Why hope still matters in a divided world

Hope is easily dismissed as illusory when the grounds for holding fast to it appear to be crumbling.

For example, when faced with the trade tariff turmoil unleashed by the Trump administration, pundits have been quick to pronounce the end of hope — and American friendship — the beginning of tyranny and the death of prosperity.

In the face of a force that is seemingly unsurmountable, hope can quickly give way to despair.

Of course, we know religion can be a good antidote to despair. Indeed, one of the marks of a religious outlook is humility — the acceptance that while we may desire certainty and predictability, life is often uncertain and unsettling.

But even in the most difficult times, religious belief can be a bedrock of meaning upon which to build and hold fast to hope. This is one of the themes running deeply through both Judaism and Christianity.

Many Jews at this time are observing the eight-day festival of Passover that recalls the journey made by the Israelites from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the land God promised.

God’s promise of freedom kept hope alive in the hearts of the Jews even in the days of darkest oppression. Jews have faced centuries of exile, persecution and suffering, but keeping Passover has always been an act of radical hope: the future will be better than today.

But the future is not fixed. One of the themes of Easter — the Christian festival that falls this week, celebrating the resurrection of the crucified Jesus of Nazareth — is that hope breaks through the depths of even the bleakest despair.

Life will defeat death; light will break through the darkness; justice will overcome suffering. This is the kernel of the Christian hope that even when the future seems to herald defeat, God will bring renewal to the world.

The message of hope that Christianity and Judaism anchor in the eternal is timely as we see divisions that appear to be deepening in the world around us.

Wars tear families and communities apart; societies are fractured as individuals are reduced to the categories and labels of identity politics; and social media, once heralded as a tool for connection, now rewards outrage over dialogue and hostility over compassion.

Closer to home, over the past year or so, Australians have experienced social divisions that have been as deep and bitter as many of us have ever known in this country.

We have denounced one another over the Voice, over Gaza, over Net Zero and over a number of other incendiary issues.

It is, of course, reasonable to hope our political leaders will work to close those divisions and promote reconciliation in our communities.

But the promises of Easter and Passover are held out to each one of us. They remind us of the hope that endures through hardship and of the confidence that God is faithful in all the circumstances of life.

But this is no passive trust – a vague optimism that things can only get better … somehow. Rather this is an active trust that can motivate us to engage in the acts of love and patience and compassion we need to express in our daily relationships.

Of course, religion is not so fashionable in today’s Australia. The percentage of us declaring ‘no religion’ rose to 39 per cent in the last census in 2021, whereas in 1971 the figure stood at just 7 per cent.

And as younger Australians are more likely to identity as having no religion, the percentage size of that group is set to rise. Christianity remains the largest religious groups (44 per cent) whereas Jews make up barely 0.5 per cent.

Yet, notwithstanding growing secularism in Australia, religious public holidays — such as Christmas and Easter, remain cherished in the national calendar.

In part, this is because of the Christian norms and practices brought by the British when they landed here in the 18^th century. But it is also because they have taken on broader cultural significance as times for family, rest and recreation to be enjoyed by all regardless of religious affiliation.

They also retain significance for us as expressions of hope even when not talked about in the language of religion.

Hope comes through meaning, as noted by Austrian psychiatrist, Viktor Frankl, who said, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how’.”

We draw upon a deep cultural sediment of faith which, by giving us a ‘why’ for living, can nourish a cherished expectation that despair will give way to joy and that no tomb is final.

Peter Kurti is Director of the Culture, Prosperity & Civil Society program at the Centre for Independent Studies, and Adjunct Associate Professor of Law at the University of Notre Dame Australia.