A week of Everest, Kissinger and goodbyes to coach Lasso and the rotten Roys
A faith, hope and love reading of the news stories you may have missed this week, including some final thoughts on Ted Lasso and Succession.
Well, good morning, hope the little ting of my email didn't wake you.
Welcome to another review of the things that have been happening in the world this week that lend themselves to a reinterpretation through the critical lens of the grammar of the gospel ... faith, hope and love.
It's been a huge week and I have more notes than I know what to do with ... the 100th birthday of one of recent history's most controversial political figures; the 70th anniversary of Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay scaling Everest; and, of course, the finales of two of the most popular series on TV in recent years, Ted Lasso and Succession (Barry also ended, but I haven't finished it yet, so no spoilers please).
I have really clever things to say about all those things and lots more. But first, I thought it was a good time to do a bit of a glossary on how I understand some of the key terms that I use when filtering news items and cultural moments and the like through the grammar of the gospel. If you don't need to or want to read this next section, no worries — just skip the italicised stuff below and jump straight to the news of the week. I won't hold it against you.
FAITH
When I talk about faith I'm talking about a way of understanding identity, purpose and meaning (the biggies); an understanding that’s oriented to a story that is outside ourselves. It's one thing to go through life with yourself at the centre of the story, it's quite another to do life that also pivots from the anchor point of a story that you didn't write but through which you have decided to frame your view of the world around you. I suppose any type of 'faith' does this. The Christian faith, specifically, pivots on the anchor point of a new idea about God following the life and death and more life of Jesus — that God doesn't require religious obedience from us and that all created things are one with God because of Jesus. In Christian faith, this 'reality' doesn't occur in the religious mind; it's not a wholly subjective phenomenon — it's been achieved in human history, in the life, death and resurrection of an actual man. This is what positions this faith story outside of myself, which is a key aspect of the Christian faith — its 'otherness', its objective nature, its outsidedness; the peculiar type of knowing that occurs when a person makes decisions based not only on what they want, but on what that story says about … everything.
LOVE
When I talk about love, this idea of outsidedness plays a huge role again. I don't think love is a subjective feeling, something that I generate. It's what takes place when I encounter another and begin to see the world through their gaze (I go outside myself, in effect), and then, in the words of Karl Barth, I treasure the otherness that I discover in them. In terms of what impact this has on the way I see the world, you'll recognise that the process is similar to what happens in faith — it's like I have double vision, one set of eyes firmly planted in my own head through which I see things one way (my way), as well as another set of eyes through which I see things a second way (your way). Literary philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin, whose theories heavily influenced my doctoral work, actually described this as 'outsided knowledge'. He also coined the phrase 'thirdness of knowledge', by which he means My Way + Your Way = A Third Way. I go beyond myself to see myself, and to see all things around me. You do the same. And our coming together creates a brand new path of knowing. And because love is involved — yes, actual surrender to another person, with feelings involved, wherever on the emotional spectrum those feelings may be — this perspective becomes very powerful. But what keeps the guardrails up to stop it going off the track is faith, the fact that I'm also pivoting from that larger story.
HOPE
Finally, I see hope as the outworking of love encounters that are grounded in faith, a process that again is outward moving, on behalf of others, and not just for myself. Christian hope specifically is grounded in a very weird aspect of the larger story ... that the man raised from death went somewhere to be with the Father and will come back again in the future. Make of that what you will, but whatever reality it represents, the orientation of Christian hope is to the future, but it's actualised in our here and now. How? When we bring new things into being — i.e., when our present actions resonate with the future possibility of life beyond life. Another outsidedness process, but this time one that not only points forward, but also reflects back upon the original story, and time and time again affirms its validity and importance and truth. So the whole process is kind of like a wheel, or a spinning top, that self-authenticates, faith→love→hope→faith→love→hope→ ... moving through our world like a willy-willy, upending the normal way of things, and opening people's eyes to a new way of seeing.
