The Tracks of Hope: Reading “Nozomi” in Arabic
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Beginning with an encounter with a young person who lamented that he felt “hopeless,” this essay reflects on the distinction between hope, expectation, and the broader Japanese word nozomi. Drawing on Ivan Illich’s discussion and Arabic triliteral roots, it explores how nozomi unfolds into hope, desire, and expectation. It then seeks the remaining tracks of hope in the act of reading the Word of revelation together.
A Young Person Troubled by Hopelessness
I once met a young person who lamented that he felt “hopeless.” He seemed to be in a situation where every path was blocked. I told him, “As long as you can say you are hopeless, that still presupposes the existence of hope. So you are not completely hopeless. It is all right.” Yet this sounded rather like a Zen dialogue, and it did not lead to any concrete solution to the problem.
If, by using the word “hopeless,” we limit what is absent to “hope,” then it may in fact become more difficult to break through his sense of deadlock. For what may have been lost was not hope itself, but rather a situation in which he could hold expectations.
Hope and expectation must be distinguished from one another. The more deeply one internalizes the institution called school, and the more one accepts living within it as if one had chosen it for oneself, the farther one may move away from hope. This is a perspective that can be learned from the social thinker Ivan Illich.[1]
The Misfortune of Disappointed Expectations
Illich’s discussion is based on Greek mythology: the story of the wise Prometheus and Epimetheus, who was regarded as foolish. From the box opened by Pandora, all kinds of evils were scattered throughout the world. Prometheus responded by creating institutions one by one in order to contain them. Epimetheus, by contrast, entrusted his dream to the “hope” that remained in the box and lived in a love that could not be contained by institutions.
The Promethean world has rules and order. If one lives with a sufficient understanding of them, and at times makes use of them, one can meet expectations. If one fails to do so, one ends precisely in disappointed expectations. Continuing to meet expectations within institutions such as schools and companies is often connected with success and happiness.
However, once we distinguish “hope” from “expectation,” we should also be able to notice that the fulfillment of hope belongs to a different dimension from expectation. This is because hope looks toward a greater love that lies beyond institutions and systems.
What Does It Mean to Have “No Nozomi”?
Nevertheless, trying to overcome disappointed expectations is, in many cases, inseparable from actively adapting oneself to institutions. For that reason, it may not directly resolve a sense of hopelessness. What makes the matter still more complicated is that, if what is absent is not “hope” but nozomi, then an unexpected breadth of meaning enters the discussion. This becomes clear when we examine the matter in light of Arabic vocabulary.
The Arabic word corresponding to “hope” is amal (أمل). Classically, it is explained as rajāʾ (رَجَاء), that is, wish, hope, or expectation. In modern usage, it also overlaps with umniyah (أُمْنِيَة), meaning a wish or cherished desire. By contrast, when we examine the range of words that may be translated as nozomi, words such as raghbah (رَغْبَة) and tawaqquʿ (تَوَقُّع) come into view more strongly than in the case of “hope” alone.
In other words, when one says not “there is no hope” but “there is no nozomi,” this nozomi, from the perspective of Arabic, may mean that a desire or craving is not fulfilled, and it may also mean that an expectation is not fulfilled. Seen through Arabic, nozomi extends across both hope directed toward love and expectation directed toward institutions.
Nozomi in Arabic
Indeed, if we ask about the meaning of the Japanese word nozomi, it refers to a wish and to hope, but also to the possibility of obtaining a desirable result, or to a prospect that things may move in a better direction. It even covers meanings such as public esteem, reputation, and view or prospect.[2]
It may therefore be better to distinguish consciously what is contained within this word nozomi. From an Arabic perspective, these may be called nozomi as amal, nozomi as raghbah, and nozomi as tawaqquʿ.
Let us explore the range of each through its three-consonant root. The triliteral root of amal (“to hope”) is ʾalif-mīm-lām (أ م ل). This word means “hope,” but within the wider field of the same root there also appears taʾammul, which means “to ascertain” or “to look carefully.” From here opens a reading of hope as looking with deliberation toward a future that has not yet closed.
