Hope

Mr. Hurt, I know you'll never read this but I wanted to say something to you. It saddens me when I read that you had/have a bumper sticker that reads "I feel so much better since I gave up hope." If you mean hope as in the desire for pleasant things that would make life easier then that is fine. I can deal with that. But then again I would find that being general which I know you hate. I would wish for larger bumpers so the sticker could be more specific. And I don't mean to be like those people who tell you you are too despairing. Maybe your life has been full of despair and that is what you believe that it has taught you. But hope seems an involuntary thing sometimes.  I know I've felt it when it will only end up hurting me because what it wants seems impossible. Still it is there and for all my occasional anger with it I would never wish it to leave me. I also know you mention it other times so you can't have completely given up on it either, sticker or not.

The reason why I'm posting this is because I just read Charles Péguy's "The Portal of the Mystery of Hope" for the first time and it reminded me of what a beautiful and neglected feeling it is. Of course, you are lucky and can read the original french version.  Knowing you somewhat, you probably already have. Thinking of hope reminded me of someone who supposedly had no hope and that would be you. I'm not as well educated as you are. I don't have the ability with words that you do but if I did I wish I could say something to you that could convey what the poem made me feel and how hope should never be completely abandoned. I hope you have hope, William Hurt. I hope you see the beauty of it even if it seems foolish. That is a source of its strength, in a way.

  "The Portal of the Mystery of Hope" by Charles Péguy
   translated by David L. Schindler Jr.

The faith that I love best, says God, is hope.
Faith doesn’t  surprise me. 
It’s not surprising
I am so resplendent in my creation.  . . . 
That in order really not to see me these poor people would have to  be blind. 
Charity says God, that doesn’t surprise me.
It’s not surprising. 
These poor creatures are so miserable that unless they had a heart of stone, 
how could they not have love for one another.
How could they not love their  brothers.
How could they not take the bread from their own mouth,
their daily  bread, in order to give it to the unhappy children who pass by. 
And my son  had such love for them. . . .
But hope, says God, that is
something that  surprises me.
Even me.
That is surprising.
That these poor children  see how things are going and believe that tomorrow things
will go better. 
That they see how things are going today and believe that they will go better  tomorrow morning.
That is surprising and it’s by far the greatest marvel  of our grace.
And I’m surprised by it myself.
And my grace must indeed  be an incredible force.