponent in positive psychology and hope research. Snyder defined hope as goal-directed thinking having two basic components: agency and pathway.2 Agency refers to a person’s ability to imagine actions and behaviour to reach their goals. Pathway refers to the ability to find ways or routes to their goals. Snyder et al. clarified the model

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______________________________________________________________ of hope by relating goals, pathway and agency.3 Hope always involves goals that may have negative or positive outcome orientations. Negative outcome goals imply hoping to deter or avoid a certain outcome. Pathway thoughts as indications for the quality of one’s hopes involve degrees - it is good to be able to imagine routes to goal attainment but it is better to envisage multiple pathways.4 Agency or goal-directed energy and pathway thoughts are interdependent as well. If one can imagine routes to goal attainment then it causes an increase in agency. Snyder’s model is a cognitive one - both pathway and agency involve cognition or at least thought. Emotions do play a role in the model, but in a reactive sense - positive emotions are the result of positive goal attainment and negative emotions the result of failure to attain goals: “…we conclude that that people's perceived lack of progress toward their major goals is the cause for reductions in well-being rather than vice versa.”5 A distinction must be made between trait and dispositional and state forms of hope. ‘Dispositional’ refers to personality characteristics, whilst state forms focus on cognitive and emotional states.6 Dispositional hope indicates that despite situational factors a person will in any case exhibit higher or lower trait hope. However, state hope is dependent upon current situational factors. Thus current changing events and behaviours influence one’s current thoughts on hope. Trait hope is supposedly more stable and depends on coping and motivational characteristics. Hope must be distinguished from other concepts such as optimism and expectancy. Bryant and Cvengros distinguished between hope and optimism:7 hope refers to reaching specific goals while optimism refers future outcomes in general. Montgomery et al. refer to an interesting example trying to distinguish between hope and expectancy:8 if you must go for an inoculation and you are not fond of injections, then you can be asked how much do you hope the injection will hurt and how much do you expect it will hurt? The answer probably will be that one hopes for no pain but one expects it to hurt a little. A number of issues were identified above. Hope as a construct is probably uni-dimensional and must be distinguished from related concepts such as expectancy, optimism and related motivation aspects. It seems as if hope functions dispositional and situational and this must be taken into account when devising an instrument for hope. It is also important to recognise the role of self-efficacy and the ability to imagine routes to obtain goals. 5.

Method The following section discusses the sample characteristics and method and process used for this study.

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______________________________________________________________ A. Sample A sample of 71 postgraduate (4th year or honours) students was requested to voluntarily participate in a survey determining their understanding of hope. The sample consisted of a morning and an evening class. The morning class was predominantly Afrikaans-speaking while the evening class consisted of a mix of languages (the class is usually presented in English) and races. The majority was Afrikaans (62 %), followed by English home language speakers (29 %). The remaining 11 % consisted of African language speakers. The skewed nature of the sample in terms of blacks and males made comparisons difficult but not impossible. Figure 1 shows that language category (where African languages were grouped) by gender comparisons will be problematic due to two cells having a count of 1 (and the three cells for males have expected counts of less than 5, which is a minimum for Chi-Square analysis).

Number

60 40 20 0

Afrikaan English

African

Male

6

1

1

Female

37

19

7

Language Figure 1 Language Group by Gender B. Procedures The sample was requested to complete semi-structured questionnaires anonymously. Each respondent was asked to provide basic biographical information such as age, language, home language and race. The respondents had sufficient time to complete the questionnaires. The three items were (a) Give a definition of hope (b) Describe what hope means to. Start with “I am hopeful because …” OR “I am not hopeful because …”

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______________________________________________________________ (c) As someone living in South Africa, hope means the following to me: Content analysis was done in two steps. First, a conceptual grouping of themes and a search for patterns was done; secondly, a coding list was compiled to obtain response frequencies of themes. The conceptual analysis roughly followed the process of qualitative content analysis discussed by Graneheim and Lundman.9 A distinction can be made between different phases of reduction starting from the verbatim responses, proceeding to statements, categories and themes as the broadest organising conceptual framework. The focus is on manifest content rather than discovering deeper meaning. Usually psychometric instruments and those that have been referred to above have been developed within a classic test theory (CTT) framework. In order to develop a scale that does not depend on sample characteristics as well as having stable interval measures an item response theory approach was followed.10 Specifically a one-parameter IRT (or Rasch) model was followed, which allows the development of an instrument that measures a unidimensional construct or trait. A rating scale was devised for scoring the individual protocols. A scale was developed for the evaluation of personal hope and of SA hope. The scale provided sufficient information to enable adequate rating of the protocols. Each protocol was scored on Personal Hope and SA Hope. The scoring exercise allowed more depth interpretation of the responses than the coding phase. 6.

Results A. Content analysis Figure 2 summarises the definitional model of hope and shows that hope was regarded by the sample as aimed at a goal, and the goal may be specific outcomes such as improvement, realisation of set goals and the occurrence of events or things. Hope is defined by its relationship to the present - hope is not hope if the goals are attained or if the present did not simulate future expectancies. A current difficult situation necessitates hope and has either the effect of keeping a person focussed or it can lead to despair. Hope can be expressed on an emotional, cognitive and spiritual level.

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______________________________________________________________

Figure 2 A Definition of Hope Personal hope is summarised in Figure 3. Some explicitly stated their despondency while others focused on possibilities and concrete aspects. Driving personal hope was a principle such as “things happen for a reason” or “things always turn out well.” This seems idealistic in some instances but it seems to reflect a certain world-view. Personal hope was in most instances motivated or grounded within a particular set of personal aspects or environmental aspects. The content of hope involved a focus on reduction of negative events, obtaining success and some vague ideals were also stipulated.

Figure 3 Personal Hope

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______________________________________________________________ An interesting aspect was the personal characteristics that were indicated or cited as reasons why success or goal attainment will be realised: hard work and skills were indicated, almost as an entitlement or insurance for goal attainment. South African hope, as summarised in Figure 4, ranged from negative but usually positive aspects regarding South Africa and included to be expected issues such as crime reduction and increase in the wellbeing of all. A wish for equality amongst races and equal opportunities were prominent in SA hope indicators.

Figure 4 South African Hope B. Results of Rating Scale Figure 5 shows the average levels of hope for type of hope and language groups. An Anova for personal hope comparing language groups was not significant (F2,68=0.349, p>0.05). The same applies to SA hope (F2,68=0.533, p>0.05). However, one can see that the African language speakers tended to have higher levels of hope than Afrikaans and English speakers.

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Hope (logit)

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0 -0.1 -0.2 -0.3 -0.4 -0.5

Afrikaans English African Personal SA Hope Hope Hope Type Figure 5 Hope Type and Language Group

Figure 6 indicates that levels of hope for males were lower than that for females for SA hope in contrast with personal hope. However the differences were not significant.

-0.2

Hope (logit)

-0.25 Female

-0.3

Male

-0.35 -0.4 Personal Hope

SA Hope

Hope Type Figure 6 Hope Type and Gender 7. Discussion Hope as a construct is intentional, which means that it is aimed at something or has certain content. A number of characteristics of hope were identified namely the tangible nature of hope’s focus, its tentative nature (one

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______________________________________________________________ can never be sure of its outcome), and its temporality, i.e., focus on the future which can be far distant or closer to the present. Additional aspects were identified such as hope’s personal nature, its valence, namely, whether it is positive or negative (for example a focus on reduction or avoidance of events), and its agency or self-efficacy component. Pathway thoughts were incorporated in the rating scale phase and some respondents actually did indicate some avenues to reaching their goals. One obvious manner of goal attainment was expressed was the belief that hard work, skills, talent and knowledge almost ensures goal attainment or realisation of hope. A distinction between personal and situational hope or rather dispositional and state hope can be made. It seems as if state hope is dependent on inner and outer circumstances and contextual effects and probably the lower hope scores of the sample can be attributed to their particular situation as students and as persons living in South Africa. Despite a number of rich responses in terms of what it means to live in South Africa, the sample’s SA (or situational) hope scores were below average. Slight trends in terms of differences in situational and personal hope for gender and language groups were found but they were not statistically significant. Given the skew sample and the small number of males it is difficult to make a final conclusion. The Rasch analysis indicated that SA hope was slightly lower for males compared to females whilst personal hope was slightly higher for males than for females (although not significantly so). Personal hope was based on certain principles, which function as guarantees for why hope is important and why one can expect a certain outcome. In some instances it is almost a naïve belief that hope ensures positive outcomes. Some respondents expressed the tentative nature of hope hope is precisely what it is because there is no guarantee for a particular outcome. Personal hope is grounded in different aspects. With grounding we imply citing certain events or circumstances as reason why a person is hopeful. This is a hope-enabling factor. It was found that hope was grounded in external circumstances such as living in a wonderful country, while others grounded their hope internally (being alive, having a support system or being healthy). An interesting facet was that some grounded hope internally but focussed it outward. An example is when a person felt he or she had a calling to help others. SA (or situational) hope was grounded within the potential of South Africa as a country and mostly focussed on the changed situation in South Africa since the establishment of the 1994 democracy. Some students had low levels of hope for the country, while others grounded their hope on previous history. A number of positive issues were mentioned as the content of SA hope, namely, hoping for positive change in people and institutions. Most respondents expressed a wish for equality, change in mindsets,

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______________________________________________________________ tolerance and harmony. Avoidance or negative hope also materialised in SA hope, namely reduction of violent and negative emotions, decrease in crime, corruption, violence, HIV, poverty suffering and so on. It is interesting to note that some white students experienced reverse discrimination and negativity, and hoped for this to end.

Notes 1

‘UN Integrated Regional Information Networks’, South Africa: Confusion Over New HIV/Aids Stats, 12 July 2005, (14 July 2005). 2 C R Snyder, et al., ‘The Will and the Ways, Development and Validation of an Individual - Differences Measure of Hope’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 60, 1991, pp. 570-585. C R Snyder et al., ‘Development and Validation of the State Hope Scale’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 70, 1996, pp. 321-335. 3 Snyder, C.R. et al., ‘The Roles of Hopeful Thinking in Preventing Problems and Enhancing Strengths’, Applied & Preventative Psychology 9, 2000, pp. 249-270. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid, p. 251. 6 F B Bryant, & J A Cvengros. ‘Distinguishing Hope and Optimism: Two Sides of a Coin, or Two Separate Coins?’ Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology 23, 2004, pp. 273-302. 7 Ibid. 8 G H Montgomery et al., “Is Hoping the Same as Expecting? Discrimination Between Hopes and Response Expectancies for Non-volitional Outcomes”, Personality and Individual Differences 35 (2003): 399-409. 9 U H Graneheim and B Lundman. ‘Qualitative Content Analysis in Nursing Research: Concepts, Procedures and Measures to Achieve Trustworthiness’, Nurse Education Today 24, 2004, pp. 105-112. See also W Bos and C Tarnai. ‘Content Analysis in Empirical Social Research’, International Journal of Education Research 31, 1999, pp. 659-671. 10 R J Harvey and A L Hammer, ‘Item Response Theory’, The Counselling Psychologist 27, 1999, pp. 353-383.

Bibliography ‘UN Integrated Regional Information Networks’, South Africa: Confusion Over New HIV/Aids Stats, 12 July 2005. http://allafrica.com/stories/200507120752.html (14 July 2005).