Which brings us back to the news ...
May 27
IF YOU BEGAN your week bleary eyed from your weekend shenanigans, you may have missed the news that it was US diplomat Henry Kissinger's 100th birthday, and boy, did it stir up some angst. This report in the New York Times, Henry Kissinger is turning 100. A long-running meme wishes otherwise. was the opposite of 'Many happy returns, Henry', and more like 'Couldn't you have died already, you old bastard!' But it did give some context as to why he's so despised by so many (the deaths of 150,000 Cambodian civilians because of your decisions will do that). But Kissinger is also recognised for his diplomacy, and one element of this piece in The Economist, The Kissinger century, stood out to me for that reason. He talks about the importance of 'realism, dialogue and leadership', and in this piece, Henry Kissinger explains how to avoid world war three, he applies that on a global scale to how the US and allies should be talking with China. To aspiring leaders, Kissinger says 'Identify where you are. Pitilessly.' What's that if not a robust faith position? In fact, what strikes me is that Kissinger’s advice is no different to what a faith, hope, love approach is able to achieve between people. I feel this is important to stress because it's easy sometimes to think of faith as personal and therefore subjective, and therefore irrelevant to the world around us. But actually, a strong other-centred faith, a dynamic I-Thou view of love, and a robust understanding of hope, is precisely what's required in the world as it is right now, even at that global leadership level. Kissinger says as much. In fact, it’s the only way to avoid a catastrophic war.
Is there a spare seat at the table, perhaps?
THERE WAS A story in The Economist about an exhibition of the Crown Jewels at the Tower of London, and the article's angle is in the header: What the crown jewels reveal about Britain’s colonial past. I have one observation to make, based on this quote:
That the exhibition stops short of acknowledging British colonial brutality reflects how politically sensitive the topic is. That is particularly true for the monarchy, in whose name many of these acts were committed. King Charles III needs to convince Britain that the country is better off with a royal family than without. Publicising the bloodshed associated with these jewels would make his job that much harder.
My point is about the futility of whitewashing history. I much prefer the Bible's approach, which is to never hide its grubby past. Have you noticed that? All the ugliness of the history of 'God's people' is there for all to see, from stories of rape to accounts of genocide. It's through these events that a path towards redemption can be mapped, and we get to track the unfolding awareness of the people as they move towards their history's fulfilment, which is an act of redemption that equals the ugliness and brutality of everything that's gone before it — the crucifixion. Whitewash the history and you miss the high point of the story. Turn away from the ugliness, and you miss the tortured reality of how humanity is brought to the edge of a cliff and given a push ... only to be given a lifeline that upends everything.
Ironic that the Crown, which is the head of the Anglican Church, would get such a basic understanding of its own history so wrong.
May 28
ONE OF THE key things I learnt in theological school was the primacy of forgiveness, and how, as a proactive event (in which the wronged person forgives before they're shown any repentance), it creates life for both the person who's been hurt, and for the perpetrator. It also causes an existential crisis for the perpetrator, because there's nothing like being told you've been forgiven to put you on the defensive. There was a story on just this thing in The Atlantic this week: What It Means to Forgive the Unforgivable. It's the story of James Barber, who's on death row for killing the grandmother of Sarah Gregory, who's now forgiven him, and is in regular communication with him. The writer makes this incredible observation:
Reading their correspondence put me in mind of how dull and ordinary my daily exchanges are, the ticktock of friendly banter and household chatter. These people had experienced something profoundly, transcendently emotional; there, where the most justified anger and hatred had been, was something growing that looked like love.
This is because forgiveness elevates the human experience, from our bewildered hopelessness to something that feels divine, as if God is uniquely experienced in these exchanges of grace. I was taught in my early church days that forgiveness is only granted when a person repents — essentially, when they ask to be forgiven. But that’s not true. Forgiveness doesn't require repentance. When it's proactive, it's a creative act, not a responsive act; it's gracious, not transactional. It’s all of faith, hope and love combining to transform lost lives.
