Hope, Faith and Basic Trust -- Part 2.

As Life would have it, since posting last time I stumbled upon Stephen Jenkinson’s writings about hope, in his wonderful book, Die Wise. With characteristic and refreshing clarity, he writes:

Hope is a mortgage.  It is not like a mortgage.  It is a mortgage.  Hope is a mortgaging of the present, for the sake of some possible future that might come to pass and just as likely might not. (p.132)

Photo: David Zawita

So how is faith different from hope? The etymological foundations are helpful.

"Hope" originates from Old English, meaning "to expect, to trust, to have confidence". "Faith" comes from the latin fidere—to trust—and is typically defined as a belief which expresses confidence in the truth, value or veracity of something or someone—

often in the absence of empirical justification or logical proof. For example: we cannot prove that the sun will rise tomorrow but we have faith that it will.

Where hope is expectant, desirous and future-focussed, faith is an orientation towards the present. Faith represents a belief that actually exists. Faith is also the result, or fruit, of belief systems that have been shaped by our lived experience. The reliability with which the sun has risen each day, in our experience, gives rise to our faith that it will do so again tomorrow. Faith, then, is the consequence of continually choosing to trust.

At 36 I resigned from a well-paying management job in an organisation I had served for 11 years. A short series of sessions with a lovely Gestalt therapist helped me see that I no longer wished to witness repeated rounds of 'cost-cutting' that brought ignominy to dedicated long-serving staff whose positions were declared redundant from one day to the next. At one point the therapist had asked me how I would feel if I resigned, and my swift response had been "free", which I did. It wasn't clear exactly what my next steps would be, but I did know I no longer belonged in that organisation, and I had faith that my qualifications, skills and experience would stand me in good stead for whatever was next.

Over the years that followed I built an independent consulting business which allowed me to:

• do work that I found to be creative, stimulating and meaningful,

• work independently from home,

• manage my own flexible schedule,

• take breaks and holidays when it suited me, and

• work with organisations I respected and clients I trusted.

  
  

By consciously recognising and respecting these preferences and actively seeking projects that were a match—over a period of maybe 2-3 years—eventually all of the projects I took on met all of these preferences. Over this time I developed the courage to trust that—even during fallow periods—I could decline a project which didn't meet any of the above criteria, in the faith that another would soon come along that did. To my surprise and delight, time and time again, that was exactly what happened.

Faith offers a kind of substance that hope can never claim or hold. Where hope is unmoored—adrift and disconnected—faith is tested, shaped by experience, and internally grounded. Faith, especially in ourselves, requires a good deal more than wishful thinking.

Which brings us back to Pema Chodron's suggestion that faith in oneself, or a certain “confidence in our basic sanity”, can emerge from an honest practice of investigating our hopes and fears. Such a practice, when facilitated or supported by a counselling therapist, requires much more, of both of you, than just hanging on to hope.