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______________________________________________________________ Bos, W., and C. Tarnai. ‘Content Analysis in Empirical Social Research.’ International Journal of Education Research 31, 1999, pp. 659-671. Bryant, F.B., and J.A. Cvengros, ‘Distinguishing Hope and Optimism: Two sides of a Coin, or Two Separate Coins?’ Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology 23, 2004, pp. 273-302. Graneheim, U.H., and B. Lundman, ‘Qualitative Content Analysis in Nursing Research: Concepts, Procedures and Measures to Achieve Trustworthiness.” Nurse Education Today 24, 2004, pp. 105-112. Harvey, R.J., and A.L. Hammer, ‘Item Response Theory’, The Counselling Psychologist 27, 1999, pp. 353-383. Montgomery, G.H., D. David, T. DiLorenzo, and J. Erblich, ‘Is Hoping the Same as Expecting? Discrimination Between Hopes and Response Expectancies for Non-volitional Outcomes.” Personality and Individual Differences 35, 2003, pp. 399-409. Snyder, C.R., C. Harris, J.R. Anderson, S.A. Holleran, L.M. Irving, S.T. Sigmon, L. Yoshinobu, J. Gibb, C. Langelle and P. Harney, ‘The Will and the Ways, Development and Validation of an Individual-differences Measure of Hope.’ Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 60, 1991, pp. 570-585. -----, D. B. Feldman, J. Taylor, L. Schroeder and V. Adams III, ‘The Roles of Hopeful Thinking in Preventing Problems and Enhancing Strengths.” Applied & Preventative Psychology 9, 2000, pp. 249-270. ------, S.C. Sympson, F.C. Ybasco, T.F. Borders, M.A. Babyak, and R.L. Higgins, ‘Development and Validation of the State Hope Scale.’ Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 70, 1996, pp. 321-335.

An Open Future for Indigenous Law in South Africa? Hope for a Constitutional Dialogue David Taylor Abstract This paper deals with aspects of the legal institution of succession in indigenous and Western South African law. Western law is premised on individual ownership. The word “inherit” usually implies the personal ownership of property. Indigenous culture, on the other hand, is based on a notion of kinship between and within agnatic groups. In South Africa, the courts have assumed that the term “inherit” is to be understood in a Western paradigm of individual property ownership. Recent court decisions about the indigenous law of succession serve to illustrate how current jurisprudence serves to create a closed future for indigenous law. The paper discusses various jurisprudential options that will allow for an open future for indigenous law. The cases that will be focused on are those of Mthembu v Letsela and another 1 where the right of so called “illegitimate”2 children to inherit was at issue. Key Words: Agnatic, indigenous law, inheritance, primogeniture, succession ***** 1.

Introduction This paper deals with aspects of the legal institution of succession in indigenous and Western South African law. Recent court decisions about the indigenous law of succession serve to illustrate how current jurisprudence serves to create a closed future for indigenous law. The paper will then discuss various jurisprudential options that will allow for an open future for indigenous law. The cases that will be focused on are those of Mthembu v Letsela and another 3 where the right of so called “illegitimate”4 children to inherit was at issue. It must be borne in mind that one will encounter “official” versions of indigenous law and “living” versions5. In this part of the dissertation an attempt will be made to present both. 2.

Mthembu v Letsela The applicant, the mother of Tembi, alleged that she was the widow of Tebalo Letsela. The respondent was the deceased father. The applicant wished for Tembi to inherit her father’s estate. The defendant denied that

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______________________________________________________________ Tembi was able to do so because Tembi was illegitimate and therefore was not entitled to inherit from her father’s estate. In the first court hearing, Justice Le Roux formulated the legal question to be whether or not the customary-law rule that only the oldest male descendant who is “related” to the deceased through a male qualifies as an intestate heir, was is unconstitutional, in terms of the interim Constitution of 1993.6 The court concluded that the customary rule was not “unfair discrimination” because of the concomitant duty of support under indigenous law.7 With regard to the submission that the rule is contrary to public policy as stated in the repugnancy clause, the court held that the indigenous rule of succession was not contrary to public policy or natural justice as envisaged in the Law of Evidence Amendment Act 45 of 1988.8 Owing to the fact that the factual situation with regard to the marital status of the applicant could not be resolved on the documents before the court, the court postponed the application and referred the matter for a hearing of oral evidence on the dispute of fact. The matter then came before Justice Mynhardt on the 12 August 1997, for the second court hearing. At that time both parties decided not to adduce evidence and the court therefore decided the matter on the basis that the applicant and the deceased were not married, and therefore Tembi was born out of wedlock.9 The court was of the view that the customary-law rule of primogeniture applied only to legitimate children. The applicant requested that the customary rule of succession should be developed in terms of section 35(5) of the interim Constitution with regard to equality to avoid discrimination between men and women. The applicant also requested that if the rule is not developed in such a manner then the rule is repugnant to the “principles of public policy or natural justice” within section 1 of Law of Evidence Amendment Act 45 of 1988.10 Justice Mynhardt recognised that the interim Constitution provides for equality. The court concluded that because Tembi was born out of wedlock, she was unable to inherit in terms of the indigenous-law rule of succession. The court was of the view that the rule would apply equally to male and female “illegitimate” children and therefore there was no unfair discrimination on the grounds of sex or gender in this case.11 The court emphasised that Tembi still retained her right to support and maintenance from her guardian, a right that she had from birth. The court declined to develop the customary law of succession and stated that Parliament would be a more suitable body to do so.12 Later the court also said: I think that I would be adopting a paternalistic attitude towards many black people in this country if I hold in the

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______________________________________________________________ present case that the customary law rule of succession falls foul of section 1(1) of the Law of Evidence Amendment Act, 1988.13 The application was with dismissed costs. The effect for the applicant was that Tembi was not entitled to inherit from her father’s estate. 3.

Discussion of the Legal Principles in the Cases The Western legal systems and the indigenous legal systems are based on two fundamentally different conceptions of what happens to property after a person dies. Every legal system relies on culture-specific language to express their ideas. Consequently, terminology can become a barrier to the true understanding of other cultural and legal paradigms. A.

Differences in the Understanding of “Inheritance” Originally, in indigenous law, estates generally vested in agnatic groups, and not just with specific individuals. Upon the death of a member of the agnatic group (the paternal side of the family), the survivors share (as a group) the rights in the property. 14 Originally, among the Tswana, the eldest son succeeded as the head of the household or agnatic group.15 The widow, all sons and daughters as well as the maternal uncle of the deceased continued to be provided for.16 The court in the Mthembu case recognised this duty of support expressly, but failed to comment on the actual implementation of this duty.17 Western law is premised on individual ownership. The word “inherit” usually implies the personal ownership of property. In the indigenous context “inherit” can take on two meanings: first, the ability to be the person who administers the property on behalf of the agnatic group; second, the ability of a person to be a member of an agnatic group and to be provided for out of the property to which the agnatic group has rights. The courts have failed to investigate the possibility of these two concepts in their decisions. Instead the courts have assumed that the term “inherit” is to be understood in a Western paradigm of individual property ownership. Therefore they are able to conclude that children can “inherit” or can not “inherit”, rather than focusing on where the child can participate in agnatic rights to property and where the child can “administer” the agnatic property. Children always “inherit” in the sense that they are entitled to be provided for out of the communal property of a family group. Which agnatic group each child is a member of may be determined by the status the child holds: so called “legitimate” or “illegitimate”.

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______________________________________________________________ B.

Differences in the Understanding of “Illegitimacy” The term “illegitimate” also has different connotations in the two legal systems. Western concepts of succession are founded on individual property ownership. Western concepts of “legitimacy” are based on the Western preconception of the appropriate relationship between two biological parents.18 Indigenous culture, on the other hand, is based on a notion of kinship between and within agnatic groups. Historically, all children within the structure of agnatic groups were provided for from the estate of the deceased that formed part of the agnatic property. It is doubtful that the concept of “illegitimacy” exists in indigenous law. This view has been confirmed by recent research as the current “living” law of many indigenous groups in the areas of Atteridgeville and Mamelodi.19 An adulterine child is not regarded as “illegitimate” for the purposes of succession.20 Under certain circumstances an adulterine child is regarded as the child of the mother’s husband, and not that of the father. In the ordinary course of events adulterine children are not considered to be “illegitimate”. Among most indigenous peoples “illegitimate” children were simply accepted as members of the family.21 Yet, based on the repugnancy proviso, the courts have held that an “illegitimate” child cannot “inherit” in preference to the legitimate issue of that house.22 The result is that there is uncertainty as to the rights of such a child to succeed. In the past, South African Roman-Dutch law accepted the exclusion of “illegitimate” children from inheriting23 from the estate of their father. “Illegitimate” children could inherit from their mother. Now statute provides that “illegitimate” children are entitled to inherit from both parents.24 Western perceptions of African social and legal practices are influenced by the values that Westerners prize. These values derive from the societies in which Westerners operate. The result is that "[G]enerally, the courts overruled African cultural expectations about children and adopted Western social mores”25. C.

The Refusal to Apply Western Norms The interesting element of the Mthembu case is the fact that both judges, refused to regard the customary rule as offensive to public policy, even when the result was that Tembi was unable to inherit because of her status as “illegitimate”. In both hearings of the Mthembu case the court refused to apply Western norms. This was an unusual position to take given that the repugnancy clause had been used previously to find that illegitimate children could inherit.26 The court attempted to give recognition to indigenous norms by not striking down an indigenous law. Yet, it may be that the indigenous law itself is an “official” version that does not agree with the

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______________________________________________________________ “living” law or the jural postulates of indigenous law. In such circumstances the court may make an error by refusing to undertake any normative evaluation of an indigenous law. As such a decision may result in the support of a rule that is contrary to the jural postulates of indigenous law, and in some cases “living” indigenous law. Instead the court should have made some attempt to evaluate the indigenous norm by indigenous values expressed perhaps in “living” indigenous law, or even more likely in the jural postulates that inform indigenous law. 4.

The South African Constitution and Indigenous Norms Judicial concern about the relative nature of indigenous law norms has been sparked by the South African Constitution.27 The Constitution provides for the compulsory application of indigenous law, subject to legislation.28 The South African Law Commission29 outlines some of the problems faced when indigenous law and the new Constitution meet. The Commission points out that it will be the legitimate task of courts to declare “official” versions of indigenous law unconstitutional if they “owe little to an authentic African tradition or to contemporary social practice.” In addition if there are “gaps” in the indigenous law due to uncertainty or contradiction,30 then constitutional norms should fill the “gap.” It is this filling of the “gap” that leads to difficulty if one is committed to giving indigenous norms their due: If recognition of customary law is to be something more than an empty gesture towards the African cultural tradition, however, application of the Bill of Rights must be construed in such a way that a set of Western values does not become dominant.31 How then does one fill the “gaps” whilst at the same time construing the Bill of Rights in such a way that “a set of Western values does not become dominant”? The main difficulty indigenous law faces in relation to the Constitution is a clash of values which is complicated by the fact that often it is the “official” indigenous law that clashes with the Constitution and not the jural postulates that underlie pre-colonial and current “living” law.32 One example of this is the principle that “illegitimate” children cannot inherit. On the face of it, any such legal principle would clash with the right to equality in the Constitution.33 Yet the jural postulate that underlies the indigenous law does not forbid inheritance by “illegitimate” children. Therefore there appears to be little clash of values here. The difficulty arises when the “official” indigenous law erroneously depicts an indigenous rule as

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______________________________________________________________ discriminating between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” children. The matter is complicated further when the current “living” law has moved away from the jural postulates of indigenous law and has begun to resemble “official” law as determined by the colonial powers. The judges in the Mthembu cases stated that they were not prepared to judge the African law of succession by Western values, yet they did not give any indication of how the sensitivities towards relative cultural norms could be played out under the Constitution. It is important for us to find a way of addressing relative cultural norms. We must acknowledge the jural postulates that underlie indigenous law. Such recognition of indigenous law will promote a truly South African jurisprudence around our constitutional values. In particular we must specifically recognise those jural postulates of indigenous law, which support the Constitution34 or are consistent with it. The question still remains though: Who has the task of recognising the jural postulates of indigenous law that support or are consistent with the Constitution? Who has the task of doing away with the jural postulates of indigenous law, which do not support or are inconsistent with the Constitution? 5.