The triliteral root of raghiba (“to desire,” “to wish,” “to strongly want”) is rāʾ-ghayn-bāʾ (ر غ ب). It leads to desire or longing in the sense of the heart being drawn toward something. The triliteral root of tawaqquʿ (“expectation”) is wāw-qāf-ʿayn (و ق ع). It refers to expectation as predicting that a certain event will occur and waiting for its outcome. It also extends into meanings such as occurrence, falling, event, and reality.[3]
Ascertaining One’s Nozomi
Nozomi probably does not descend from heaven as a fantasy cut off from reality. Rather, it is likely born from within reality itself: from what has already happened, from what can no longer easily be changed, and from the realities placed before us. Yet if, within reality, attachment to nozomi becomes too strong, one may fall into a state of ṭughyān — that is, a tyrannical condition.[4] If so, one may need to face reality, ascertain it, and reflect on oneself.
For that purpose, let us try, for a moment, to become nothing. Of course, this is not as easy as it sounds. Even so, let us imagine a state in which we are not tossed about by anything — neither by any earthly power, nor by our own cravings and desires. It may also help to imagine oneself as one of the particles that passes in and out through the tip of the nose as one breathes, within the gathering of particles that vaguely envelops the self. In this way, let us separate ourselves from noisy reality. That alone should make us considerably freer and lighter.[5]
The “nothingness” meant here is not a denial of the Creator. It is a stillness for the sake of seeing: a temporary distance from the voices of institutions, the voices of desire, and the pain of disappointed expectations.
Once one has reached this state of nothingness, let us also return even light itself, for a moment, to nothingness. Can we imagine pitch-black darkness?
The Light of Hope
Once we are enveloped in pitch-black darkness, let us reverse that darkness. From the world of absolute nothingness, the world of absolute being should open. Light enters the world. And there is the Word that illuminates that world.
The world shines through the Word that illuminates the things once returned to nothingness. The Word of the Creator as absolute existence, bound by nothing. The Word of the Creator as mercy and compassion itself.
Let us read this Word with repeated deliberation. Let us read while constantly remaining aware of whether it is pleasing to the Creator. If there is someone who is on the verge of drowning in noisy reality, or someone wandering in darkness, let us reach out our hand and read together.
Hope is not something one forcibly produces alone. Rather than pushing someone away with words that sound like a Zen dialogue, we read together, look together, and search together for the direction toward which meaning is moving. In such deep reading, hope lies hidden. Just because expectations have failed does not mean that hope itself has been lost. We read deeply into the message of the Lord of all beings while accompanying one another, and we also try to move. Perhaps only little by little, but surely the tracks of hope will begin to appear. On the next occasion, I would like to accompany the Word together. Bi-idhnillāh.
Allāhu aʿlam — Allah alone knows all.
Notes
[1] See Akira Wakita, “Epimethean Human Beings and Zen Monks: A Designer Image for Essential Problem-Solving through Design,” KEIO SFC JOURNAL Vol. 17, №1, 2017, Special Issue: “XDesign: Proposal and Practice of New Theories and Methods of Design in Unknown Fields” (September 2017). I refer especially to the discussion of Illich’s distinction between hope and expectation, and to the Epimethean role in design.
[2] On the meanings of the Japanese word nozomi, see the entry “nozomi” in Digital Daijisen.
[3] On the Arabic roots, see Ibn Manẓūr, Lisān al-ʿArab, s.vv. “أمل,” “رغب,” and “وقع.” Regarding أمل in particular, it is explained as “الأمل: الرجاء” and “التأمل: التثبت.” Regarding رغب, raghbah is explained as seeking or desiring something. Regarding وقع, the basic meanings of “falling” and “occurring” are indicated. I have also referred to modern Arabic dictionaries for the explanation of tawaqquʿ as anticipating and waiting for the occurrence of an event.
[4] On tyrannical conditions, see my essays “On Tyranny: Between Ṭughyān (طغيان) and Khashyah (خشية)” and “What Pharaoh Refused: The Re-living of the Tyrant Questioned through Sūrat al-Nāziʿāt 17–19.”
[5] As hints toward an approach to “nothingness,” see my essays “Beyond Emptiness: Liberation from the Rule of ‘Atmosphere’ through Scripture,” “Hope for Regeneration, Part 2: On Sūrat al-Burūj from Verse 12 Onward,” and “‘The One’ and ‘Emptiness’: Between Islam and Buddhism,” among others.
Special Thanks to
ChatGPT
for assistance with refinement, footnote preparation, and proofreading.
Cover Image
An imagined illustration depicting the structure of the Milky Way Galaxy, including the spiral arms, bar structure, and the position of the bulge. Updated in the 2013 version.
By NASA/JPL-Caltech/ESO/R. Hurt — http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso1339g/
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Acknowledgements
This English version was prepared with the support of ChatGPT.
The author gratefully acknowledges its assistance in translation and linguistic clarification.