The Hollow Promise of Hope: Lewis and the Escape from Reality

There are times when my faith feels shaken, and in the midst of it all, this blog – however humble – serves as a small outlet for the turbulence within me. I’ve had better years, better months, better weeks, even better days and hours – each one feeling like a fleeting relief compared to the weight of despair that lingers. Often, my moments of doubt are not just fleeting. They are deep, a chasm I cannot always bridge. Throughout it all, I wonder how God sees me? What must He think of my wavering faith? How does He view the questions and doubts that plague my soul? And yet, I cannot escape the gnawing ache for reassurance – reassurance that He is more merciful than judgmental, more compassionate than condemning.

When those who should have been a source of love and trust betray you – when they betray you with the kind of cruelty that makes you wonder if there’s any kindness left in the world – it’s hard to look back with anything but bitterness. When life is upended by the hypocrisy of someone who discards you like a broken toy – because they are too shallow to understand the real you, listening to the whispers of demons – how can you possibly find comfort in those memories? It’s no surprise, then, that I find myself in this pit. The depths of despair that I’ve sunk to feel inevitable. It was always coming. A situation so toxic, so demonic, would never have let me stay whole for long. But thank God, that I found the clarity to escape, albeit with resistance, in a roundabout way, even if it was only after the damage had been done – the clues I’d given were ignored with incredulity.

The road to recovery, however, was no simple journey. It’s been fraught with trauma – a staple in my life – trauma I will never share, not because I don’t want to, but because the world is filled with too many quick-to-judge, narrow-minded fools who wouldn’t understand. Their minds are so clouded with judgment and prejudice, they would only see the surface, passing quick and empty sentences. So, I keep it to myself. I heal in silence – and as always, take a hit for someone else’s shit. Oh, that you knew the truth – you’d crawl on your knees and beg ‘my’ forgiveness, never mind God’s!

When it comes to hope, well, I’ve always struggled with it. The concept, the promise of it, feels like a fragile thing, slipping through my fingers every time I try to hold on. But then I think of the kind of hope C.S. Lewis describes in Mere Christianity – the hope that transcends the temporal, the hope that points beyond this broken world. That kind of hope, maybe, I can understand. And perhaps it’s this hope that keeps me going, even when I’m at my lowest.

I know this dip won’t last. I’ll rise again. But in the meantime, I feel like I am being picked apart, piece by piece, by those who feed on vulnerability. They’ll strip me bare until there’s nothing left but the remnants – bones that tell a story, a bitter one, that says, “You failed me. You failed us.” And yet, in the rubble of it all, I remain…more’s the pity.

C.S. Lewis’ chapter on Hope in Mere Christianity is a real eye-opener, if you enjoy watching someone try to convince you that all your life’s disappointments are just a sign that you’ve been looking in the wrong places. Apparently, we’re all just so profoundly disillusioned by earthly achievements that we’ll never find true satisfaction until we’re frolicking in Heaven. Yes, that beautiful escape route from the mortal coil. It’s a nice thought, I suppose – if you don’t mind losing your integrity along the way, of course.

Lewis starts with a big, sweeping claim: no matter what you achieve, you’ll always feel empty. It’s the ultimate bait-and-switch – he tells you that the reason you feel hollow after accomplishing your goals is because you weren’t made for this world; you were made for something better. Heaven, of course. Well, isn’t that convenient? But it’s also quite the leap, isn’t it? As if the fact that I feel empty after winning a promotion or buying a new gadget is an obvious sign I was destined to spend eternity with some divine being. Yes, I get that longing, but doesn’t it feel a little forced? Maybe we’ve just been sold an idea of satisfaction that no earthly thing could ever match, not because we’re spiritually starving, but because the concept itself is flawed. But no, Lewis goes for the old “we’re all just yearning for Heaven” narrative, and you’d better believe that’s the only explanation that fits.

Then we get into this delightful discussion about “the fool’s way,” “the sensible man’s way,” and “the Christian way” – three life paths for the disillusioned soul. The fool keeps chasing experiences, the sensible man gives up and becomes a cynic, and the Christian goes, “Oh, nothing in this life can satisfy me, so I’ll just wait for Heaven.” You know, instead of living a life that actually means something right here, right now. To Lewis, this is the answer to everything: it’s all about waiting for a bigger, better prize in the sky. But here’s the thing, Lewis – who says this Christian way is the only one? What about those of us who find meaning in the fleeting pleasures of life, in doing good without expecting a cosmic reward, or, dare I say, in actually making the most of what we have on Earth? Apparently, if you’re not spending your time longing for a perfect afterlife, you’re just wasting your time. Lewis’ disdain for those who choose to live for the present is palpable. Maybe they’re not so foolish after all?

The bit I found most amusing, though, is Lewis’ argument that hope in Heaven doesn’t make you apathetic toward the world; it makes you more engaged with it. Oh, yes – just aim at Heaven and you’ll get everything on Earth, too. How comforting! Lewis suggests that saints and reformers weren’t fixated on the world – they just had their eyes on Heaven, and that made them do good things on Earth. A lovely theory, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s just another way to excuse inaction in the face of very real, very earthly problems. Marx nailed it when he called religion an “opium of the people” – something that lulls them into complacency. But then let’s not forget, Marx was actually a complete arsehole – as are his acolytes today. Maybe Lewis’ hope isn’t quite as sharp as he thinks it is. How many people have used that same hope as an excuse to ignore injustice, suffering, or any real action at all? No, no, let’s just sit around and wait for the next world.

But here’s where I really start losing patience: Lewis doesn’t seem to grasp the real issue with hope. He describes it as an active discipline, an exercise in trust that somehow makes life more meaningful. Well, maybe for some. But for those of us who’ve spent a lifetime trying to grasp the concept of hope – let’s just say, it’s never been so clear. Hope has always seemed like a cruel joke – a long-running fantasy that promises everything, yet delivers nothing. I spent years clinging to it, believing that someday it might give me some sense of purpose, and here’s what I’ve learned: it doesn’t. Not in any tangible way. In fact, hope has often felt like the very thing that has drained my life of integrity, promising salvation while subtly eroding the foundation of any real meaning.

In the end, Lewis has done little to convince me that there’s anything especially noble about waiting for Heaven to fix everything. If you ask me, his argument would be far stronger if he had acknowledged the real struggles of those who’ve lost hope and walked away from that higher purpose. But perhaps that’s the point: for Lewis, Heaven is the ultimate answer to all the world’s suffering, and if you don’t buy into that, well, maybe you’re just too disillusioned to see the light. Or maybe you’re finally learning what hope really is: a well-crafted illusion.

I must emphasise, I believe nothing of what I’m saying here about Lewis’ concept of hope, I’m just flagging, sore, sad, worn out. I love Lewis. And I love his work. In a short while, I’ll feel better and regret this post – though I won’t delete it. As the sub title of this blog says, ‘Welcome to my padded cell’.

I need a good dose of Hebrews 10:23!