The shadow side of positive thinking: I’ve abandoned hope and that’s okay

Among “spiritual-but-not-religious” folks, it sometimes seems as if optimism, gratitude, and hope are assumed to be as necessary and inviolable as the holy trinity is to some Christians. One who questions the coherence or usefulness of any of these three concepts may be met with suspicion and defensiveness. Sometimes it seems like hope is, if not a religion unto itself, part of a sacred positive thinking credo. At the same time, though, as I dig into such concepts, I know I’m doing nothing innovative. I am, rather, simply following the guidance of my own teachers who have repeatedly pointed out the shadow side of hope. Despite the popular pressure to radiate optimism and positivity about the future, then, I have never been fully able to fully ignore my teachers’ warnings.

One of the tricky things about hope—a word so pretty it also functions as a pretty name—is its problematic relationship to time. At the core of many Eastern spiritual traditions is the belief that we’re not merely better off focusing on the now, but that only the present moment exists. Hope, though, is a future-oriented posture that posits a preferable potential set of later circumstances relative to those being experienced now. From an everyday point of view this is, of course, healthy and normal: “I hope my cat gets well.” “I hope the rain ends before my party begins.” “I hope my medical test comes back negative.” From a mundane, relative point of view, hope may be part of an overall psychological survival strategy that can be quite helpful. But from a more metaphysical perspective, this concept relies upon the very same common sense notion of time that many spiritual seekers are aiming to challenge.

This may be easier to appreciate by considering hope’s failure to cohere with acceptance, another key value of many spiritual folks. If only the now exists, then it becomes impossible to truly evaluate this moment as better or worse than some remembered past or potentially future moment. I can, of course, mentally compare what I imagine might happen in the future with my memories about the past—and the capacity for such mental comparison is an important human skill—but there is no unmediated way to access either the future or the past. I am left merely shuffling and assessing mental constructs—memories, fantasies and other projections—that justify my conclusion that what’s happening now is now is unacceptable. In the actual present moment, it’s not merely that, from a metaphysical point of view, as it happens, “nothing is unacceptable,” but that judgments of acceptability no longer quite make sense. It isn’t just that one “should” accept what is, then, but that, in the absence of temporal comparison, there is no other reality-based possibility.

One reason it feels almost taboo to question the validity of hope is that, quite naturally and understandably, many of us rely on it as a coping mechanism. We posit a more ideal world in which an unacceptable present might transform into a happy future. I sometimes think of hope as the Santa Claus of spiritual and New Age concepts (see also “manifestation”), which is not to deny that it has its place. But one risk is that, rather than challenge and prepare us to more directly face the reality that IS —which, psychologically, we may not feel prepared to do—hope may dangle a more or less realistic fantasy in front of us. In its most perverse expressions, we may even work to earn a “positive” future outcome. Some positive thinking indoctrination is so intense we may actually find ourselves worrying that our lapses of optimism, gratitude, and hope will create the punishing future reality that, right now, we are desperate to avoid: “Will my cancer return if I lose faith?”

It’s also tempting to assume that, without hope, we would lack motivation to act in a way likely to create future outcomes that are desirable for ourselves, others, and the planet. We may cling to hope because we may not trust ourselves to take prudent or skillful action without the promise of improved future circumstances. But acting out of respect for the material law of cause and effect, and even acknowledging and embracing the fact that I have preferences and desires about outcomes is one thing. This is different from relying on hope as a positive thinking manipulation tactic to persuade myself (and others) to judge and deny the current reality—to abandon it as unworthy—by projecting ourselves into a fantasy future that we like better.

The potential for confusion about this teaching is so great that I understand why lots of spiritual teachers don’t talk about hope all that much. In the West, certainly, many of us have become addicted to a version of hope that borders on magical thinking. For those in positive thinking circles, one of the main attractions to spiritual-ish practices and attitudes is precisely the temporary respite they provide from a reality we find difficult. And, yes, of course, it can be helpful to find nourishment through yoga, meditation, and the like, to escape into peace and self-communion when one is facing psychological difficulty. But when and if one wishes to grow in a wilder, more resilient spiritual direction—if one decides her life circumstances permit such explorations—then it may be worthwhile to reconsider the value of hope.

To be clear, the suggestion is not that we exchange hope for hopelessness, an attitude that is merely the flip-side of the hope coin. “Hopelessness” too is future-oriented, a negative fantasy, an expression of pessimism rather than realism. And this, I think, is the heart of the matter: We are most inclined to cling to hope when we do not trust the current moment, that is, reality as it intrinsically is. If I believe the universe itself is ultimately unfriendly, I may be more attracted to magical charms and amulets to ward off the anticipated lurking evil and misfortune. The great paradox may be, then, that it is only when we fully embrace our own unconditioned awareness—which is always already rooted in the now—that the hunger for stories of a happier future might fall away.

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