THE OPUIM OF HOPE
Of all the words in the
English language the one I am least comfortable with is hope.
1 My hope is Built, words by Edward Mote, 1797-1874
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Hope is as tangible as hot
air, as solid as candy floss and, we are constantly told, as essential as
oxygen. “You must have hope,” people intone, seeking to press a promissory note
into your hand, redeemable at some unspecified date in the future.
People living crappy lives
all over the world either live in hope, or are exhorted to do so. Politicians
and priests are the primary sellers of hope; jam tomorrow, the meek inheriting
the Earth. Hope indeed being the main product sold by religion*:-
'His Oath, his covenant,his blood
support me inin the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
he then is all my hope and stay.'1
'His Oath, his covenant,his blood
support me inin the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
he then is all my hope and stay.'1
With these lullabies and
daydreams life is made more tolerable. Hope, like a lottery ticket, the opium
of the people.
Now I hope that civil
liberties are better defended in this country in the future than they have been in the recent past,
though I think I would be better doing something about it than just hoping.
The ruling elites of all countries are more than happy for the poor to hope for better days to come. What frightens them is the possibility that they may act on their desires in the present, that they might choose to do something to make these dreams come true.
The ruling elites of all countries are more than happy for the poor to hope for better days to come. What frightens them is the possibility that they may act on their desires in the present, that they might choose to do something to make these dreams come true.
So the next time the
priest or politician comes peddling hope, you do what you will, for my self I
will send them away with a flea in their ear.
1 My hope is Built, words by Edward Mote, 1797-1874