The Courts and Democratic Law Making Judges are often confronted with the dilemma of whether the courts should make policy decisions that effect wide ranging developments in the law or whether the courts should leave such developments to the legislature.35 In the Mthembu case the judges had the choice of taking a wide ranging policy decision - they could have declared the indigenous-law rule unconstitutional or amended the rule to bring it in line with the Constitution, or they could even have struck the rule down on the grounds that it is repugnant. The court did none of these,36 preferring instead to take the view often taken by the courts that changes in the law based upon principles of public policy are properly best left to the legislature. The argument is that, the legislature is more directly accountable to the public than the judiciary. The counter argument is that persons, who would benefit from any potential legislative change, are in no position to access the political power.37 The courts therefore must be constitutive of society from which norms and values spring.38 A judge must become “the living voice of the people”, knowing “us better than we know ourselves” and interpreting “society to himself”.39 The political implications of the decision in the Mthembu cases are what make the decisions so interesting. On the one hand the striking down of an indigenous law could perhaps result in the majority of the population not supporting the decision of the court. The majority may continue to follow the indigenous law, thus creating a gap between the “official” law position and the “living” law. This divide may call into question the legitimacy of the

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______________________________________________________________ judiciary. In the second hearing of Mthembu the court refused to regard the indigenous rule of succession as repugnant. This decision, it has been argued, ignores the fact of actual hardship and discrimination against women, “illegitimate” children and children who are not first-born.40 It could be said that rather than refusing to respect the rights of the above persons, the court decision in fact does so, as it pays respect to the culture and norms of Africans, of which the above-mentioned persons (women, “illegitimate” children, etc.) are members. At the same time, as explained above, the court has not placed these African norms above the norms of others, but rather concludes that it is the role of the legislature to decide how the matter is to be approached. Therefore the “value choice” that the court made was not intended to preclude the validity or invalidity of African norms in the context of the indigenous law of succession; it chose rather, simply to recognise these norms by refusing to assert Western norms in order to reject the rule of succession. It may have seemed to the court that the conflicting political implications of either possible decision in Mthembu case are irreconcilable. Perhaps this is why the court opted to designate the legislature as the appropriate body to make normative changes of such great magnitude to the law. Yet the court cannot escape the inevitable political consequences by simply stating that the legislature is responsible. In this particular case, and in many other such circumstances, there will be great hardship if the legislature does not address the matter or until it does so. But more than that, the court failed in one of its primary functions to “interpret society to itself.”41 6.

The Democratic Dialogue The South African Constitution gives recognition to indigenous law but does not provide real guidance to the courts that have to face difficult questions about indigenous law in light of the Constitution. By merely subjecting indigenous law to the Constitution, we run the risk of making the Constitution a modern form of the “repugnancy rule” designed effectively to exclude African concepts of “public policy.” The way forward will be affected by the role the court plays in the new South African constitutional democracy, and how the courts view their function in relation to parliament. In the second Mthembu case, the court “dealt” with the interaction between indigenous law of succession and Western law of succession by referring the matter to the legislature. It is clear that the court did not see itself as part of a process in which both the courts and the legislature can play a role. When the courts in South Africa evaluate the role they play in our new constitutional democracy,42 they often take an “either/or” approach to democracy. Democracy is seen as either the courts deferring to the legislature or the courts usurping the function of the legislature.

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______________________________________________________________ Democracy is not simply about the will of the majority as represented by parliament, for if it were we would simply return to parliamentary democracy. Democracy is not only access to political entitlements but also to legal entitlements. Having access to both parliament and the courts is part of the democratic process. Much of what is valuable to a vibrant democracy is the dialogue between the courts and parliament as well as others in the open democratic community. The dialogue will only remain open if the courts understand it is part of their function to keep it open. The constitutional court has gone some way to support an open dialogue. In Mhlungu43 the court stated that the balancing of: …competing provisions, will always take the form of a principled judicial dialogue, in the first place between members of this Court, then between our Court and other courts, the legal profession, law schools, Parliament, and, indirectly, with the public at large.44 Under our constitution the courts can apply constitutional rights directly, which may result in the court effectively closing the dialogue about a particular issue.45 The courts can also keep the dialogue on issues open by applying or developing the common law and indigenous law so as to be consistent with the constitution. This would not necessarily lead to the striking down of an indigenous rule as unconstitutional, but rather give the legislature and the opportunity to engage in dialogues concerning how the court has chosen to develop the indigenous law. The potential consequences of such dialogues may be many. The voices of the marginalised may be heard. Different versions of indigenous law (“official” and “living”) can be examined, compared and understood. This may lead to decisions that will have legitimacy. An examination of the different versions of indigenous law may expose the jural postulates that underlie indigenous law, resolving, in some cases46, the supposed conflict between indigenous norms and the constitution. The dialogue will also provide a source of different views and wisdoms on which the constitutional court or parliament can draw when considering any such matter. 47 The court in the Mthembu48 case failed to open up the dialogue about the indigenous law of succession, about “official” and “living” law, about cultural understandings of “legitimacy” and what it means to “inherit.” By shifting the responsibility to parliament the court may have shut out many of the marginalised. It did not attempt to discuss the jural postulates that underlie the indigenous rule. Instead the court relied on the “authority” of an indigenous rule without thoroughly investigating it, or dealing with the substantive value justifications for such a rule.

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______________________________________________________________ Ultimately, by relying on the “authority” of an indigenous law rule, the court may have closed off a potential dialogue and overlooked an opportunity to develop a truly South African jurisprudence. The Constitutional court has given the following warning: “Finally, sooner or later, the question of the relationship between the Constitution and customary or indigenous law will have to be confronted.”49 When the courts finally deal with this question, it is hoped that they will accept their roles as instigators of the democratic dialogue and not simply leave the question to be answered by parliament. 7.

Conclusion The courts need to begin a dialogue about indigenous law and the constitution to create an open future for indigenous law. They can accomplish this by attempting to come to terms with the indigenous law issues that come before them. There are many reasons why the courts should embark on this process. Some of these reasons relate to the democratic process and a search for a South African jurisprudence and others relate to doing justice to indigenous rules. These are both relative to African culture and based on jural postulates that have, in some cases, been lost as a result of the colonial process (as evidenced by the repugnancy clause). Once the courts have investigated the indigenous law it can keep the dialogue about the constitution open by developing the indigenous law rules rather than striking them down or upholding them on constitutional provisions. The Mthembu case was prepared to give recognition to the cultural relativity of norms, and so refused to apply western norms to indigenous rules. But the court did not go further and investigate what the indigenous norms were. In failing to do this the court not only came to an outcome which caused direct hardship but also gave up an opportunity to begin a dialogue which was not only needed by indigenous law but by our South African constitutional democracy.

Notes 1

Mthembu v Letsela and Another 1997 (2) SA 936 (T) was the first hearing. S M Seymour, Bantu Law in South Africa. 3rd ed., Juta, Cape Town, 1970, p. 226. 3 Mthembu v Letsela and Another 1998 (2) SA 675 (T) was the second hearing. 4 Seymour, op. cit., p. 226. 5 In essence, this dichotomy consists in indigenous law as applied by courts (“official” law), and indigenous law as practised by the people (“living” law). 2

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______________________________________________________________ See J C Bekker and I P Maithufi, ‘The Dichotomy between ‘Official and Customary Law’ and ‘Non-official and Customary Law.’ Tydskrif vir Regswetenskap, 1992, pp. 47 - 60. 6 The Constitution, 1993. 7 Mthembu, 1997, SA 936 (T), 945 G-I. 8 Ibid, 946 B. 9 Mthembu, 1998, 679 F-H, SA 675 (T). 10 Ibid, 681 D-G. 11 Ibid: 686 G. 12 Ibid, 686 I-J. 13 Ibid, 688 B-D. 14 A C Myburgh, Papers on Indigenous Law in Southern Africa, Pretoria. Van Schaik, 1985, pp. 94-95. 15 I Schapera, The Tswana, International African Institute, London, 1968, pp. 42-43. See also I Schapera, A handbook of Tswana Law, Frank Cass, London, 1970, pp. 230-8. 16 Schapera, 1968, p. 43. Schapera, 1970, pp. 231-232. 17 Mthembu, 1998, 675, 686. 18 In the Western system of law there was historically a stark distinction made between legitimate and illegitimate children. In present times attitudes towards legitimate and illegitimate children have changed and so too has the law. Currently Western law makes little distinction with regards to the two groups of children. 19 M W Prinsloo, et al., ‘Perceptions of the Law Regarding, and Attitudes Towards lobolo in Mamelodi and Atteridgeville.’ De Jure, 1998, pp. 82-84, 87. 20 N J J Olivier, et al., Indigenous law, Butterworths, Durban, 1995, p. 156 para 146. 21 Seymour, op. cit., p. 227. See also S Jones, ‘Children on the Move: Parenting, Mobility, and Birth-status Among Migrants’ in S Burman and Preston-Whyte (eds.), Questionable Issue: Illegitimacy in South Africa, Oxford University Press, Cape Town, 1992, p. 249. S Peart, ‘Section 11(1) of the Black Administration Act No 38 of 1927: The Application of the Repugnancy Clause’, Acta Juridica, 1982, p. 113. 22 “They [illegitimate children] also do not inherit from their natural father if he dies intestate.” Mthembu, 1998, 685I-686E. See also Peart, loc. cit. This confusion may be, in part, due to the fact that practice in this regard differs from indigenous group to indigenous group. 23 Until the enactment of the Intestate Succession Act 81 of, 1987, RomanDutch law in South Africa did not permit an illegitimate child to be an

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______________________________________________________________ intestate heir of her/his father’s estate. M J De Waal, et al., Law of Succession: Students’ handbook, Juta, Cape Town, 1993, p. 23. 24 Section 2 of the Intestate Succession Act 81 of 1987. 25 Bekker and Maithufi, op. cit., p. 50. See also T W Bennett, A Sourcebook of African Customary Law for Southern Africa, Juta, Cape Town, 1991, pp. 47-50. 26 Dumalitshona, 1927. Qakamba, 1964. Bennett, op. cit., p. 59 note 65. 27 The Constitution, 1996. 28 Ibid, Section 211(3). 29 South African Law Commission, 1997, para 2.4.9. 30 Ibid, para 2.4.10. See also J G Van Niekerk, The interaction of indigenous law and Western law in South Africa: A historical and comparative perspective (unpublished LLD thesis, University of South Africa), p. 211. 31 South African Law Commission, 1997, para 2.4.8. 32 Van Niekerk, op. cit., p. 211. Ibid, para 2.4.10. 33 The Constitution, 1996, Section 9. 34 For a discussion on one such possible jural postulate see R English, ‘Ubuntu: The Quest for an Indigenous Jurisprudence’, South African Journal of Human Rights, 1996, pp. 641 - 648. 35 M M Corbett, ‘Aspects of the Role of Policy in the Evolution of our Common Law’, South African Law Journal, 1987, p. 56. A Cockrell, ‘Rainbow Jurisprudence’, South African Journal of Human Rights, 1996, p. 7. 36 Mthembu, 1998, 686-687; Manamela, 2000, para 58; Du Plessis, 1996, para 61; Salituro, 1992, 185, 189. 37 G Carpenter, ‘Public Opinion, the Judiciary and Legitimacy’, South African Publike Reg / Public Law, 1996, p. 120. 38 H Botha, ‘Legal Meaning and the Other: Beyond a Mythology of Negation.’ Myth & Symbol, 1995, p. 13. 39 Corbett, op. cit., p. 67. 40 Van Niekerk, op. cit., p. 226. 41 Corbett, loc. cit. 42 Du Plessis, 1996, para 178. Sprigman and Osborne, 1999, 31. 43 Mhlungu, 1995. 44 Ibid, 129. 45 Makwanyane, 1995, para 383. is an example of where the Constitutional Court effectively closed the dialogue about the death penalty. The court unequivocally held that the death penalty was unconstitutional. This left no room for parliament to dialogue with the courts about the issue, beyond changing the Constitution. Since changing the Constitution, at this time, is highly improbable the issue is settled, in spite of the cries of various parts of

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______________________________________________________________ the South African community. An open dialogue on all issues is not always desirable, it is my opinion that any dialogue on the death penalty should be ended, at least for the time being. 46 It is not to say that all these jural postulates will agree with the constitution. Ibid. 47 K Govender, ‘Horizontality Revisited in the Light of Du Plessis v De Klerk and Clause 8 of the Republic of South Africa Constitution Bill 1996’, Human Rights and Constitutional Law Journal, 1996, p. 23. 48 Mthembu, 1998. 49 Du Plessis, 189.

