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Is hope bound to lead to disillusionment? This fundamental question shapes our individual and collective lives, from the intimacy of the psychoanalytic couch to the political upheavals that shake public squares, to the conjugal bedrooms where the dramas of love unfold. Psychoanalysis, through its various theoretical currents, offers valuable insight into understanding this relentless dialectic between hope and disillusionment.
Just as Freud contrasts the existence of two realities that govern us—the reality of the psyche, primarily governed by our unconscious, and that of the external world—he also introduces the “reality principle” as a necessary counterpoint to the “pleasure principle,” subjecting the human psyche to a fundamental and continuous tension between desire and its limitation, foreshadowing the dynamic between hope and disillusionment.
Childhood is the crucible where the hope-disillusionment dynamic is forged. From birth, the child experiences expectations, often accompanied by an illusion of omnipotence. However, the child must quickly deal with the frustration experienced in the “loss of the object” (the mother). The emergence of this feeling is a crucial step in their development. A little later, with the transition from a position marked by the splitting of the object, still the mother, into good and bad, the child will learn to recognize that these two aspects actually belong to the same object, thus constituting a structuring disillusionment, integrating the ambivalence of reality.
With Lacan’s “mirror stage,” the child, around 7 or 8 months old, gains access to a first form of idealized identity, with a part of foundational illusion. This stage marks the entry into the symbolic order, where the subject structures itself around an idealized image of itself. But this imaginary identification carries within it the seed of disillusionment because it is based on a fundamental misunderstanding of the division of the subject.
Another decisive contribution is made by Winnicott with his concept of the “transitional object” and his theory of the “good enough mother.” The transitional object (such as a security blanket) is the child’s first attempt to manage the separation from the mother, creating an intermediary space between the illusion of fusion and the reality of separation. This “transitional space” will later become a model for all societal, cultural and creative spaces where the adult can invest their hopes without falling into total delusion.
In adulthood, this dynamic finds a particular echo in romantic relationships, where the loved one is often invested with a near-magical aura, a promise of flawless happiness. But love cannot escape disillusionment. The encounter with the other’s alterity, the discovery of their imperfections, will shake the ideal forged in the early stages of love. Elaborating on this disillusionment, mourning the idealized love to access a more mature and lucid love will prove crucial for maintaining the relationship.
But if this dialectic of hope and disillusionment permeates our intimate lives from childhood and in our romantic relationships, it also finds a striking echo in the political sphere, particularly in our Lebanese society. The confessional structure of this society, inherited from a complex history and often devastating communal tensions, fosters a dependency on religious and political leaders. These leaders are viewed as paternal figures invested with a quasi-messianic savior mission, entrusted with defending the interests of their community and carrying their hopes. However, they are just human beings, divided and limited, like everyone else.
Similarly to what is happening now, citizens project onto these leaders a chimera-like thought, similar to what the child develops toward their parents, oscillating between exalted hope and violent rejection. Each citizen places in the leader the hope for recognition, protection or even revenge on other communities. But this excessive expectation can only clash with the reality of power dynamics and political compromises. The disillusionment that results then fuels a cycle of frustration and identity retreat, with each clan feeling betrayed by leaders who are incompetent and corrupt to the core.
The dependency relationship thus created prevents the emergence of an autonomous civic consciousness, capable of transcending confessional divides. The Lebanese political structure can be understood as an institutionalization of what Lacan calls the “master's discourse,” where the leader occupies a position of authority that masks the structural division of the subject. This discourse maintains the illusion of possible social harmony, while in reality, it is based on submission to an all-powerful master, obscuring the conflicts and contradictions that run through both individuals and society.
Lebanon does not have a monopoly on this logic of the master. It can be found, in various forms, in many countries in the region. From the cult of personality surrounding certain leaders to the dominance of tribal or religious affiliations, the idealization of authority figures seems to respond to a deep need to believe in the mirage of a father of the tribe, imposing a stable and protective order. But this quest for an all-powerful father, whether in the form of a political leader, religious figure or even an ideology, can only lead to disenchantment. For no master and no ideology can permanently patch up the cracks of a system that generates corruption, division and exclusion.
The political disillusionment that runs through Lebanon cannot be reduced to a mere loss of confidence in failing leaders. It reveals a deeper crisis of representation and identification mechanisms that structure these Middle Eastern societies. As long as individuals remain prisoners of an infantilizing conception of power, projecting their hopes and frustrations onto the masters of the day, the sobering-up will remain the price to pay for being misguided.
Literature and cinema are full of examples illustrating this dialectic of hope and disillusionment, reflecting our own humanity and inviting us to reflect on the human condition. Flaubert’s Madame Bovary paradigmatically embodies the quest for an idealized love and the painful confrontation with prosaic reality. Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby shows how the American dream crashes against the impossibility of reclaiming an idealized past. In cinema, Fellini’s La Dolce Vita or Sam Mendes’ American Beauty sharply explore the tension between the characters’ aspirations and the mediocrity of their existence.
In the end, we can say that disillusionment, far from being a mere accident, may constitute a necessary moment in individual and collective psychic development. For the issue is not to avoid it, but to make it an object of elaboration and creativity. In a context like the Middle East, this work takes on particular significance. The challenge, which we have faced for many years, is to transform social and political structures while allowing the emergence of new forms of social connection that no longer rely on the massive idealization of leaders. This requires abandoning the childish illusions of an all-powerful master in order to assume civic responsibility in building a common future together.
Perhaps true psychological maturity, both individual and collective, lies precisely in this ability to maintain a lucid hope, conscious of its limits, but no less vibrant.
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