Objective Hope

Between hope and hopelessness, what keeps us going?

In March of this year, I had a premonition that the United States of America was sleepwalking into fascism.

Reagan’s “Beacon on the Hill” was hell-bent on becoming Putin’s ally.

I spent time in the USSR during the Reagan era and saw firsthand how the human spirit collapses in an up-is-down world of lies and oppression. I saw people on the Moscow subway slumped over in broken despair.

As I write this, the former President’s closing message describes golfer Arnold Palmer’s ‘unbelievable’ genitals. When we were kids, we imagined we were in DC Comics Bizarro World. And here we are.

Beginning in March, I committed myself to doing everything in my power to preserve American democracy.

I was asked to help elect four retired Democratic women to state office in a VERY RED corner of the state (80 percent Republican).

I used this opportunity to create a platform to support Biden and now Kamala. I created ads, videos, news stories, print ads, T-shirts, press releases, and several websites. We garnered a half-million impressions — all with the strategy of putting actual facts in front of low-information voters — mainly women concerned about reproductive rights.

In March, I was still see-sawing between hope and hopelessness after the death of my wife. I recently rewrote a Substack from February of 2023 to present Objective Hope — not the hope that things will get better, but the cosmic support from a beneficent Universe when we reach beyond the confines of our own little lives.

See my political work at Georgia9th.com

Here’s the rewritten Substack:

Students of comedic history know the Henny Youngman line, “Take my wife… PLEASE.”

My routine is a bit different: “OY VEY, I LOST MY WIFE! [audience gets sad].

I lean into the mike, “Believe me; it’s the best thing that ever happened…” [audience is shocked].

“You see,” I explain, touching my heart, “it finally BROKE OPEN.” [audience is confused].

“I feel like the Velveteen Rabbit, always dreaming to become real. And now, my cotton-stuffed heart is beating, but I’ve got no one to share it with!” [audience laughs nervously, rim-shot].

So, where’s Bruce?

He’s straddling the “barzakh” – the space between being buoyant and bereft, uplift and downdraft, grieving and grinning.

Grief is similar. You keep moving between hopelessness and hope. It’s a sliding scale. What’s appropriate one month is different the next.

I live between Shiva and Shakti, the interplay between opposing forces. Rather than being a source of peace, Shiva pulled me into a kind of shell shock, and Shakti is the force that manically propels me to make something happen.

My friend Don counseled me on my no-win attempt to outwit grief: “The best place to stand is between hope and hopelessness,” Don explained. “If you cling to hope, you will be disappointed. If you cling to hopelessness, you will separate yourself from life."

I have chosen not to separate myself from life.

I have discovered that grief is not an emotion; it’s a motion — a wave I’ve chosen to ride. My small tsunami includes dinner parties, walks with friends, long phone calls, painting bedrooms, writing a book, working my day job, daily yoga class, three dog walks per day, managing two Airbnbs, and hosting a Zoom group. Anything to avoid thinking about myself.

All of this keeps me “in the game,” which, of course, is an illusion.

The upside-down universe keeps sending me messages.

Today, I was sent an article from Elephant Journal titled: “I’m Not just Single, I’m Solitary – Here’s Why I’ve Never Been Happier.” The author, Srishtaa, a student of Himalayan Shamanism, proudly writes:

“Over the past 10 years, it’s as if I have been shedding relationships and human connections of all kinds.”

My response: Elephant Journal, let me write one titled — “Over the past ten weeks, I have been craving human connection of all kinds.”

Shedding? Craving? Which is it? The author praises singlehood as less work, utter freedom, and eating what you want. Srishtaa feels especially justified as a woman because in a relationship, “a disproportionate amount of emotional labour comes to your share.”

Oh, a British shaman, are you?

My answer is that “active labour” brings life into the world. Our job is to live a life that generates “surplus value.”

I learned this gem from business leader Scott Galloway who said:

“What can we do to give more than we take? You become a man when you add surplus value to society — when you produce more than you consume.”

Any men reading this? Emotional labour IS THE THING.