Bibliography Bekker, J.C., and Maithufi, I.P. ‘The Dichotomy between ‘Official and Customary Law’ and ‘Non-official and Customary Law’. Tydskrif vir Regswetenskap, 1992, pp. 47 - 60. Bennett, T.W., A Sourcebook of African Customary Law for Southern Africa. Juta, Cape Town, 1991. Botha, H., ‘Legal Meaning and the Other: Beyond a Mythology of Negation.’ Myth & Symbol, 1995, pp. 3 - 18{ TA \l "Botha H \“Legal meaning and the other: Beyond a mythology of negation\” 1995 Myth & Symbol 3 - 18" \s "Botha H op cit (n158)" \c 8 }. Carpenter, G., ‘Public opinion, the Judiciary and Legitimacy’. South African Publike Reg / Public Law, 1996, pp. 110 - 122. Cockrell, A., ‘Rainbow Jurisprudence’. South African Journal of Human Rights, 1996, pp. 1 - 38. Corbett, M.M. ‘Aspects of the Role of Policy in the Evolution of our Common Law.’ South African Law Journal. 1987, pp. 52-69. De Waal, M.J. et al., Law of Succession: Students’ Handbook. Juta, Cape Town, 1993. English, R., ‘Ubuntu: The Quest for an Indigenous Jurisprudence’. South African Journal of Human Rights, 1996, pp. 641 - 648.

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______________________________________________________________ Govender, K., ‘Horizontality revisited in the light of Du Plessis v De Klerk and clause 8 of the Republic of South Africa Constitution Bill 1996’. Human Rights and Constitutional Law Journal,1996, pp. 20 - 23. Jones, S., ‘Children on the move: Parenting, Mobility, and Birth-status Among Migrants’ in S. Burman and Preston-Whyte (eds.), Questionable issue: Illegitimacy in South Africa. Oxford University Press, Cape Town, 1992, pp. 247-281. Myburgh, A. C., Papers on Indigenous Law in Southern Africa. Van Schaik, Pretoria, 1985. Olivier N.J.J. et al., Indigenous law. Butterworths, Durban, 1995. Peart, S., ‘Section 11(1) of the Black Administration Act No 38 of 1927: The Application of the Repugnancy Clause.’ Acta Juridica 9, 1982, pp. 9 - 116. Prinsloo, M. W. et al., ‘Perceptions of the Law Regarding, and Attitudes Towards lobolo in Mamelodi and Atteridgeville’. De Jure, 1998, pp. 72-92. Schapera, I., A handbook of Tswana Law. Frank Cass, London, 1970. -----, The Tswana. International African Institute, London, 1968. Seymour, S. M., Bantu law in South Africa. 3rd ed. Juta, Cape Town, 1970. South African Law Commission. ‘The Harmonisation of the Common Law and the Indigenous Law.’ Customary Marriages Discussion, 1997, Paper 74 Project 90. Sprigman, C., and Osborne, M., ‘Du Plessis is Not Dead: South Africa’s 1996 Constitution and the Application of the Bill of Rights to Private Disputes.’ South African Journal of Human Rights, 1999, pp. 25 - 51. Van Niekerk, G. J., The Interaction of Indigenous Law and Western Law in South Africa: A Historical and Comparative Perspective (unpublished LLD thesis University of South Africa), 1995.{ TA \l "Van Niekerk GJ The interaction of indigenous law and Western law in South Africa: A historical and comparative perspective (unpublished LLD thesis Unisa) (1995)" \s "Van Niekerk GJ op cit (n1)" \c 8 }

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______________________________________________________________ -----, ‘Indigenous law and the constitutional right to equal protection and the benefit of law.’ In B. De Villiers (ed.), The Rights of Indigenous People: A Quest for Coexistence. HRSC, Pretoria, 1997, pp. 207 - 247.

Cases Du Plessis and others v De Klerk and another 1996 (5) BCLR 658 (CC). Dumalitshona v Mraji 5 NAC 168 (1927). Mthembu v Letsela and another 1997 (2) SA 936 (T). Mthembu v Letsela and another 1998 (2) SA 675 (T). Qakamba v Qakamba 1964 BAC 20 (S). R v Salituro (1992) 8 CRR (2d). S v Manamela and others 2000 (1) SACR 414 (CC). S v Mhlungu and others 1995, (7) BCLR 793 (CC). Legislation Constitution of the Republic of South Africa Act 108 of 1996. Constitution of the Republic of South Africa Act 200 of 1993. Intestate Succession Act 81 of 1987.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission as a Role Model for Hope Sandra Pilowsky Abstract The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in South Africa has shown itself to be an extraordinary process aimed at moving the country from a state of human rights abuses to one of democracy. It would be naïve to believe that this has succeeded without any problems: problems are many and continue to exist: the meaning of ‘truth’ needs to be questioned; often it was the perpetrators who received amnesty, whilst the victims did not achieve justice; and there has been little opportunity for reparation. But it did succeed in a way that has not been done in any other country, and a mark of its success is that South Africa achieved transition to democracy without falling (as Tutu suggested it might) into ashes. This was done on a basis of hope and morality, and in this paper I suggest that the TRC has provided a role model that the rest of the world would do well to emulate. Key Words: Alex Boraine, amnesty, Desmond Tutu, forgiveness, TRC, Truth and Reconciliation Commission. ***** 1.

Introduction

If you want to build a ship, don’t herd people together to collect wood and don’t assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea. Antoine de Saint Exupéry You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. Mohandas I. Gandhi The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), which was set up to assist with transition to democracy in South Africa, had strong implications for hope. In order to understand this one needs to look at the history of the country. In 1994 South Africa held its first democratic elections. Throughout the land millions of people, most of whom had never before had the vote,

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________________________________________________________ went to the polls to express their democratic rights. The African National Congress (ANC) came to power with a landslide victory and, with President Nelson Mandela at its head, replaced the Afrikaner Nationalist Party (NP) in government. In 1991 Mandela was released from prison, where he had been incarcerated for 27 years after having been convicted of treason. The NP which had ruled since 1948 and which had passed a plethora of draconian laws enmeshing the country in the apartheid system, accepted that their rule was coming to an end. As a result they acquiesced in the need to negotiate for change and Mandela and the then President P.W. Botha met to discuss the handing over of government to the ANC. A major aim of these discussions was peaceful transition from authoritarian to democratic rule. It was clear to those involved in the process that, in order to avoid a violent backlash from either the Nationalist Party or other political groups, negotiations had to include a means of dealing with the human rights abuses of the past, which had been manifest in the country. Three possible options were considered: 1. Nuremberg-type trials, in which individuals could be tried for human rights abuses and punished accordingly, as in Germany after World War II; 2. A general amnesty, such as had been offered in certain South American countries; or 3. A truth commission, in which individuals could apply for amnesty, but only after full disclosure of wrongful actions. For some time prior to this Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) such as the Institute for Democracy in South Africa (IDASA) and Justice in Transition, under the leadership of Alex Boraine, had been engaged in investigating the ways in which truth commissions had functioned in other countries, and how they could be used in South Africa. Boraine concluded that it was important to decide upon what could be done for rather than against society. With a view to moving toward peaceful political changeover the ANC accepted advice from the well-known human rights lawyer, Jose Zalaquett,1 who had served on the Chilean National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation and who was an expert on truth commissions. In Chile blanket amnesty had been offered to human rights offenders, but Zalaquett was not in favour of this course in South Africa. He suggested2 that if amnesty were offered:

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______________________________________________________________ 1. It should serve the ultimate purposes of reparation and prevention; 2. it should be based on truth, so that it became known just what the pardon or amnesty was for; 3. there should be an acknowledgment of the truth; and 4. it should be democratically approved, showing that the people had the will to forgive.3 The situation was not a simple one. There were those in the country who wanted to exact justice for past crimes and hoped for war crimes trials; on the other hand there were those who wanted to cover up the past, and which a blanket amnesty would have afforded this. As negotiations proceeded the parties demonstrated a pragmatic approach and decided upon compromise, which would permit the country to move ahead into a democratic future. Boraine, subsequently to be appointed Deputy Chair of the TRC, argued that amnesty was the price South Africa had to pay for stability, saying, “Whether in fact a military coup was a reality or not, one thing is certain. If negotiation politics had not succeeded, the bitter conflict would have continued, and hundreds, and possibly thousands, would have been killed”.4 Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who would be appointed as Chief Commissioner of the TRC commented similarly:5 Forgiveness and reconciliation has a price tag attached to it. We’ve got to where we are, a democratic dispensation, by negotiation. And the heart of that negotiation was compromise. And people have got to acknowledge that yes, we were on the brink of civil war in 1994 … that’s part of the cost. And you say to those who say we want justice, that if there were no amnesty, then we would have had justice and ashes.’ 6 Prior to the elections in February 1994 a conference initiated by IDASA and entitled Justice in Transition: Dealing with the Past was held. In July a second conference, hosted under the Justice in Transition project, the South African Conference on Truth and Reconciliation, worked towards drafting a bill that was presented to the Cabinet. On 16 and 17 May 1995 it was debated and passed by Parliament, and was signed into law by Mandela in July 1995. Thus the TRC came into being. The next step was the choosing of suitable Commissioners. This proved a difficult problem, but eventually the President, in consultation with both the Cabinet and other political parties, chose 17 from a short list of 25. The following criteria were considered important in making the selection:

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________________________________________________________ 1. commissioners had to be capable of making impartial judgments; 2. they had to have moral integrity with a known commitment to human rights, to reconciliation and to a disclosure of the truth; 3. they should not be high profile members of any political party; and 4. they should not be potential applicants for amnesty in terms of the legislation.7 Archbishop Desmond Tutu was appointed Chief Commissioner. This appears to have had a moral and possibly religious influence on the workings of the TRC. South Africa is a secular state but, although most Church leaders (including Tutu) support this, at his behest the first meeting of the Commission’s Reparations Committee opened with a Christian prayer, and it seemed that all decisions of the TRC would be informed by Christian values.8 The committees of the TRC included the Reparation and Rehabilitation (R&R) Committee, the Amnesty Committee, and the Human Rights Violations Committee (HRV). Submissions for amnesty applications came from the major political parties, including the ANC and the NP, as well as from military organizations, including the Azanian People’s Liberation Army, the South African National Defence Force and the Caprivi Trainees. Submissions were made on gender issues?, and by various NGOs, independent newspapers and the Freedom of Expression Institute. The first hearings and submissions of the HVR Committee were held in April 1996. The TRC laid major emphasis on the testimonies of victims. Most of these were ordinary people, whose voices had been suppressed in the past. Now, for the first time, they had the chance to break silence and tell their stories. People came from all over the country to listen, some hoping to discover what had happened to loved ones and members of their family who had disappeared without trace. By the time the hearings had ended over 20, 000 people had told their stories,9 many of which were shocking in the extreme. The stories told of arrest, beatings, torture, killings and burnings. Whereas most of these stories were told by unknown members of the public, some of the testimonies relate to people who were well known. One of these was Steve Biko, an activist and medical doctor, who died of head injuries sustained in prison. He was denied medical treatment and, when he was eventually transferred to hospital he was left lying naked in the back of a truck. At the hearings security policeman Gideon Nieuwoudt disclosed that, before his death, Biko had been chained to a gate in the crucifix

