In her new book So Far From Home: Lost and Found in Our Brave New World Margaret Wheatley savages hope, guts it like a street fighter.
Beyond hope of success lies the freedom to act without constraint, without need for practicality. Once you’ve abandoned expectations, intent is no longer harried by hope or despair or the need to endlessly compromise in order to achieve diminishing results. You act because it’s the right thing, the needful thing, without expectation, without hope or need of success. You act because you can, because you must.
Hope is the expectation of a particular result among a continuum of results. It’s hope that binds us to the fear of failure and the paralysis of despair. Hope makes us vulnerable to exhaustion. Hope deceives us with the belief that the outcome is the reason for action. In reality, action is the reason itself.
Wheatley has a long history of trying to save the world. It can’t be saved, no matter how much we sacrifice. There’s no controlling the future nor even the avarice and greed rampant in the present. The future emerges unpredictably. Once present, it can’t be undone.
There are hard times ahead for humanity, for the planet. We may not survive the challenges we’ve created. We may not have the intelligence or the heart to transcend our petty, squabbling politics in a time of great need. There is no guarantee of our evolutionary success. We could be a dead end, a net loss to the planet. Or we might make the transition to something unexpected and wonderful, a shared intelligence capable of governing itself wisely.
Ultimately, personally, it doesn’t matter which. The outcome isn’t mine to own, only the action, the intent. The metaphor that comes most to mind is Zen archery, a meditation in motion where the archer becomes both the bow and the target, collapsing the distance between. The arrow is released of its own accord. It doesn’t matter so much where it lands. What matters is the meditation, the mindfulness of the archer.
Wheatley mentions Carols Castaneda only once and obliquely, referring to Don Juan [Matus]. Castaneda has been discredited as an anthropologist but he was a significant influence upon me as a young man, a conscript in the US Army during the Vietnam War and wandering in the wilderness in the years afterward.
Juan Matus’ concept of the existential warrior is somewhat like what Wheatley describes—actions with intent but without expectation of success. Where they differ substantially is the need for community, for relationship. The Yaqui sorcerer’s world was solitary and guarded. Wheatley’s world depends upon relationships. Ultimately, they’re the only thing that matters.