Not All Who Hesitate Are Lost

Chapter 3: The Ignatian Myth & Narrative Project

This is the third part of a limited series I’m calling The Ignatian Myth & Narrative Project. If you want to get caught up, read the introduction, chapter 1 & chapter 2.

Not all who hesitate are lost.

At least, as far as mythic and legendary heroes are concerned, writes Joseph Campbell. He notes how there are plenty of stories where the proverbial hero refuses the call to adventure, at least initially.

That line itself sounds like a riff on J.R.R. Tolkien’s line, “Not all those who wander are lost.” It was delivered via hastily written letter from Gandalf to Frodo concerning Aragorn in The Fellowship of the Ring—a great example of reluctant heroes being called to epic adventure. But Fellowship was published after Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces—I don’t think anyone was riffing on anything—and it’s all rather beside the point anyway.

That line—Not all who hesitate are lost—buried in the middle of a lengthy paragraph on page 53 of The Hero with a Thousand Faces leapt out at me. It’s relatable, right? Encouraging. A reminder that the adventure still awaits; we haven’t yet missed the proverbial train.

How often do we pause at consequential scenes in our lives? Those big decisions that rest on relationships and careers and transatlantic moves. How often do we find ourselves gripped by indecision?

Is this person ‘the one?’ Will the move be worth it? Is this the job for me?  

The call to so-called adventure comes in many forms and in many seasons. And while we know that when we watch a movie or read a book, the story can’t really begin until someone answers the call to adventure, it’s never quite so simple in our very real, day-to-day lives.

A work of fiction has one primary plot line. Sure, there can be a couple minor plots woven throughout; that makes things interesting. But if a story has several conflicting plots, the reader or viewer gets confused, frustrated, deems the tale poorly told. Stories need focus.

But our life stories insist upon no such delineation. Often it feels more chaos than order, and we may struggle to see where a new plot thread begins. As a result, we wait, we watch, we worry. And this new storyline sputters.

I won’t start looking for a new job until things really fall apart at work. I won’t commit to this relationship because I need to keep my options open. I won’t begin writing lyrics for my songs or lines for poems until I can really set aside the time.

We hear the call; we feel a desire for something more bubbling up inside of us. But we stand stock still, unable to answer.

In the Ignatian tradition, we talk a lot about discernment. It’s the art of decision making in the company of the Spirit. It’s a realization that a new story is beginning, and we need help finding our way. Discernment is active, even in moments of quiet contemplation. Discernment recognizes that a call has been made, and now it’s up to us to decide not if to answer but how.

But what if I make the wrong decision? What if discern incorrectly? Then I’m stuck in a bad relationship or a dead-end job or a new city all by myself.

It’s easier to hesitate, to hope external events force our hands or simply pass us by.

“So it is that sometimes the predicament following an obstinate refusal of the call proves to be the occasion of a providential revelation of some unsuspected principle of release,” Campbell writes—same page, same paragraph. “Willed introversion, in fact, is one of the classic implements of creative genius and can be employed as a deliberate device.”

In short—at least, to my mind—God still works in and through us even in moments of hesitation. Perhaps, because of them. Not all who hesitate are lost.

And here’s the dirty little secret about discernment in the Ignatian tradition. Sure, we have tools that help us make decisions in the Spirit. But even if we choose wrongly, God is still there, still with us, always providing new avenues through which we may respond to that constant call. God is in all things, after all.

Hesitation isn’t damning. It can be an opportunity to reflect and revel in the Spirit at work. It can clarify and crystalize next steps. But I think there is another encouraging truth buried here: The Spirit does not abandon us—even in our hesitation, even in our decisions no matter how flawed.

You might hesitate, you might wander, but you are not lost. You simply have to keep muddling onward. And with you goes the Spirit.