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______________________________________________________________ position: it is not difficult to understand why he became an icon for liberation.10 Nieuwoudt was denied amnesty. Other applicants who were denied amnesty were Clive DerbyLewis, a senior member of the right-wing Conservative Party (CP), and Janusz Walus, a Polish immigrant. On 10 April 1993, they murdered Chris Hani, Secretary General of the South African Communist Party (SACP). It was later shown that Nelson Mandela’s name was also on their ‘hit’ list. The CP was strongly conservative and white supremacist in nature, but denied that they had instructed Derby-Lewis and Walus to assassinate Hani. As a result the two were unable to prove political intention. They were denied amnesty, and remain incarcerated. It can be mooted that there are inconsistencies in the decisions of the TRC, when comparing the denial of amnesty to Derby-Lewis and Walus with the granting of it to the killers of Amy Biehl. Biehl was a clever and lively American exchange student who arrived in South Africa on a Fulbright Scholarship, to study for a PhD in political science at the University of the Western Cape. (UWC). On 25 August 1993 she drove several colleagues to their homes in the black township of Guguletu. There she encountered an angry mob that attacked her car. She attempted to run away, but a group of youngsters set upon her and battered and stabbed her to death. Four of these subsequently applied for and received amnesty. In fact it was not shown that their motives were political. They were not members of any political party, and they had not received instructions to act as they did. It seems that they had been worked up by shouts of ‘One settler, one bullet’, and felt it was both their right and duty to kill white people. The discrepancy in the decisions made by the TRC in these two cases can be seen. Derby-Lewis and Walus have appealed against the decision to deny them amnesty, basically on the grounds of the Biehl case, but nothing has happened so far. What is discussed here is only a very small portion of the submissions under the TRC, and thousands of stories remain in the archives untouched. They are in principle accessible to scholars and writers, although experts acknowledge that there are problems relating to their accessibility. 11 Language is one of the reasons for this. There are currently eleven official languages in South Africa, and testimonies were delivered in all of these and Polish. Errors were made in recording the testimonies, particularly in the spelling of names, and there were also errors in transcription and translation. The more than 20,000 testimonies given and recorded during the HRV hearings constitute a permanent body of memory. Hugh Lewin, journalist and commissioner for the TRC commented that the TRC process changed the whole nature of story-telling.

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________________________________________________________ By giving this open, front-of-the lights platform to the people (not the leaders, not the preachers, not the politicians), the real people with their own stories, in their own time, place and language - by giving them that opportunity, we have changed the nature of story-telling and how we report it.12. Lewin cited the chilling example of how a group of policeman discussed how long it would take to burn a human body on a fire, particularly the buttocks, while their colleagues stood by barbecuing steaks and downing cans of beer. 13 Being obliged to confront such devastating facts has inexorably altered the way that history is seen, both in and outside South Africa. There is little doubt that people could and should have been aware of abuses taking place in the country, but many claimed that they did not know. After the TRC hearings, however, there was no longer any possibility of such denial. The implications of the TRC are not restricted to South Africa, but have the ability to influence any country which takes human rights seriously. It is still too early to tell exactly what the outcome of the TRC will be. Undoubtedly the pain experienced by the victims is still too strong to be bearable, but the very fact of their having been able to tell their stories has proved some (not all) of the victims with the possibility of catharsis and closure. The TRC in South Africa has shown itself to be an extraordinary process aimed at moving the country from a state of human rights abuses to one of democracy. It would be romantically naïve to believe that this has succeeded without any problems: problems are many and continue to exist: the meaning of ‘truth’ needs to be questioned; often it was the perpetrators who received amnesty, whilst the victims did not achieve justice; and there has been little opportunity for reparation. But it did succeed in a way that has not been done in any other country, and a mark of its success is that South Africa achieved transition to democracy without falling (as Tutu suggested it might) into ashes. This was done on a basis of hope and morality, and I would like to suggest that the TRC has provided a role model that the rest of the world would do well to emulate. It is a regrettable fact that human rights have been and continue to be abused throughout the world. To name a few: 9/11 - the destruction of the twin towers in New York; conflict in the Middle East; and more recently, the bombings in London and Bali. To deal with these will not be easy, but there are fortunately those who believe and hope that they can be dealt with. In this short paper on the TRC in South Africa, reference has been made to a process of confession, reconciliation and forgiveness that has

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______________________________________________________________ assisted in the transition from an apparently hopeless social situation to one of and democracy. The process may not indeed have been perfect, but it was functional and successful and provides a model that could be used beyond the boundaries of South African in facilitating a better and more hopeful future for mankind.

Notes 1

After the 1973 coup d’etat, José Zalaquett headed the Human Rights Department of the Committee for Peace in Chile, later known as the Vicaria de la Solidaridad, a church-sponsored organization that provided legal assistance to thousands of political prisoners and their families in Chile. For this work Zalaquett was imprisoned and then expelled from Chile in 1976, and he was not allowed to return until 1986. During his exile he was closely involved with Amnesty International as Chairman of the International Executive Committee, the governing body of the organization. At present he is a member of the International Commission of Jurists and serves on the board or consultative committees of several other human rights, humanitarian and legal organizations, including Americas Watch and the Henry Dunant Institute. He also serves on the Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation, a body responsible for a report to the nation about the worst human rights abuses committed during the Pinochet regime (1973 - 1990). 2 J Zalaquett, Inaugural Annual Lecture on Transition to Democracy New York University. 2004. http://www.nyulawglobal.org/events/documents/Zalaquett Paper.pdp 3 D Shea, The South African Truth Commission, United States Institute of Peace Press, Washington, 2000, pp. 11-12. 4 A Boraine: ‘Alternatives and adjuncts to Criminal Prosecutions’. Draft paper prepared for a conference on ‘Justice in Cataclysm: Criminal Tribunals in the Wake of Mass Violence’ Brussels, Belgium, 20-21 July 1996 5 D Tutu, No Future without Forgiveness, Rider Books, London, 1999, p. 41. 6 D Tutu, Foreword to the TRC Report. 7 See press statement on ‘Nominations Process for the Appointment of Commissioners to the TRC,’ Ministry of Justice, 20 September 1995. 8 The Star, 29 February 1996. 9 These are available on the internet. 10 The Guardian, 31 March 1998 11 One writer who has dealt with the TRC in her writings is Antje Krog, journalist who attended the sessions, and now Professor at the UWC. Her book, Country of my Skull, has been internationally acclaimed in the way she has made the TRC stories accessible to the general reader.

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________________________________________________________ 12

H Levin, ‘How the TRC changed the Nature of Story-telling in South Africa’, CCR, vol. 7, no. 4, December 1998, p. 1. 13 Ibid., p. 2.

Bibliography Boraine, A., ‘Alternatives and Adjuncts to Criminal Prosecutions,’ Draft paper prepared for a conference on Justice in Cataclysm: Criminal Tribunals in the Wake of Mass Violence, Brussels, Belgium: 20-21 July 1996. Chaitin, J., Narratives and Storytelling. Christie, K., The South African Truth Commission MacMillan, Houndmills, Basingstoke, 2000. De Ridder, T., ‘The Trauma of Testifying,’ Track Two, Vol.6, No. 3&4, December 1997. Hamber, B., ‘Truth: The Road to Reconciliation?’ Cantilevers: Building Bridges for Peace, Vol.3, 1997. Harris, V., ‘Telling Truths about the TRC Archive 02: Truth and Reconciliation: an Exercise in Forgetting,’ 2002. . Krog, A., Country of My Skull. Three Rivers Press, New York, 1998. Schaffer K., & Smith, S., Human Rights and Narrated Lives: The Ethics of Recognition Palgrave Macmillan, New York, 2004. Shea, D., The South African Truth Commission. United States Institute of Peace Press, Washington, 2000.

South African Government Information. Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa Report, Released 21 March 2003. http://www.info.gov.za/otherdocs/2003/trc/ Spitz R., with Chaskalson, M., The Politics of Transition: A Hidden History of South Africa’s Negotiated Settlement Hart Publishing, Oxford, 2000.

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______________________________________________________________ Tutu, D., No Future without Forgiveness. Rider Books, London, 1999. Villa-Vicencio, C., & Verwoerd, W., (eds), Looking Back/Reaching Forward UCT & Zed Books, Cape Town & London, Ltd, 2000. Wiesel, E., Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech http://www.eliewieselfoundation.org.ElieWiesel/speech.html

Oslo,

1986.

Wilson, R. A., The Politics of Truth and Reconciliation in South Africa: Legitimizing the Post-Apartheid State, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2001. Zalaquett, J. Inaugural Annual Lecture on Transition to Democracy New York University. 2004. http://www.nyulawglobal.org/events/documents/Zalaquett Paper.pdp Zournazi, M., Hope: New Philosophies for Change, Pluto Press, Annandale, NSW, 2002.

Whiteness and the Displacement of Hope: South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission and J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace Victoria Burrows Abstract If the concept of hope is to move from a transcendent vision of a future beyond personal or political despair to an actual implementation of new possibilities, rigorous attention needs to be paid to the dominant dynamics of racial power, particularly that of the ideology of whiteness. This paper examines the role of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the most remarkable historical instance of the “mobilisation of hope” of the twentieth century, and in particular the notion of ubuntu which was placed at the centre of its vision of restorative justice. The second half of the essay provides a reading of J.M. Coetzee’s controversial prize-winning novel, Disgrace, which portrays a bleak view of both the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and its long-term social effects. Coetzee’s novel transmutes the political shame of apartheid South Africa into the personal sexual shame of a disgraced white man in the contemporary post-apartheid society, thus displacing any endorsement of political responsibility and ethical accountability. Key Words: Accountability, atonement, disgrace, hope, rape, secular displacement, ubuntu, whiteness. ***** Within the field of whiteness studies whiteness is an ideology that retains its dominance and power in Western societies because it is the unacknowledged, invisible norm. This normative position carries a range of privileges that arise merely from having a white skin. Whiteness’s ubiquitous power structure and white skin privilege is imperceptibly upheld by and through all institutions of power, both ideological and material. Such a theory becomes complicated in relation to apartheid South Africa. During the fifty years of official apartheid, the power of whiteness was utterly visible and supported by law.1 What was covered over and made invisible were the workings of brutality involved in keeping anti-apartheid resistance at bay. With the freeing of Nelson Mandela, his election as President and finally the setting up of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) the hidden, shameful aspects of the white regime became exposed to the public. Although controversial, the TRC achieved many things. Of great significance