The writer concludes with this observation:
The proceeds of vengeance are typically greater in the criminal-justice system than the proceeds of forgiveness. In its communications with the media concerning last year’s string of botched executions, Alabama has repeatedly insisted that it is acting on behalf of victims’ families. Yet the state executed Joe Nathan James in July 2022 over the vocal protest of his victim’s family. It is in the nature of American justice that anger can end a life, yet forgiveness cannot necessarily save one. But then again, maybe it already has.
May 29
Interesting story in the New York Times headed Your Most Ambivalent Relationships Are the Most Toxic. It's about people who are kind of your friends, but with whom you're as likely to have unpleasant encounters as pleasant. You know the type. The writer says:
I had assumed that with a neighbor or a colleague, having some positive interactions was better than all negative interactions. But being cheered on by the same person who cuts you down doesn’t buffer the bad feelings; it amplifies them. And it’s not just in your head: It leaves a trace in your heart and your blood.
How true is this! No doubt about it, cutting comments from people who I'm loosely friends with (as opposed to people who I'd count as my primary relationships, and alternately the people I would count as my worst enemies), are far more hurtful than from someone I would expect to hear cutting comments. Why do people who hover on the fringes of our affections have such an impact when they say or do something mean? The writer makes this observation:
The most intuitive reason is that ambivalent relationships are unpredictable. With a clear enemy, you put up a shield when you cross paths. With a frenemy, you never know whether Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde is going to show up. Ambivalence short-circuits the parasympathetic nervous system and activates a fight-or-flight response. It’s unnerving to hope for a hug while bracing yourself for a brawl.
Brilliant quote. My take on it is that when I engage with frenemies, it isn't true encounter; there's no transparency, no sense of otherness, no mutual vulnerability. There's a sense that the other is constantly angling for a palpable hit. If you're not sure of the foundations of your engagement with another person, how can the encounter be loving, rich, rewarding and something to treasure?
Says the writer:
Unpleasant interactions are more painful in an ambivalent relationship. It’s more upsetting to be let down by people you like sometimes than by people you dislike all the time. When someone stabs you in the back, it stings more if he’s been friendly to your face.
Painfully true.
SO, THIS WEEK was the anniversary of Mt Everest being conquered for the first time. A story in The Economist made me laugh, An anniversary on Mount Everest, since it focussed on the gradual destruction of the mountain by human filth in the 70 years since Hillary and Norgay reached the summit. Nepal wants the climbers to keep coming, because the permits alone contribute $5m to the state's coffers annually. But the filth is having irreversible effects on the climb. The contradiction is what stood out to me. There's something about the achievement 70 years ago that is still inspiring, even though so many have done it since. It's a magnificent testament to the capacity of human beings to achieve the near impossible. A true story of hope! Then on the flip side, a reminder that we're not all that red hot after all — it's our excrement that's destroying the very symbol of that achievement.
It's in the dialectic between glory and shit that we discover our true humanity.
May 31
THE BIG POLITICAL news on the regional scene (by which I'm referring to Australia and New Zealand) was the resignation of the Western Australian Premier Mark McGowan, who oversaw the strictest border closures in Australia during the pandemic — for which some 95 per cent of the voting population in that state lauded him as a modern day saviour. He was not unlike our own Jacinda Ardern in the way he went about putting the population's health first, even if it meant taking a hardline view when it came to people wanting to enter the state for such things as funerals. Some people hated him for that, especially Australians in the eastern states (who were jealous of WA’s success during that time, frankly). There's a great summary of his leadership through the period by Paul Kelly in The Australian: McGowan master of Covid for political wins. My bigger point about the story though is how quickly humans become revisionist after an event like the pandemic, and begin to story those times as if we didn't all share the terror that we or our families would be the next ones to die. Paul Kelly doesn't do that; but others have done it, and are still doing it. Most Western Australians were grateful for McGowan's hardline approach, just as most New Zealanders were thankful for Jacinda's. But you wouldn't think that now if you listened to the loud mouths who only started speaking up once it was evident they wouldn't end up in hospital drowning in their own fluids.
