Expecting something for nothing is the most popular form of hope.

The words of Arnold H. Glasow—“Expecting something for nothing is the most popular form of hope”—carry within them both wit and warning, a truth as old as toil itself. In this saying, he unveils the frailty of the human heart: its desire for reward without labor, for harvest without seed, for light without the burden of dawn. It is a mirror held before the soul of humankind, showing how often we mistake wishful dreaming for true hope. For there is a sacred difference between the two—one waits idly, the other works in faith.

In every age, the lazy dreamer has dwelt beside the faithful laborer. The one stares at the stars and prays for fortune to fall; the other digs into the earth, sweating beneath the same stars, shaping his own destiny. Glasow’s words call out this contrast—not to mock hope, but to purify it. For hope, in its truest form, is not the denial of effort but its companion. It is the belief that one’s striving will bear fruit in its season. But when hope becomes expectation without action, it withers into illusion, and illusion is the death of progress.

Consider the ancient parable of Aesop’s farmer and the lazy sons. On his deathbed, the farmer told his sons that a treasure lay hidden in the fields. When he died, they tore up the ground in search of gold but found none. Yet when the rains came, their disturbed soil yielded an abundant crop. Then they understood: the treasure was not gold, but the fruit of their labor. So it is with Glasow’s wisdom. The world yields nothing to those who only wish—it rewards those who turn hope into motion.

And yet, it is easy to see why “expecting something for nothing” has become the most popular form of hope. The world whispers comfort to the weary. It promises shortcuts, miracles without cost, and blessings without burden. The heart, yearning for ease, listens eagerly. But life is governed by sacred law—to receive, one must first give; to rise, one must first kneel to effort. Even the rivers that nourish the earth flow from the patient melting of distant snows. Nothing comes from nothing; all is born of sacrifice.

The great builders of civilization understood this truth. Thomas Edison, whose light banished darkness from the modern world, was once asked if he ever felt discouraged after countless failed experiments. He replied, “I have not failed. I’ve just found ten thousand ways that won’t work.” His was not the hope that expects something for nothing, but the hope that endures through effort. His light was born not from wishing, but from the fire of persistence. The world remembers his invention but forgets the years of unseen struggle that made it possible.

There is also mercy in Glasow’s words. He does not condemn hope, even in its misguided forms, for it is part of our nature to dream of reward. Rather, he urges us to transform our hope into discipline, to refine it until it glows with purpose. For misplaced hope is like a lantern without oil—it promises light but delivers only shadow. Yet when filled with action, hope becomes the flame that guides us through darkness.

Take this teaching to heart, O listener. When you hope, let your hope be alive with motion. Pray, but also prepare. Dream, but also build. Sow your seeds, and trust the sun to do its part. Let no day pass in idle expectation of miracles. The gods, said the ancients, help those who help themselves—not because they are cruel, but because the act of striving is the prayer they answer.

Thus, remember Glasow’s wisdom: “Expecting something for nothing is the most popular form of hope.” Guard your spirit against this counterfeit. For true hope does not wait—it works. It bends the will, hardens the hand, and strengthens the heart. Be therefore a worker of your own destiny. Turn your waiting into doing, your longing into creation. And when the fruits of your labor ripen at last, you will know that your hope was not a delusion but a covenant—between your effort and eternity.