Hope and Reason

Reading Voegelin can be exhausting. Is there a shortcut to a quick fix to a lazy man's workaround to the bottom line? Life is short and his books are looooong -- over 2,000 pages just for his magnum opus, Order and History.

In contrast to the title of the book we're discussing -- The Voegelinian Revolutions -- Voegelin himself averred that

The test of truth, to put it pointedly, will be the lack of originality in the propositions.

In fact, he was no revolutionary, but rather, a counter-revolutionary who wanted to restore King Reason to his throne over the Dominion of Commonsense. For him, modern philosophy had been derailed in the modern era, and he simply wanted to get it back on track, for when it is off the tracks it is no longer even philosophy (since it is no longer oriented to its proper end). Rather, it is reduced to philodoxy (love of opinion) if we're lucky, misosophy (hatred of wisdom) if we're not.

Let's pull back to the ultimate wide angle, or Big Picture. God understands as well as anyone that few of us have the time, ability, or inclination to devote our lives to thinking our way back to him. Therefore, he makes the burden easy, with a light yoke to sweeten the deal: Incarnation.

Now that is radical. And revolutionary. No philosophical tracts to digest, no costly academic studies, no pitting one ideology against another to try and figure out which one is closer to the truth. Instead, just a person and a relationship, and all this entails.

True, it entails a great deal, but instead of starting at the periphery of the cosmos and trying to burrow our way toward the center, the center is given to us at the outset, gratis. Thus, it is literally the ultimate shortcut, although again, the implications are infinite and thensome.

A question: off the top of your head, what would you say is the single best idea anyone has ever had? Perhaps it will be difficult to narrow down the candidates, but I think you'll recognize it when you see it. It has several moving parts, and I am also putting it in the present tense, because that's the only place where and when ideas can actually live:

In the beginning is the Logos, and the Logos is with God, and the Logos is God, and 2) the Logos becomes flesh and dwells among us.

Irrespective of whether to not you agree with it, if you don't re-cognize this as the ultimate idea, then you haven't cognized it at all.

Now I'm going to switch gears, or fast forward a few decades to something attributed to Peter in his first epistle, that we should "always be ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you."

A reason for the hope. As we know, "reason" and "logos" are synonymous, but that's not my point. My larger point is that hope, properly understood, is the most thoroughly rational way to approach the Logos.

Now lets fast forward another 1,900 years or so, to Pieper's Hope and History, which, for my money, conveys much of what Voegelin is trying to say, only in 100 instead of 10,000 pages.

For starters, why is hope one of the top three theological virtues? How is it different from, say, mere wishful thinking, and why should we cultivate it? And how can it have anything to do with thinking about reality? Isn't the whole point of thinking to purge it of desire, and to look at things the way they are as opposed to the way we want them to be?

Yes, and hope is an adequation to the way things are, precisely. For example, the One Minute Philosopher distinguishes hope from wish by saying that the former "looks to the future, but is rooted in reality as it is."

Thus, reality as it is includes an intrinsic tension that reaches forth to a future that isn't yet. Analogously, think of how the phenomenon of Life Itself by definition reaches beyond the moment and anticipates its own future.

That is an exceptionally weird thing to occur in a heretofore purely physical cosmos, but leave that to the side. My point is that the identical process occurs on the cognitive plane, as our minds reach forth toward truths which they do not yet possess. Continuously. Unless we are mentally and spiritually dead, in which case our minds no longer live in that space of hope that exists between present and future, anticipation and fulfillment.

To live -- or think -- only in the present would be to neither live nor think. In a very literal way, life itself is hope, in that its continuance is always possible but never necessary, nor is hope ordered to the impossible.

Hope can of course be disappointed, but by its nature it is ordered to the possible, not the impossible or the necessary.

Regarding the latter, we don't hope the sun comes up tomorrow, because it will. Nor do we hope it comes out at midnight, because it won't. At the same time, we don't hope for things that are fully under our own control. For example, I don't hope that today I can avoid robbing a gas station, because I won't. I do, however, hope that Cousin Dupree can avoid robbing one, because he just might.

There is a vast middle ground covered by hope, and in a way, this middle ground is everything. It is where we actually live, i.e., not in our neurology or in the physical world, but in the space between.

For example, I hope I can get this post to make sense before I run out of time. I have partial control, in that I have to be here, but it doesn't at all feel as if I have anything like total control. All I can do is keep typing and hope for the best. As Pieper says, "The only genuine hope is one directed toward something that does not depend on us."

Imagine the alternative: that I don't have to hope this post makes sense, because I have a total mastery of the subject right here inside my own noggin. But if that were the case, then I would no longer be reaching out in hope toward the transcendent object, and that would be wrong.

In other words, there isn't just a correct content to thought, but a correct process of thought. And the correct process is always in tension with its own transcendent source and ground.

We're almost out of time, but we'll have much more to say about this process as we proceed. For now I'll leave off with a passage from Hope and History, that genuine hope

appears to have no object that can be found to exist in the world in [an] "objectlike" way. There is, then, nothing specific and concrete that can be pointed to; it is directed toward something "indefinite," "nebulous," "formless," "unnameable"....

This functional hope

tends to transcend all "particular objects" and cannot really be grasped until one stops trying to imagine the thing hoped for. But of course there is certainly "something hoped for," even if its mode of being is quite different from that of all objective goods and all conceivable changes in the external world.

O.