I continue to ask the people I meet, “What is your growing edge?” Most reply, “Say what?”

I should ask, “Where are you directing your emotional labour?”

An expectant mother Actively Engages Hope. She is channeling a hope that is bigger than her immediate life. This is a kind of Soul Hope.

She begins painting a room, looking at cribs, collecting hand-me-downs, talking to moms, taking vitamins, etc. She is creating a space for the future to arrive, and that’s why people revere her as she glides into a yoga class with her belly beaming. If there were a Maternal Sci-Fi Channel, she would wield the superpower of carrying the literal future. How cool is that?

My philosophic mentor, J.G. Bennett, called this Objective Hope. He spoke to a group of young seekers in 1973:

“Objective, conscious hope has nothing to do with expectation, thinking tomorrow will be better than today... real hope has no negative.

“It is the dawning in us that a higher power is favorable to us… and this is an extraordinary thing when it really begins to happen to us. Nothing else cures the loneliness of the human being. It is with this that we become aware that we are not alone. This is a joyful feeling or a thankful feeling.

“It is not really possible for our ordinary self to have true hope. But when you know there is cosmic hope, that we have our place in this hope, you begin to be aware that there is a higher power that cares for you and me.”¹

My friend Anahata put this to the test in March 2020.

When the world’s international borders shut down because of COVID, Anahata, a touring spiritual teacher and musician, was instantly stranded in Australia for nearly three years.

I called Anahata at the time:

Anahata: “I arrived at the airport at 3:30 am for a 6:00 am flight,” Anahata recounted. “I looked up, and there was nothing on the board. Worse, there was no one there. I found someone from Virgin Australia who told me they had a 70 percent layoff overnight.”

“‘Well, what do I do?’ I showed them my ticket, and they said there was nothing they could do because a travel agent had booked it.”

“I raced back up the mountain to talk to my travel agent. She was horrified. She went online and found one last flight leaving Australia before the national borders closed. She said, ‘It's going to New Zealand, but you must be American. And it costs $6,000 one way.’ I'm not an American citizen, so I wasn't allowed on the plane.

“My finances are stretched, so I have been forced to live on the edge, remaining vigilant all the time, living at the mercy and generosity of other people who control my destiny. I don’t have anything secure. As a stranded visitor, I don’t have a house. I don’t have possessions. And I am forced to pay attention. I forget to trust and then remember that things are unfolding.

“The whole thing freaked me out. How am I going to make this work? And then, it became evident that I can do nothing but give my best. Things are going to be what they’re going to be.

“To stay here legally, I need a Special Program Visa which means finding enough people to commit to a 15-month training program. That is a huge commitment in COVID times, so I am always on my toes to offer something meaningful.

Three years later, the borders reopened, and Anahata returned to the United States. I checked in to see how she was doing:

Anahata: “When I returned, I realized that this powerful sense of purpose that fulfilled me for three years had been left behind.

“I kept wanting the universe to provide a renewed sense of mission, and it was terribly disorienting. What am I going to do? I needed a way to stay financially solvent without my touring and teaching.

“One day, I saw an ad for three acres of land and a house in rural Georgia — perfect for my animals. I called my close friend Gayle. We talked about the property, and then she said, out of the blue, “You need to become a real estate agent.”

I took a pause and felt deep stirrings in my consciousness about the meaning of home. I realized, “You're right.” That was the catalyst for an entirely new direction in my life.”

I went to visit my realtor.

“You'll be fabulous at it,” my realtor encouraged. “And I'm getting ready to move to the mountains. If you pass your exam, I’ll give you my business connections. I'll give people your number.”

“I went home and found a real estate course starting in three days.

“My wish is to be able to support so many people and projects in my life. I want to be able to be generous. This could open that door.

When Anahata was in Australia, investing every waking breath into building a 15-month course, I asked her one final question: “Could you be laying the groundwork for the next chapter of your life?”