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______________________________________________________________ is that the TRC broke the deathly silence surrounding the atrocities, acts of violence and human rights abuses that occurred during apartheid. These had to be confessed by perpetrators in order to apply for amnesty during the Commission’s investigations and hearings. There were 7,128 applications for amnesty.2 Thousands of victims and survivors heard for the first time--often in graphic and traumatic detail--what had happened to family members who had disappeared, been presumed murdered, and/or were tortured. They heard spoken admissions of guilt from those who had tortured them. The victims themselves spoke in front of sympathetic listeners of their pain, as well as the damage and indignities they had suffered. The TRC heard the “testimony of more than 2,000 victims of apartheid-era brutality, and received written submissions from more than 23,000 people”.3 In contrast to the decades of cover-up of racist crimes and the clandestine nature of torture and abuse, the demand for the truth brought forth unprecedented results and, very importantly, the TRC made it impossible, particularly for white South Africans, to continue to declare that they knew nothing about what had been going on. Media coverage and public exposure were unparalleled. For the entire three years of the TRC’s duration there was extensive daily newspaper and television reporting. However, the greatest impact came from radio broadcasts of at least four hours a day in “all the eleven languages used in South Africa so that even those unable to read and write participated in the developing story emerging from the work of the TRC.”.4 Despite the difficulties of comprise, the refusal by some ex-political leaders to accept accountability for the past, or even to admit to it, the notion of restorative rather than retributive justice on which the Commission was founded offered a new sense of dignity, healing and hope for the future.5 Ernesto Laclau believes that the “notion of hope is to some extent linked to the question of human emancipation, [that] [p]eople who feel they are curtailed in their possible developments in a variety of directions … create an imaginary of transcending these limitations, and that is where the place of hope could happen.”6 South Africa’s TRC enshrined this notion, extending the idea of a “social imaginary” and creating a remarkable historical instance of a “mobilisation of hope” that was institutionalised by the Commission.7 The disenfranchised of South Africa - in other words anyone not white--were given hope for the “future to come.”8 Yet, for hope to become reality it has to be able to deal with difference and otherness on a day-to-day basis. Julia Kristeva contends that hope involves “sharing differences - taking differences into account, a sort of democracy of singularities, if you will.”9 In order to find a way beyond the catastrophic outcomes of the enactment of white supremacy during apartheid, the TRC placed the Zulu term ubuntu at the centre of its vision of restorative justice.10 Inspired by the Commission’s Chairman, Archbishop Desmond

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______________________________________________________________ Tutu, the notion of ubuntu supplied the unique ethical foundation for the TRC and offered a means of solidarity and collective healing:11 Variously determined as a theological, moral, political, and juridico-legal concept, ubuntu … can be understood as a notion of reciprocity: a human being is a human being through other human beings. One is, it follows, responsible for the other in a way that, according to constitutional jurists, regulates and limits the rights of the individual in favour of the collective.12 It can be argued, then, that ubuntu exemplifies what could be termed a politics of democratic hope, and one that has its basis in a counter-tactic to the power of both discursive and institutionalised whiteness founded through the ideology of possessive individualism. Mary Zournazi, an Australian philosopher and writer, in her important book, Hope: New Philosophies for Change, states in an interview with Alphonso Lingis that “responsibility to otherness … has to be outside your own narcissism and individual projections.”13 Lingis responds: “Responsibility is connected with the notion of answering to the other, responding to the other’s moves and to the other’s sensibility”.14 And herein lies the crux of the problem: however hopeful and carefully envisaged, the TRC still had to engage with the white sensibility, the implacable workings of whiteness and its ability to adapt to shifts in power structures and come out on the winning side. Despite being conducted with an ethics of reciprocity and collective responsibility, Ronald Slye maintains that the “hearings were primarily attended by victims and their supporters; with some exceptions the white population was noticeably absent”.15 Furthermore, many white Afrikaners accused the TRC of being biased against them and made their feelings known both publicly in the media, and privately through anonymous letters, many of them extremely threatening.16 It was into this communal atmosphere of hope and its attempted dissolution that J.M. Coetzee published his novel, Disgrace, which Jacqueline Rose, amongst others, interprets as being “Coetzee’s response to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission”.17 However, as I see it, in direct contrast to the collective concept of ubuntu, Disgrace is a work of that turns around white masculine narcissism and an individualised projection of whiteness. Disgrace is an incredibly powerful novel, to which it is almost impossible to remain indifferent. As such, it has attracted much controversy and an inordinate amount of literary comment and criticism since its publication in 1999, less than a year after the TRC concluded. In the novel, Coetzee - an Afrikaner by birth who writes in English (and now lives in

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______________________________________________________________ Australia) - portrays the new, post-apartheid South Africa as a society in chaos, ruled by black mob violence, with an infrastructure ill-equipped to deal with the social and political turmoil that followed the changeover of power in 1994. The novel won a range of top literary awards in the international arena, including the prestigious Booker prize and the African section of the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize, and was praised for its bold depiction of the desolation of the present state of the country.18 However in South Africa itself, it had a far more ambivalent reception. It was considered by many as to perpetuate white racist stereotyping, and decried for the “potency of its representations of white attitudes”.19 Such was the animosity raised by the text that the ANC quoted from its pages in its submission to the South African Human Rights Commission’s Inquiry into Racism in the Media on 5 April 2000, stating that it was an “historical witness to the persistence of racism among white South Africans.”20 Most provocative of all, the novel depicts a rape of a white woman by three black men described by the narrator as being “like dogs in a pack.”21 The narrative is written from the perspective of a twice-divorced middle-aged white academic, a Professor of English Literature named David Lurie, who feels emasculated by his age and the new rationalisation of his university. Instead of teaching literature, he has been down-graded to teaching Communication Studies to unwilling students, a situation that points to, or perhaps allegorises, the loss of white institutional power in postapartheid South Africa. It is impossible to like Lurie. He is a dispassionate, cold and totally self-centred man embittered by his deposition from his ‘normal’ site of white masculine power. He represents what Anoop Nayak describes in another context of white masculinity as the “hostile posture of whiteness.”22 The novel opens with a description of one of Lurie’s weekly visits to an “exotic” coloured prostitute, named Soraya, who is described as “quiet, docile … [and] compliant” (1 & 5). At least, that is, until Lurie violates Soraya’s careful division between her private life and her public work, and she stops his visits. Soon after, he rapes one of his young female students named Melanie Isaacs, although neither he nor many of the critics regard it as rape but as an affair or seduction.23 The fact that Melanie, like Soraya, is coloured and the description of the rape is only seen from the perspective of Lurie, further inflames divergent readings. Lurie is called before a university discipline committee, a committee that resembles the TRC in structure and format, the link made clear by oblique reference to Archbishop Tutu through Coetzee’s choice of a Professor of Religious Studies as fictional Chairman. While freely admitting his guilt to the charge of sexual harassment, Lurie refuses to confess with any sense of truth or remorse - founding concepts of the TRC - instead playing games in a manner of “subtle mockery” and being,

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______________________________________________________________ as one of the committee members says, “fundamentally evasive” (50). He has philosophical objections to the whole idea of remorse: “Repentance is neither here nor there” he says. “Repentance belongs to another world, to another universe of discourse” (58). As a result of his refusal to cooperate, he is forced to leave the university in disgrace. Lurie departs Cape Town and moves to the Eastern Cape to be with his daughter, Lucy, who has a small-holding her father had helped her to buy where she grows flowers for market and has a boarding kennel for dogs. The Eastern Cape is a rural area symbolic of the country’s violent past as it is historically the site of most virulent conflict between white colonials and the indigenous black population.24 Unbeknownst to Lurie, Lucy now shares the land with her neighbour who has become a co-proprietor, a black South African named Petrus, with whom Lurie is sometimes forced to work in order to help Lucy out. Lurie refuses to adapt to his new circumstances (or by extension to those of new South Africa) and continues to behave patronisingly to Lucy - he is repulsed by her lesbianism and her overweight body - arrogantly to her white neighbours, and with racism to her black ones. Then Lucy is violently gang-raped by the three black men who shoot the dogs and lock Lurie in the bathroom during his daughter’s ordeal. Lurie is severely beaten and his hair is set on fire - which he ignominiously has to douse with water from the toilet - and then has to be freed from his incarceration by Lucy after her violation. His masculine impotence, much alluded to before this scene, is now exacerbated, and he structures himself as a white victim. Lucy becomes pregnant as a result of the rape, and much against Lurie’s advice he offers to send her abroad to her mother - she decides to have what will be a mixed-race baby and become one of Petrus’s wives so that she can remain on the land under his protection. In contrast, Lurie flees back to Cape Town, only to find his flat ransacked and his belongings destroyed. He returns to the Eastern Cape, where he helps out in a semi-official vet clinic giving dignity to dying and dead stray dogs. Lurie’s enactment of a form of ‘secular atonement’ Coetzee’s answer to the excessive religiosity of the TRC - is to learn to ‘love’ the other, but this is not the raced other.25 The loved other in Disgrace, and an affection through which Lurie at last undertakes some humility, is a tenderness he comes to feel for a particular stray dog which he offers up as a sacrifice in the last pages of the novel. In a text intricately layered with literary allusions to the great classics of the white literary canon, this ending is particularly disturbing and politically troubling. Much oblique reference has been made to Kafka and his writing (a life-long passion of Coetzee’s), and the conclusion of Disgrace parallels the conclusion of Kafka’s The Trial, a novel of social alienation in which a man finds himself accused not only of a crime he did not commit but one for which he has been falsely and unjustly accused. Thus, at the end of Coetzee’s novel there is no sense of human

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______________________________________________________________ reciprocity, of the collective healing, compassion and forward thinking of ubuntu. Instead we are left with an image of a singular white man who believes he is a victim of the society in which he lives. In an anthology written to honour the politics and life of Nelson Mandela that was published when he was still in jail for crimes he did not commit, Jacques Derrida writes of the ways in which “white power does not believe itself required to respond, does not hold itself responsible before black people … white power does not content itself with not answering. It does worse: it does not even acknowledge receipt.”26 To be fair to Coetzee, Disgrace is a complex written response to the historical performance of extreme white power. However, I also contend that his representation of such a repellent character as David Lurie, along with a range of literary techniques of masking - of which the most obvious one is a performative and self-reflexive irony - in many ways covers over the underlying politics of whiteness and undercuts any hope in the future promise of a new black South Africa. Transmuting the political and collective shame of apartheid South Africa into the individual sexual shame of a disgraced white man in the post-apartheid society both evades notions of political accountability and endorses the erasure of the history of black Africans or their presence as honourable citizens of the newly imagined democracy. We never glimpse any inner insights of any of the black characters, or are offered any contextualisation through black South African historical events. The only black characters in the novel with any sense of presence are either rapists or those complicit in rape and prepared to remain silent. In other words, in this novel “whiteness provides the privilege of being seen as an individual, while non-whites fall victim to stereotypical constructions based on assumptions of race.”27 I want now to end with an image to do with politics of Reconciliation in Australia where I live, that illustrates the ambivalence surrounding the politics of hope and the power politics of whiteness. Such ambivalence continues to intercept hope’s unique possibilities in negative and damaging ways. In the words of Kierkegaard, hope is “the passion for the possible.”28 This was the spirit that moved the crowds in 2000, when in all the major cities of Australia people of all races and ethnicities marched in collective solidarity to support the hope that finally, at last, the long history of social and political injustices against indigenous Australians might move into a form of ideological and material apology and reconciliation. In Perth a signwriter flew above the crowds and wrote the word HOPE in huge white capital letters in the electric blue sky.29 It was a moment of passionate jubilation. However, as Walter Benjamin argued in his justly famous essay, “Theses on the Philosophy of History”, “every image of the past that is not recognized by the present as one of its own concerns threatens to disappear immediately.”.30 This is what happened both literally and metaphorically on this day in Perth

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______________________________________________________________ when the sky-sign gradually dispersed in the wind. Like the present concerns of our white-centric and conservative government in Australia failure to address the litany of past injustices that has so seriously damaged the lives of Aboriginal people. As a result, the politics of hope that underwrote the Reconciliation movement in Australia is also gradually fading from view.

