The September 11 Test Between Hope and Humility

by Mark McCloskey

In the aftermath of September 11, authors, screenwriters, TV and movie producers, even radio disc jockeys have had to examine their work to see if it passes the “September 11 test.” That is, given the world-altering events of that day, would this song, that image, or those scripts still be credible and appropriate? For example, the opening credits of “Law and Order” and “Allie McBeal,” featuring the skyline of New York City and thus the World Trade Center, became tragically inappropriate. A script of TV’s “West Wing” had to be hastily rewritten. My son’s Microsoft Pilot software was pulled from the stores because it allows the user to envision a flight path into the World Trade Center. I expect many sermons and seminary classes have undergone similar scrutiny. Indeed, my first lecture in ML113 (transformational leadership) needed some dramatic changes.

Lord, at times we hope too much, and at other times not enough. As we work for the cause of your Kingdom, teach us to hope enough in our humility and to humbly embrace your gift of hope. “May our Lord Jesus Christ Himself and God our Father, who loved us and by His grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good deed and work” (2 Thessalonians 2:16). Amen

September 11 separated the wheat from the chaff in matters of public debate. It has forever changed our national agenda. It has pulled back the curtain, revealing the stark reality of evil in our world and the imminent nature of death. It has sifted the superficially relevant and trendy from the timeless and foundational. Like no other day, at least in my lifetime, September 11 has driven me back to three first-order affirmations. To fully appreciate them, however, it is helpful first to reflect on the paradox of the human condition.

On Hope by Josef Pieper Lauded as a masterpiece about a “forgotten virtue,” On Hope was first published in author Josef Pieper’s native German in 1977. In its pages, the Catholic philosopher discusses hope as a virtue, the anticipation of nonfulfillment (despair), the anticipation of fulfillment (presumption), and what he calls the “gift of fear.” After Pieper’s death in 1997, Gilbert Meilaender (then the board of directors chair in theological ethics at Valparaiso University) memorialized him in his article “A Philosopher of Virtue” which appeared in the April 1998 issue of First Things: A Journal of Religion and Public Life. “Josef Pieper...lived in turbulent times,” Meilaender wrote. “A German reaching the peak of his adult powers in the mid-twentieth century— some of whose early works were confiscated by the Nazi government—he eventually found a wider readership in countries other than his native land. And the very form of his writing— succinct, distilled, simultaneously clear and elusive— gives evidence of a heart that was, despite the turbulence, fundamentally at peace.”

A curious blend... We are a confusing lot, we humans; a curious blend of despair bordering on fatalism, and optimism flirting with presumption. We are a mix of contrasts: fear and courage, perversity and nobility, depravity and dignity, helplessness and agency, limitation and potential. In the weeks since September 11 we have both witnessed and experienced this full range of human emotion. And who of us has not been deeply touched, indeed perplexed, by humankind’s stunning capacity for both good and evil? Such is the human condition. It has always been so. And no Christian should be taken by surprise. The Bible makes it abundantly clear that we live in a world greatly loved but deeply fallen. In my opinion, this is the only suitable explanation for the events of September 11, and for the events of thousands of days like it over the centuries. But how can we emotionally and cognitively process such a paradox? The eternal and living truths of the Scriptures provide a rich vocabulary and a set of powerful images to help us sort it out. In biblical terminology, to be created in God’s image yet live in a fallen world requires that we exist with the tension between hope and humility. On the morning of September 11 I found myself grappling with this tension and, I must admit, looking for reason to hope in the midst of despair.

The paradox presented

As I sorted through my own emotions I found myself asking, How can I come to terms with my deep sense of helplessness: humility bordering on resignation and despair; and my bias toward action: hope bordering on groundless presumption? Some coped with the tension by buying flags, others by standing in line for six hours to donate blood. This is all well and good, but in the end I still needed to come to terms with the stark reality of that tragic day, while not losing hope.

Here are some insights from two men with very little in common except that they, too, struggled with the same paradox of hope and humility: Napoleon I and Robert Frost.

In his last battles—fighting for hope in the midst of despair—Napoleon sought to make his final peace with this paradox. Defeated, humbled, and in exile he mused, “I have conceived of many plans, but I was never free to execute one of them. For all that I held the rudder, and with a strong hand, the waves were always a great deal stronger.”

It was said of Napoleon that his presence on the battlefield was worth 10,000 men. Yet the most powerful man of his generation could make no claim to control his own life, let alone the flow of history. Rather, he viewed his life as an epic struggle between “the strong hand” at the rudder and the “waves…a great deal stronger.” Europe rejoiced that the waves were stronger.

My favorite poet Robert Frost switched analogies, but posed the same dilemma in his poem “Riders” (see page 28). According to Frost, we are riders and not very successful guiders. We find ourselves atop a wild, unbridled horse, headless at that. Even so we do not despair, for “we have ideas that we haven’t tried.”

If we are true to our humanity—as were Napoleon and Frost—we are duty bound to hold two opposing sets of ideas in our mind at once. The first is that we are riders clinging for dear life atop the headless horse of history, carried along by unseen and unpredictable forces more powerful and complex than we can ever imagine.

The second is that we have opportunity to act and reason to hope. We must hope. It is in our DNA to act, to guide, to steer, to make a difference, to work for a better future. And turning to the Bible, I believe this is right where God wants us. He wants to teach us both hope and humility. And He intends to keep us both humble and hopeful.

