Naive Pessimism

Yesterday in church, my favorite Sunday school teacher gave a lesson about... well, something dealing with new missionaries and this here quote:

“They arrive in the mission field brimming with confidence—in themselves, in the Lord, and in their mission president. They are ready to baptize the entire city, starting with whoever opens the first door they knock on. They will walk on water if you tell them there’s a golden investigator on the other side of the lake. And they are quite certain that they will never, ever get discouraged or tired or fearful.”

We all laughed knowingly and then the teacher posed the question, "Why do put down missionaries or people who have this much faith?" (Or something like that.)

My first thought to his question was, "Um, that's not faith; that's fantasy. That's also just naivety." The last line of the quote beckons the reader to question the judgment of these missionaries who are thinking in absolute terms ("never, ever get discouraged"). President Uchtdorf intended for the reader to come to the conclusion that these missionaries aren't being realistic. I don't think he was trying to say that these missionaries are more faithful than other church members or that this is how faithful members should feel. In fact, it's a bit like that naive hope that Neal A. Maxwell was talking about in "Brightness of Hope," which isn't real hope at all. 

Ignoring the inaccuracy of his question, I wondered why we can sometimes be so intolerant of these naively hopeful people. Why does this attitude rub us the wrong way? And why do we feel the need to slap it out of existence?

I think we disdain that "bright-eyed optimism" (as my ex would put it) not just because of the disappointment we've experienced in our own lives, but also because we can remember feeling that way, we miss the feeling of purpose we once had, and we envy them for having it. There is so much jealousy underneath the eye-rolls and sarcastic side remarks when that one girl bears her testimony. There's also this paternal feeling that comes mid-annoyance, like, "I want to save her from disappointment. She should not put her hopes so high or she is going to crash like I did." Which usually comes across as more patronizing than protective (e.g., "I was just like you once"). And then comes a lengthy anecdote or some moving story about how hope is lost and you should just reframe your hope into harsher terms like I did.

We act like we're these experienced, sage, recovered drug addicts who have done it all and now know the tougher side of life, when in reality, most of us have only a few years on these naive youngsters, and some of our greatest disappointments have had to do with a few failed relationships or choosing a major.

I don't want to downplay the struggle of closed doors and lost opportunities, but I think we sometimes give up on optimism too early. I also think we take ourselves too seriously sometimes. Like this sailor guy.

Working with kids who have been severely sexually traumatized has not only given me hope for those who have suffered so much loss, but a ton of hope for myself. I remember once talking to someone about how the future doesn't feel as expansive as it once did as a freshman. I felt like various avenues became inaccessible as I made more decisions, and so the future felt less exciting.

I feel like such an A thinking back to that conversation after working with these kids. My future is pretty dang awesome. I could change course any time I want to because I have an education, the gospel, a relatively healthy past, and a pretty good legal record. I've got so much more reason to hope big than other people do, and here I am feeling constricted and too experienced to follow my dreams.

Hope is out there, guys. It really is. Also, there's no need to hate on unrealistic goal-setters. Maybe they're onto something you've forgotten about.


Aaaand this is my new favorite song for the week:

They're a cool local band. You should listen to them. :)