Anahata answered with a story:

“I have a student in Tasmania who is in and out of a mental institution. She was the first person to sign up for my course, and she paid for it all. When she came out of the hospital, she seemed a bit rocky. So, I said to her, ‘If 50 percent of your spiritual practice involves difficult, penetrative work, the other 50 percent should offer joy and uplift. If it doesn’t, there's something wrong with the path.’”

I didn’t understand what Anahata was saying at the time. But now the tables have turned. I’m the one “stranded.” I find the admonition to not “separate yourself from life” the key to that joy and uplift.

J.G Bennett describes this as a force deep in our nature. He explained:

“Wish is a force that can be more or less intense, but it has no negative to it. This primary urge comes from within, from the depths of our nature: the wish to be…

“People live and die, having never touched this, or at most having glimpses they didn’t understand. This wish to be, and not just a dream within a dream, you must remain quiet and sensitive for a long time before something begins to stir.

When I ask older people, “What is your growing edge?” I can feel their psyche set up like Jello — that it’s too late, they’re too old, or they need to feel secure. I understand. Who wants to start a crazy new chapter at this age? We’ll, I do.

We may not be in our twenties – but quoting Bob Dylan, our soul is “FOREVER YOUNG!”

Our growing edge is where we are most alive. The growing edge for the world right now can be found in the conflicts between East and West, fascism and freedom, authoritarianism and democracy.

Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelensky gives voice to objective hope:

“The Ukrainian people and their courage inspired the whole world. They gave humanity a new hope that justice has not completely left our cynical world. And it is still not force that wins in it, but truth. Not money, but values. Not oil, but people.”

Why are theater people the lightning rods for Hope?

Before becoming president, Volodymyr Zelensky was a theater person. He created a film production company, including a TV series where he played a Ukrainian president.

Václav Havel, Czechoslovakia’s first democratically elected president also came from the theater. He first rose to prominence as a playwright, creating absurdest works to criticize the Communist system. After several stints in prison for his activism, he played a major role in the Velvet Revolution that toppled the Communist system. He became president in 1989 and was re-elected in a landslide.

Havel saw Objective Hope as being different from wishful thinking and enthusiasm. He wrote:

“Complete skepticism is an understandable consequence of discovering that one’s enthusiasms are based on illusion. This skepticism leads to a dehumanization of history — a history drifting somewhere above us, taking its own course, having nothing to do with us, trying to cheat us, destroy us, playing out its cruel jokes.”

He explained that actively engaging hope takes place in real-time:

“If bringing back some human dimension to the world depends on anything, it depends on how we acquit ourselves in the here and now.”

And here is the kicker, where I am trying to live:

“The kind of hope I often think about is, I believe, a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us, or we don’t. Hope is not a prognostication — it’s an orientation of the spirit. Each of us must find real, fundamental hope within ourselves. You can’t delegate that to anyone else.”

Consider how these theater people, Zelensky and Havel, carried the banner of hope for their people. It seems odd, but theater people live and breathe the dramatic arc. They understand how the barriers to realization are not put in place by the enemy but live within the protagonist.

Greek philosophers and playwrights understood how life unfolds through shocks, barriers, openings, and transformations — described in drama as exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement.

When theater people become leaders, they know how to plot the long game. Transformation is baked into their view of life. Unlike traditional politicians who only know transactional politics, the playwright has the fortitude to wait for the villain to make his tragic move.

The Russian dissident Alexei Navalny understood “long hope.” After a horrific poisoning, he voluntarily returned to Russia to be incarcerated for years in a brutal gulag, where he paid the ultimate price. Navalny will live eternally as Russia’s protagonist for freedom. This is his long game of Objective Hope.

With the inspiration of Havel, Zelensky, and Navalny, I seek to carve out a new chapter – to generate “surplus value” and give it back to life.

Havel was quite explicit:

“It is this hope, above all, that gives us strength to live and to continually try new things, even in conditions that seem as hopeless as ours, here and now. In the face of this absurdity, life is too precious a thing to permit its devaluation by living pointlessly, emptily, without meaning, without love, and, finally, without hope.”

1. Sacred Impulses,” January 19th, 1973, Sherborne House, © The Estate of J.G. Bennett 2015