To learn humility, we must learn the lesson of Frost’s rider. While I make no special claim to insight regarding God’s plans, I do know one thing for certain: God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble (1 Peter 5:5). He does not want us to waste emotional energy on anxiety. Instead, He calls us to cast all our cares on Him, and humble ourselves under His mighty hand that He may exalt us at His proper time (1 Peter 5:6-7). God wants us humble so that He can bless us and not oppose us. And God wants us hopeful so that we will not despair, but rather join with Him in bringing glory to His Name.

Hebrews 11:32-34 chronicles the lives of saints who conquered kingdoms, administered justice, shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weaknesses were turned into strength and who became powerful in battle, routing foreign armies. Frost’s guiders. Heroes of the faith. Images of hope. I like these folks and want to be just like them.

But verse 35 breaks in with a sharp contrast. Now the heroes of the faith are men and women called “others.” They were “tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection.” They faced jeersand flogging, chains and imprisonment. They lived out their days poor and persecuted, mistreated and homeless. Frost’s riders. Heroes of the faith—but heroes of a different sort. Images of humility. While I admire these folks, I’m not sure I want to be like them. In fact, I’m sure I don’t.

But God has given us images of both hope and humility to encourage us. I have to admit that the “others” of Hebrews 11:35 have come to mind more often in recent weeks.

First-order affirmations

In light of these reflections, I offer the following three affirmations that give me cause for hope, humility, and encouragement. These, I believe,
pass the September 11 test.

Affirmation 1: I am not in control (and neither is anyone else I know), but God is. Humility begins with the acknowledgment of this truth. Only God is in control, and I am not God. I humbly affirm that my creaturely life is a small boat, powerless against the waves. With Job, I acknowledge that I was absent when God laid the foundation of the earth (Job 38). His ways are unsearchable (Romans 11:33-36). I am a creature, and therefore a rider and not so successful guider, and on September 11 the headless horse bolted into a heart-stopping gallop to God knows where.

But God does know where. And in humility, hope is born. In his book On Hope Josef Pieper writes, “In the virtue of hope more than in any other, man understands and affirms that he is a creature, that he has been created by God.”

Affirmation 2: God graciously grants each of us the gift of hope and the invitation to partner with Him in furthering His kingdom. Pieper again: “It would never occur to a philosopher, unless he were a Christian theologian, to describe hope as a virtue. For hope is either a theological virtue or not a virtue at all.” Hope is the primordial disposition of all living creatures. Authentic and enduring hope, the kind we were created to experience, is the exclusive domain of biblical faith.

God calls us to cultivate a life of hope. He invites us to His throne of grace to receive the gift of hope. Hope is the sustaining attitude of the believer. Hope fosters a deep sense of blessedness and expectancy, knowing that “He who began a good work in you will carry it to completion until the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6). As Napoleon’s strong waves buffet our small boats, hope is the anchor of our souls (Hebrews 6:19).

God has promised to bring about a genuinely transformed future where Jesus is undisputed King. God’s powerful and wise hand guides history, even the dark moments, toward this end (Ephesians 1:14). The laws of cause and effect on a human level may seemingly carry the day, but acts of evil will not define the future because the future belongs to His Son. And we are destined to share in this future because of Jesus. Paul put it simply, “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27).

Our hope is as certain as the character and promises of God, for “on Him we have set our hope that He will continue to deliver us” (2 Corinthians 1:10). As the Psalmist wrote, “No one whose hope is in You will ever be put to shame” (Psalm 25:3). “The prospect of the righteous is joy, but the hopes of the wicked come to nothing” (Proverbs 10:28). “But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more” (Psalms 71:14). And so, I take courage in these words, “Let us fix our hope on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith…consider Him…so that you will not grow weary and lose heart” (Hebrews 12:2, 3).

Affirmation 3: We must make a home in our daily lives—an emotional, cognitive, and spiritual home—for both hope and humility. God wants us humble and hopeful, not prideful and despairing. Pride isolates. Despair paralyzes. Without humility we will not depend on God or partner with others. Without hope, we will not take responsibility and initiative. For if the future holds no hope, our present holds few reasons to act responsibly and no reason at all to risk or sacrifice. Without the living partnership of hope and humility we will become self-reliant and self-absorbed.

I take great encouragement from the life of Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton. Frozen in an ice flow only a few miles from the open sea—and from achieving his goal to cross Antarctica on foot—Shackleton faced down the despair of his failed quest to reach the South Pole. He modeled equanimity unparalleled. Ship’s surgeon Alexander Macklin wrote in his diary, “It was more than tantalizing, it was maddening. Shackleton at this time showed one of his sparks of real greatness. He did not rage at all, or show outwardly the slightest sign of disappointment; he told us simply and calmly that we must winter in the Pack, explained its dangers and possibilities; never lost his optimism, and prepared for Winter.”

I am encouraged by Shackleton’s ability to prepare for winter without losing optimism. God calls us to a similar mindset that allows us to live and move seamlessly between the reality of today, often ruled by the headless horse of perverse and tragic circumstance, and the hope of a better tomorrow, always without human merit or precedent but nonetheless promised by God. And in this I rejoice.