Notes 1

The beginning date of the investigations of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission was the 1960 Sharpeville massacre but the Truth and Reconciliation Report made it quite clear that the accountability for apartheid began far earlier in the history of South Africa’s British-dominated past. See J Rose, On Not Being Able to Sleep: Psychoanalysis and the Modern World, Chatto & Windus, London, 2003, pp. 222-3. 2 Ibid, p. 221. 3 A Gutmann and D Thompson, ‘The Moral Foundations of Truth Commissions’, in Truth v. Justice: The Morality of Truth Commissions, eds R I Rotberg and D Thompson, Princeton University Press, Princeton & Oxford, 2000, p. 30. 4 A Boraine, ‘Truth and Reconciliation in South Africa: The Third Way’, in Rotberg and Thompson, op. cit., p. 155. See pp. 154-7 for the outcomes of the TRC. 5 One of the chief principles of the TRC was to restore the dignity of victims: “restoring the human and civil dignity of victims by granting them an opportunity to relate their own accounts of the violations of which they were victims” (emphasis in original), in Truth and Reconciliation of South Africa Report, Volume 1, Macmillan, London, 1998, p. 55. For a reading of hope in relation to the TRC see M Minow, ‘The Hope for Healing: What Can Truth Commissions Do?’ in Rotberg and Thompson, op. cit., pp. 235-60. 6 ‘Hope, Passion, Politics: A Conversation with Chantal Mouffe and Ernesto Laclau’, in Hope: New Philosophies for Change, ed. M Zournazi, Pluto Press Australia, Annandale, NSW, 2002, p. 123. 7 The term “social imaginary” is Chantal Mouffe’s taken from the interview she shared with Laclau and Zournazi. “Mobilisation of hope” is Zournazi’s phrase. Ibid, pp. 124 & 126. 8 Ibid, p. 126. 9 J Kristeva, ‘Joyful Revolt: A Conversation with Julia Kristeva’, in Zournazi, op. cit., p. 72. 10 For a complex reading of the multi-faceted aspects and etymological history of the term ubuntu and its intrinsic importance as a founding concept of the TRC, see M Sanders, ‘Reading Lessons’, Diacritics vol. 29, no. 3, 1999,pp. 3-20.

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______________________________________________________________ 11

Ibid, p. 11. Ibid, p. 4. 13 Zournazi, p. 34. 14 A Lingis, ‘Murmurs of Life: A Conversation with Alphonso Lingis’, in Zournazi, op. cit., p. 35. 15 R C Slye, ‘Amnesty, Truth and Reconciliation: Reflections on the South African Amnesty Process’, in Rotberg and Thompson, op. cit., p. 181. 16 Boraine, op. cit., p. 153. 17 Rose, op. cit., p. 232. 18 D Attridge, ‘J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace: Introduction’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies, vol. 4, no. 3, 2002, p. 315. 19 Ibid, p. 317. 20 P D McDonald, ‘Disgrace Effects’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies vol. 4, no. 3, 2002, p. 323. 21 J M Coetzee, Disgrace, Secker & Warburg, London, 1999, p. 159. Henceforth references to the novel will appear in parentheses in the body of the essay. 22 A Nayak, ‘”Pale Warriors”: Skinhead Culture and the Embodiment of White Masculinities’, in Thinking Identities: Ethnicity, Racism and Culture, A Brah, M Hickman and M Mac an Ghaill, eds, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke, UK & New York, 1999, p. 71. 23 L Graham, ‘”Yes, I am giving him up”: sacrificial responsibility and likeness with dogs in J M Coetzee’s recent fiction’, Scrutiny 2: Issues in English Studies in Southern Africa, vol. 7, no. 1, 2002, p. 13. Graham states: “According to Lurie, his sexual encounter with Melanie is ‘not rape, not quite that’ and, disappointingly, the majority of reviewers of Disgrace collude with Lurie, glossing his interaction with Melanie as a seduction, rather than a rape.” 24 G Farred, ‘Back to the borderlines: thinking race Disgracefully’, Scrutiny 2: Issues in English Studies in South Africa vol. 7, no.1, 2002, p. 17. Farred argues that it is this location on the frontier - “a site where race, racism and race relations are most deeply embedded, most resistant to being reconstructed” - is what “lends Disgrace its disturbing urgency: there is no site beyond this. This is not simply the last option, a stop on the way somewhere else, it is the final destination” and thus an apt space to ask the difficult questions. 25 E Boehmer, ‘Not Saying Sorry, Not Speaking Pain: Gender Implications in Disgrace’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies vol. 4, no. 3, 2002, pp. 347-8. 12

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J Derrida, ‘The Laws of Reflection: Nelson Mandela, in Admiration’, in For Nelson Mandela, J Derrida and M Tlili (eds), Seaver Books, New York, 1987, p. 31. 27 J T Warren, Performing Purity: Whiteness, Pedagogy, and the Reconstitution of Power, Peter Lang, New York, 2003, p. 71. 28 Cited in J R Averill, G Catlin and K K Chon, The Rules of Hope, SpringerVerlag, New York, 1990, p. 104 (emphasis added). 29 I have borrowed this ending from Gail Jones’s wonderful essay, ‘Sorry-inthe-Sky: Empathetic Unsettlement, Mourning, and the Stolen Generations’, Imagining Australia: Literature and Culture in the New New World, J Ryan and C Wallace-Crabbe (eds), Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA & London, 2004, pp. 168-9. There were two signs written in the sky that day. One said ‘SORRY’, the other ‘HOPE’. 30 W Benjamin, ‘Theses on the Philosophy of History’, in Illuminations [1955], trans. Harry Zohn, Fontana, London, 1992, p. 247.

Bibliography Attridge, D., ‘J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace: Introduction.’ Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies vol. 4, no. 3, 2002, pp. 315-20. Averill, J.R., Catlin, G. and Chon, K.K. The Rules of Hope,: Springer-Verlag, New York, 1990. Benjamin, W., ‘Theses on the Philosophy of History.’ Illuminations [1955], trans. Harry Zohn, Fontana, London, 1992, pp. 245-55. Boehmer, E., ‘Not Saying Sorry, Not Speaking Pain: Gender Implications in Disgrace.’ Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies vol. 4 no. 3, 2002, pp. 342-51. Boraine, A., ‘Truth and Reconciliation in South Africa: The Third Way.’ In Truth v. Justice: The Morality of Truth Commissions, edited by Robert I. Rotberg and Dennis Thompson, Princeton University Press, Princeton & Oxford, 2000. pp. 151-7. Coetzee, J.M., Disgrace, Secker & Warburg, London, 1999. Derrida, J., ‘The Laws of Reflection: Nelson Mandela, in Admiration.’ In For Nelson Mandela, edited by Jacques Derrida and Mustapha Tlili, Seaver Books, New York, 1987, pp. 13-42.

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______________________________________________________________ Farred, G., ‘Back to the Borderlines: Thinking Race Disgracefully.’ Scrutiny 2: Issues in English Studies in South Africa vol. 7, no. 1, 2002, pp. 16-19. Graham, L., ‘”Yes, I am giving him up”: Sacrificial Responsibility and Likeness with Dogs in J M Coetzee’s Recent Fiction.” Scrutiny 2: Issues in English Studies in Southern Africa, vol. 7, no. 1, 2002, pp. 4-15. Gutmann, A., and Thompson, D., ‘The Moral Foundations of Truth Commissions.’ In Rotberg and Thompson, op. cit., pp. 22-44. Jones, G., ‘Sorry-in-the-Sky: Empathetic Unsettlement, Mourning, and the Stolen Generations.’ In Imagining Australia: Literature and Culture in the New New World, edited by Judith Ryan and Chris Wallace-Crabbe, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA & London, 2004, pp. 159-71. Kristeva, J. “Joyful Revolt: A Conversation with Julia Kristeva”. In Hope: New Philosophies for Change, edited by Mary Zournazi, Pluto Press Australia, Annandale, NSW, 2002. 64-77. Lingis, A., ‘Murmurs of Life: A Conversation with Alphonso Lingis.’ In Hope: New Philosophies for Change, edited by Mary Zournazi, Pluto Press Australia, Annandale, NSW, 2002, pp. 22-41. McDonald, P. D., ‘Disgrace Effects.’ Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies vol. 4, no. 3, 2002, pp. 321-30. Minow, M., ‘The Hope for Healing: What Can Truth Commissions Do?’ In Rotberg and Thompson, op. cit., pp. 235-60. Mouffe, C., and Laclau, E., ‘Hope, Passion, Politics: A Conversation with Chantal Mouffe and Ernesto Laclau.’ In Zournazi, op. cit., pp. 122-48. Nayak, A., “Pale Warriors”: Skinhead Culture and the Embodiment of White Masculinities.” In Thinking Identities: Ethnicity, Racism and Culture, edited by Avtar Brah, Mary Hickman and Máirtín Mac an Ghaill, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke, UK & New York, 1999, pp. 71-99. Rose, J., On Not Being Able to Sleep: Psychoanalysis and the Modern World. Chatto & Windus, London, 2003. Sanders, M., ‘Reading Lessons’, Diacritics vol. 29, no. 3, 1999, pp. 3-20.

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______________________________________________________________ Slye, R. C., ‘Amnesty, Truth and Reconciliation: Reflections on the South African Amnesty Process.’ In Rotberg and Thompson, op. cit., pp. 170-88. Warren, J. T., Performing Purity: Whiteness, Pedagogy, and the Reconstitution of Power, Peter Lang, New York, 2003.

What Is Still to be Found in Pandora’s Box? Vardan Torosian Abstract When as a punishment for Prometheus’s theft of fire Pandora’s Box was thrown open, out from the box there flooded all the disasters and calamities that continue to haunt mankind. The only thing left on the bottom of the box was Hope. The entire history of mankind fluctuates between Utopian hopes and apocalyptic misgivings, “impotence to believe” (Nietzsche) and “optimism inspiring horror” (Camus). Most pernicious among these is apathy, either because of the state of being fed up that causes stagnation, or because of the feelings of despair, helplessness, meaninglessness of life. Also pernicious is aggressive self-affirmation and the obtrusion of sham values, when “for the sake of people’s happiness” their lives are sacrificed and their personalities are trampled down. In the epoch of Enlightenment all hopes were pinned on the natural sciences. The programme of La Republique des Lettres consisted of the “moral, religious and political renovation of society on the basis of natural laws”. While in the epoch of the Enlightenment culture and civilisation were thought to be one and the same thing, nowadays we are witnesses, participants and victims of the deepening split between them. At the beginning of the 20th century Berdyaev prophesied: “Culture has given birth to civilisation, and the latter is to ruin the former”. At the beginning of the 21st century, violence dominates over culture. The only basis for a transition from civilisation that has subdued culture to the civilisation of culture - the transition which has become the challenge of our time - is an education which combines knowledge with responsibility, striving for renewal while respecting tradition, cultivating a philosophical attitude towards life. Key Words: Civilisation, culture, education, evolution, self-organisation, self-realisation. ***** Now that the second millenary threshold has passed, an immediate Doomsday is no longer expected. People keep on living their everyday lives (going to work, bearing children, holding Olympic games and world football championships, engaging in local wars throughout the world). But in the modern world one can still distinctly hear the voices (for the most part those of philosophers) crying that Doomsday is a permanent reality and that is has been quite a long time since it began.

