As will have become clear to regular readers of this blog, I am strongly attracted by powerful writing – the more varied and surprising the better. The discovery of new ideas and new voices is deeply attractive. We have a family joke that my Christmas is made by the receipt of a book with a fresh take on life, tangential insights, or new opportunities. My daughter always rises magnificently to the challenge of surprising dad. And it keeps me quietly and happily engaged for the rest of the festival.
I especially enjoy, though not always comfortably, the discovery of new writers who lie well beyond my ‘normal’ corpus. Two such discoveries already in 2025 have been David Goodheart and Rebecca Solnit. Both come from modes of thought which are quite different from my own; both offer discomfort; but both offer moments for deep reflection and even reassessment – or at least reframing – of my own thinking.
I feel sure that I shall return to Goodheart’s stark contrast between the ‘somewheres’ and the ‘anywheres’ in a future article. But for now I have been provoked by Solnit’s writing to reflect on the concept of hope.
This is a theme which has recurred regularly in these pages. For example in the 15 September 2023 article, I reflected on the importance of hope for human flourishing. From yet another dimension, in the 15 September 2024 blog, I mused on hope as a product of human agency. And in January last year, I examined how curiosity can be a source of hope, not least in the face of uncertainty and ambiguity.
It is the latter perspective which I’d like to develop here inspired by the writing of Solnit.
In our era of cascading crises, from climate change to political upheaval, the very notion of hope might seem naive or foolish. Yet, as Rebecca Solnit has helped us understand, hope is neither blind optimism nor wishful thinking – it is a radical act of engagement with possibility itself.
Hope begins in the dark, in the understanding that we cannot predict the future with certainty. This uncertainty, which often breeds anxiety and fear, is paradoxically the very soil from which hope springs. For if the future is truly uncertain, then it remains unwritten, and within that space of the unknown lies the potential for transformative change.
Consider how often history has surprised us. The Berlin Wall fell virtually overnight. The civil rights movement transformed American society despite seemingly insurmountable opposition. Marriage equality became the law of the land. These changes weren’t inevitable – they emerged from the persistent work of people who chose hope over despair, who acted despite having no guarantee of success.
This is what distinguishes true hope from mere optimism. Optimism assumes things will turn out well; hope acknowledges the uncertainty while choosing to act anyway. Hope is an active stance toward possibility, a commitment to engaging with the world despite its brokenness and pain. Hope demands something of us – it calls us to participate in shaping the future we wish to see.
The environmental movement offers a powerful example of hope in practice. In the face of overwhelming scientific data about climate change, it would be easy to succumb to despair. Yet around the world, communities are acting – installing solar panels, protecting watersheds, transforming food systems, and demanding policy changes. They work without knowing if their efforts will be enough, but understanding that without action, failure is certain.
Hope is also fundamentally social – it grows stronger when we connect with others who share our vision and commitment to change. In isolation, problems can seem insurmountable. But in community, we discover new possibilities, share resources and knowledge, and find the courage to persist. Hope is contagious, spreading through networks of relationship and mutual support. [The significance of this insight on Goodheart’s challenge to community in his distinction between the somewheres and the anywheres would be interesting to pursue.]
This social dimension of hope reminds us that transformative change has always come from ordinary people working together. The great movements that have shaped history didn’t begin with guarantees of success – they began with people who chose to act despite their doubts and fears. They chose to believe that another world was possible and were willing to work toward it, even when the path forward wasn’t clear.
It’s crucial to understand that hope isn’t about denying reality or avoiding difficult truths. True hope requires us to look unflinchingly at the world’s problems while maintaining our capacity to envision and work toward something better. It asks us to hold two seemingly contradictory truths: that things are deeply wrong, and that they could be different.
This tension between acknowledging pain and maintaining hope is particularly relevant in our current context. We face intersecting crises that can easily overwhelm our capacity to imagine positive change. Yet throughout history, moments of crisis have often been catalysts for transformation. The question is not whether change will come, but what kind of change we will help create.
Hope requires us to take the long view. Change rarely happens as quickly as we wish, and progress often comes with setbacks. But when we step back and look at the arc of history, we can see how small actions accumulate into profound transformations. The seeds we plant today may not bear fruit tomorrow, but they are essential for the forests of the future.
Perhaps most importantly, hope is a choice we can make daily. It is not a feeling we wait to have, but a practice we can cultivate. We can choose to notice signs of positive change, to connect with others who share our concerns, to take small actions that align with our values. Each of these choices strengthens our capacity for hope and our ability to sustain engagement with difficult challenges.
As we navigate our uncertain times, hope becomes not just a comfort but a necessity. It is the force that allows us to imagine alternatives, to persist in the face of setbacks, to find joy even in difficult work. Hope reminds us that the future is not predetermined but will be shaped by the choices we make and the actions we take today.
In embracing hope, we don’t deny the reality of suffering or the magnitude of the challenges we face. Instead, we claim our power to participate in creating change, understanding that uncertainty, while sometimes frightening, also holds the seeds of possibility. In this way, hope becomes not just an emotion but an ethical choice – a commitment to remaining engaged with the world and its possibilities, even in the darkest of times.