Which leads me to a point about faith: it remembers. It doesn't revise or whitewash, like I pointed out above, and it certainly doesn't gaslight. It's an anchor point because it gives us free rein to pivot as times change and the world moves on, but it doesn't require us to concoct an alternate version of events to suit our current mood.
THERE WAS A story in The New Yorker about declining religious affiliation in the US that raised an interesting question: More Latino Americans Are Losing Their Religion. It asks, if the rates of religious affiliation are declining (as they are in most places), then why is there a stronger push for more religion in civic life, such as tougher abortion laws and tighter laws protecting religious speech. One answer it gives is informative: the withdrawal from church life of less radical and more moderate believers has left a void that fundamentalists are filling.
Another answer is that the withdrawal from religious affiliation of tentative or passive believers (‘nominals’, as they used to be called) gives free play to the hard-liners who remain: they’re now at the center of many congregations rather than on the fringes, and pastors who used to tailor their preaching to a mixed group of the passionate, the dutiful, and the curious now preach to the choir, literally and figuratively.
This also explains why 'the Church' seems to be regressing to a previous, more fundamental era, and why Christianity seems so toxic a presence in contemporary culture. The fundies are taking over the asylum.
A pastor friend in Western Australia warned me off the idea of returning home because the Church there has become more conservative in the time that I've been away (15 years). But has it become more conservative? Or have the moderates moved out of the church, so it just looks that way?
June 1
FINALLY, FANS OF Ted Lasso (Apple TV+) and Succession (HBO) are still mourning the final episodes this week of both series. Succession, in particular, prompted a gazillion articles, most of them terrifically written, on the cultural impact of the show. If you missed them, try this one in The Washington Post Who is actually the worst character on Succession?; this one from the New York Times ‘Succession’ Nailed the Unreal Way We Live Now; and this one also from the NYT ‘Succession’: Jeremy Strong on Kendall’s ‘Catastrophic’ Ending.
I couldn't help but contrast the two shows, in terms of what they say about redemption. Ted Lasso, of the two, would seem the more typically 'Christian', if I may use that word, in how every character had a redemptive story arc; forgiveness was dished out liberally; humility was a much vaunted characteristic; and love was paramount, between father and son, boyfriend and girlfriend, boyfriend and boyfriend, girlfriend and girlfriend, and between team mates more generally. Moments of the show were so ‘Christian’ that it was almost too sickly to watch.
Succession, meanwhile, was brutal; there was no redemption for any character, not even the ultimate winners. An article in The Australian pitched it well with the headline: Succession finale a good day for horrible people. Succession's characters started out awful, they were awful throughout the four seasons, and they were still awful (probably more so) at the end.
And yet, we loved those characters. Why? The NYT story said it well:
In Succession there were no redemptive character arcs. It was beautifully ugly from beginning to end.
Beautifully ugly is an apt phrase — it's also where redemption happens, in the biblical sense. And I wonder if this is why we were hooked. Redemption stories like those in Ted Lasso can be powerful, but there's something in us that suspects they're too good to be true. Do we really believe the conversion stories we hear in church? They're an ideal — not necessarily reality. Succession meanwhile, that's reality — or rather, it takes place in the blurred spaces between the real world we inhabit and the lies we're comfortable telling ourselves. And this is the space that generates the type of faith that emerges from the biblical story, because biblical faith emerges in the midst of the worst human stories, not the best. Redemption in the Bible never plays out like it does on Ted Lasso. How can it, when the Bible, which holds a mirror to our humanity, is about as brutal as it gets. Just like Succession.
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Cheers
David