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______________________________________________________________ How can one begin to chart the way between the Scylla and Charybdis of the modern world? In the epoch of the Enlightenment all hopes were pinned on the natural sciences. The program of La Republique des Letters consisted in “moral, religious and political renovation of society on the basis of natural laws.” When the appearance of the comet foretold by Halley was at last justified, celebrations took place throughout Europe and people composed odes in honour of science. But nowadays scientific success is received with indifference or even anxiety. Or people seek escape from earthly realities through religious conversions. While in the epoch of Enlightenment culture and civilisation were thought to be one and the same thing, nowadays we are witnesses, participants and victims of the deepening split between the two. At the beginning of the 20th century Nikolai Berdyaev prophesied: “Culture has given birth to civilisation, and the latter is to ruin the former.”1 At the beginning of the 21st century a civilisation of violence dominates over culture, nature, the nature of its own. Works of human genius - passenger airliners, crammed with electronics - destroy other great works (the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Centre), and destroy the hope connected with entering the 21st century. Globalisation causes contradictions in the whole economical organism; it serves as a mechanism to exacerbate the poor’s pauperisation and as a threat to national economies, national sovereignty and national cultures. Mass culture has already gained the character of consumership, and elite culture has drifted further and further away from those it sought to address. In spite of technical progress in medical care, there are many inhabitants of our planet are even not acquainted with what electricity is, and whose acquaintance with modern technology is limited to weaponry. There are today generations of people who, like medieval landsknechts, have spent all their lives in wars and breed their children into them. What is the task of philosophers in this situation? Not a thing and many a thing. Philosophy cannot prescribe concrete solutions. It can analyse, compare, generalise, connect the past through the present with the future, as Confucius taught so long ago. People are accustomed to viewing history as an iconostasis of celebrated dates, not as material for reflection. The advice of philosophers is taken as a mere irritant, rather than a warning. As Habermas noted, through all twenty-five centuries of philosophy, one has had to hear the statements about its futility, if not of its harmful nature. Yet philosophy still exists. Often philosophy cannot influence culture directly and overtly, and philosophers should be ready for that, and take that fact philosophically. One of the most important destinations of philosophy is to be the “guardian of culture”, as Albert Camus noted. On the one hand, the history of mankind seems to be an incessant succession of wars and violence, including self-inflicted violence. On the other hand, history is

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______________________________________________________________ also a “golden chain” of cultural, creative activity which nevertheless has prevailed; had it not, humanity would not have survived. This contradiction may be presented in a philosophical analysis as a contradiction between culture and civilisation. To reveal its sources it is necessary to turn to the essential meaning of these notions. However, it is also important to remember the conventionality of their division, the plurality of their definitions by means of which we can express only this or that aspect of their multitudinous nature. Let us recall the definition of culture that was introduced by Cicero, that culture is rearing, upbringing. In today’s understanding of culture as the process and result of the creative activity of man this meaning has endured, at least implicitly. The notion of civilisation (no less polysemic and complex) is focused, above all, on the totality of relations and the conditions determining their character. The difference between culture and civilisation and the roots of their contradiction are first and foremost revealed in their determinants. On the one (cultural) hand is the human striving for development of the capacities for self-transformation; on the other (in terms of civilization), the striving for transformation of the environment, supremacy over the world - natural, social, human. From ancient times culture has been cultivating fruits contributing to preservation and development of mankind, beginning with the wheel and pristine moral, mythological presentations, religious doctrines, philosophical and scientific systems. But the cultural gains of the 20th century (science, technology, even art) have developed into a consumer civilisation, which aims at power and material profit (“to have, but not to be”) in ways that now threaten the very existence of humanity. For no less than a hundred years philosophers have been speaking about how much of the trouble of humanity has been caused by the unnatural way in which civilisation has developed, in which man is thrust into false enslaving values and artificial, unnatural forms of conduct. The “psychic diseases of mankind” that appeared as a result include alcoholism, drug addiction, idolatry (in diverse forms), terrorism (which has spread like a malignant tumour), hot and cold wars, even a “cold peace”, which has stood in the stead of cold war. Today’s world is at a watershed: either humanity will be able to mature and its culture will evolve, or it will be doomed to degradation, which technical progress will not prevent, but, on the contrary, may hasten. Analysis of socio-cultural history brings us to the conclusion that humanity has overcome similar - though less explosive - watersheds before. It will only be possible to pass through this crisis if we are able to move the systems to a higher level of organisation, whatever these systems are: natural, social, scientific. If we think about the foundation of the conception of selforganisation there is some basis to state that in the controversial unity of culture and civilisation there is a certain combination of diverse types which can engender connection: the negative one provides stability to any system,

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______________________________________________________________ preventing it from chaos and disintegration, while the positive one does not allow structures to remain unchangeable, stagnate, and decay. (Even in the first half of the 20th century philosophical intuition allowed the art critic Paul Valery to notice that “the two greatest dangers which menace mankind are disorder and order”.) As culture is gradually suppressed by civilisation, processes and tendencies appear in culture which avert the degradation of culture and the perishing of civilisation. In situations of Toynbee’s “challenge-reply” culture, perceiving the “inaudible call of being” reveals a wondering wisdom, which could perhaps be called cunning - one translation of the name of Prometheus (“forethought”). Thus, the triumphant development of natural sciences, having turned knowledge into moral and technical power, at the same time prepared a “romantic reaction” against mechanisation; the Medieval ages prepared the ground for the Renaissance, and so on. Today, at this rather significant watershed, the condition of crisis of man and humanity is central for the further development of culture. It is simultaneously advanced in new demands of both economics and politics, in which the human factor is becoming decisive. The problem of man is advanced even in those spheres which prove to be the most distant from the humanities. For example, in physics and cosmology, the so-called anthropic principle views of life and reason are still seen as organic links in the chain of cosmic evolution which has engendered them in order to preserve the universe from the condition of static balance, a condition which is inevitable for closed systems, which are therefore incapable of evolution. The bifurcation of culture into “humanitarian” and “scientific” has exhausted itself. The necessary conditions for evolution are openness of cultural, political, economic, religious, and philosophic systems capable of energy and information exchange (for society, this takes place in terms of economic and cultural exchange). In education we consider as inevitable the transition from the reproductive to the rhizomatic2 conceptualization of knowledge. The reproductive notion sees education as a matter of deposit and withdrawal of information (“I draw out what I had invested”). This type of education focuses on trying to amass huge amounts of information - impossibly, as this information can double itself within a decade. Far more important in the modern, dynamic world is the foundation and formation of a general cultural basis to which one can apply concrete knowledge. The same understanding can be taken regarding self-organization, to meet the demands of the situation. Philosophers and culturologists may play a most important role in forming the conceptual basis of such education. The future of mankind will be determined by education; only an education analogous to Teilhard de Chardin’s “evolution on the level of culture” will allow people living in a world torn apart by terror to realize that violence has ceased to be “the

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______________________________________________________________ midwife of history” - it is not only immoral, it has no prospect of a future. Only education in communication with culture will enable humankind to understand that nature exhausted to its limit may be saved not by a consumer mentality (“take care of nature because we need it”), but by an ethic of reverence. A well-educated person will be able to combine knowledge and responsibility. Striving for renovation while respecting tradition, cultivating both a taste for life and a philosophic attitude towards it, the educated person will find out for himself that inner development, life in culture as a natural necessity, is the most productive, natural, healthy means to self-realization and self-affirmation.

Notes 1

N Berdyaev, The Meaning of History, Mysl, Moscow, 1990, p.163. Named according to the analogy with rhizophors - plants capable of sprouting from mostly different places of the flexible base - in this case the principle is not the base mass, but its flexibility, its “openness.” 2

Bibliography Berdyaev, N., The Meaning of History. Mysl, Moscow, 1990. (In Russian). Teilhard de Chardin. P., Le Phenomène Humain. Harper and Row, New York, 1955.

Notes on Contributors Daphna Birenbaum-Carmeli is a medical sociologist in the Department of Nursing, University of Haifa, Israel. Her work concentrates in the field of health and technology, primarily reproductive technologies and genetics. Women's health comprises a special focus within this field. Victoria Burrows is the co-ordinator of First-Year Studies at the University of Tasmania, where she is a Lecturer in English. Her research interests focus on post-colonial studies and the literature of the Southern Hemisphere. Christine Howe is a PhD student in the Faculty of Creative Arts at the University of Wollongong, Southern Australia. Jennifer Infanti is a PhD candidate in the Department of Social Anthropology at Massey University, New Zealand. She enjoys practising yoga, starting new knitting projects, and an occasional jog along the Manawatu River in Palmerston North. Yoram Lubling is a professor of philosophy and Chair of the Philosophy Department at Elon University, specializes in Classical American Philosophy, Holocaust Studies, and Jewish Philosophy. He was born in Israel and is the son of Holocaust survivors. Recently he published Twice-Dead: Moshe Y. Lubling; the Ethics of Memory, and the Treblinka Revolt, Peter Lang Publications, New York, 2007. David J F Maree is a professor in the Department of Psychology at the University of Pretoria. Marinda Maree is a social worker by profession. Due to her post-graduate studies in Medical Social Work, she was involved in health and related gender issues from early on in her career. After working with the Department of Health, she pursued her interest in human relations and the well-being of persons by becoming involved in a number of different areas and projects as a consultant. Currently Marinda Maree is responsible for managing the office the Institute for Women's and Gender Studies at the University of Pretoria. Kenneth Masong is currently completing his doctorate in philosophy on the thought of Alfred North Whitehead at the Catholic University of Leuven, Belgium, from which he holds a MA in philosophy. Mr. Masong also holds a Master’s in Systematic Theology and a BA in Classical Philosophy from San

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______________________________________________________________ Carlos Graduate School of Theology in the Philippines. He is the author of several articles in philosophy and theology. Kelley Raab is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Classics and Religious Studies cross-appointed with the Department of Psychiatry, at the University of Ottawa. She holds a PhD in Religious Studies from the University of Ottawa, a MA in Religious Studies from the University of Chicago, an MDiv from Chicago Theological Seminary, and a BA in Biology from Colgate University. Dr. Raab’s fields of interest include religion and psychiatry, the psychology of religion, and the roles of women in religion. Kenneth Seeskin is Professor of Philosophy at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois, USA. He is the author of seven books and numerous articles on Jewish philosophy, philosophy of religion, and ancient and medieval philosophy. David Taylor is an Associate Professor of Jurisprudence at the University of South Africa. Dr. Taylor holds a BA and LLB from the University of the Witwatersrand, a BA Hons and LLM from the University of South Africa, and an LLM from the University of Stockholm. His research interests include: information technology law; philosophy of law; Indigenous African law; comparative law; and legal history. Vardan Torosian is Professor of Philosophy at the Rossinsky University of Humanities, Kuban State University, Krasnodar, Russia. His research interests include phenomenology and philosophy of science. Fotini Vaki teaches at the Ionian University on the island of Corfu. She studied Philosophy, Education and Psychology at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, and then completed an MA and a PhD in philosophy at the University of Essex. Before joining the department, she taught at the University of Patras and the University of Crete. She is the author of articles both in Greek and English on European Enlightenment, German Idealism (in particular Kant and Hegel), Marx, and the Frankfurt School (especially Adorno and Habermas). Anna Zebialowicz is a PhD student at Lancaster University - England (Department of English and Creative Writing). She holds a MPhil in Writing from Lancaster University and a BA from the University of Silesia. Her research interests are interdisciplinary, especially with relation to modern and postmodern literature, 19th and 20th century philosophical, literary and

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______________________________________________________________ religious thought along with absurd prose fiction, and the late writings of Mark Twain, Lagerkviist, Dostoevsky, Camus, Sartre and Kafka.