At the invitation of a colleague in fashion design, a bunch of us New Schoolers went to a dinner-discussion a few days ago with the portentous title "Is there hope for humanity's future? A scientist and theologian discuss the possibility of near-term societal collapse." The discussion was framed by the provocative paper "Deep adaptation: a map for navigating climate tragedy" by one Jem Bendell, who argues that we need to stop denying the accumulating evidence: our society faces "inevitable collapse, probable catatrophe and possible extinction." Scientist shy away from such claims in part because they're told the grim truth would lead to public despair, but - even if we could afford to prevaricate - Bendell wonders if this fear is misplaced.
Provocative indeed! The speakers, it turned out, were both Evangelical Christians. (Bendell is an atheist, we were told.) The theologian was an eloquent Sri Lankan, trained originally as a nuclear physicist, who started by asserting that "societal collapse is not necessarily a bad thing." He referenced the book of Revelation's prediction of the fall of the Roman Empire and the hope he shares that the American Empire will fall, too. The Anthropocene's victims are mostly in the global south, as are most Christians: climate-denialist white Americans are an unrepresentative aberration. True Christian hope, he went on to argue, lies beyond secular optimism in the death and resurrection of Jesus, and the biblical traditions' assurance of God's love for the whole creation. The scientist, a white American evangelical but also critical of his ilk, said that as long as God is God there is hope.
The dinner was free (funded by the always generous Templeton Foundation), but of course it became clear that we had to sing for our supper. After the speakers spoke we were instructed to discuss some questions at our tables in a highly structured form of active listening:
Our conversation - a few non-New School people were mixed in, including a deeply cynical professor from Columbia's engineering school - dispensed with the structure. It was animated, and many remarked that we never have occasion for this sort of discussion, but we didn't really face the hope question seriously. It occurred to me that folks not anchored in a religious tradition may not have the confidence to face the issue - at least over dinner.
Nobody asked me what gave me hope. When the event was over, I sprang my answer on a few people, who were dumbfounded, whether Evangelical or atheist. Trees! Or rather, the way our self-understanding as human parts of the earthly community will be changed as we come to appreciate the sociability of trees. Only then, I offered, would we step away from our exploitation and destruction of the natural world. It didn't sound like much of a hope to my interlocutors, but saying it I realized it was true. Not technology, not repentance, not God's mysterious ways give me hope (such hope as I have) but confidence that we can and will change how we understand our relationship to the rest of creation. I'm grateful to this event for making this clear to me.
“hopelessness” and its related emotions of dismay and despair are understandably feared but wrongly assumed to be entirely negative and to be avoided whatever the situation. Alex Steffen warned that “Despair is never helpful” (2017). However, the range of ancient wisdom traditions see a significant place for hopelessness and despair. Contemporary reflections on people’s emotional and even spiritual growth as a result of their hopelessness and despair align with these ancient ideas. The loss of a capability, a loved one or a way of life, or the receipt of a terminal diagnosis have all been reported, or personally experienced, as a trigger for a new way of perceiving self and world, with hopelessness and despair being a necessary step in the process (Matousek, 2008). In such contexts “hope” is not a good thing to maintain, as it depends on what one is hoping for. When the debate raged about the value of the New York Magazine article, some commentators picked up on this theme. “In abandoning hope that one way of life will continue, we open up a space for alternative hopes,” wrote Tommy Lynch (2017).
The dinner was free (funded by the always generous Templeton Foundation), but of course it became clear that we had to sing for our supper. After the speakers spoke we were instructed to discuss some questions at our tables in a highly structured form of active listening:
Nobody asked me what gave me hope. When the event was over, I sprang my answer on a few people, who were dumbfounded, whether Evangelical or atheist. Trees! Or rather, the way our self-understanding as human parts of the earthly community will be changed as we come to appreciate the sociability of trees. Only then, I offered, would we step away from our exploitation and destruction of the natural world. It didn't sound like much of a hope to my interlocutors, but saying it I realized it was true. Not technology, not repentance, not God's mysterious ways give me hope (such hope as I have) but confidence that we can and will change how we understand our relationship to the rest of creation. I'm grateful to this event for making this clear to me.
