Thought for the Day: Recent Episodes
BBC Radio 4
Good morning. You’re listening to this, so the chances are you’re not on holiday. You may be enjoying a staycation and devoted to early-morning radio, even when you don’t have to go to work; but for many Brits this is the peak season for getting out of the country, and indulging the luxury of a lie-in, as the summer loosens our usual routines. I really feel for those whose holidaying plans have been disrupted recently by travel companies collapsing into bankruptcy. Holidays are good for us, psychologically and physically; and though it’s less often noted, spiritually too. In which context, it’s worth remembering those countless other people around the world for whom they are simply an impossibility.The word holiday comes from the Old English and literally means “holy day”; and in a colloquial sense, many of us continue to think of our holidays as something sacred. But the old Christian holy days meant more than just time off work. They included formal worship, processions, pilgrimage. Their moods varied – from fasting and mourning, as on Good Friday, to feasting and celebration, as at Christmas or a saint’s day – but they all had a definite religious focus. A world away, in other words, from pina coladas on a sun-drenched beach, the cliché contemporary breakaway that’s focused instead on personal pleasure. That said, supposedly secular forms of escapism can sometimes offer spiritual nourishment too. J. R. R. Tolkien made the point that escaping from the immediate demands of your life can take very different forms. Whereas we might deplore the military deserter who abandons the fight he ought to face, Tolkien says, the flight of the person who’s been falsely imprisoned might be courageous and good. Reading certain works of fiction can, he thought, offer that positive sort of escapism. So too, it might be argued, can a beautiful walk, an intimate conversation, laughing with friends. Imaginative flights of all sorts grant glimpses of truth and goodness, refreshment for our souls.Andy Burnham has been criticised by some for taking a holiday this week – just six weeks after taking office. But his escape with his family on Monday may well provide him more than leisure, in the sense of doing nothing. His flight from Downing Street might, as Tolkien understood it, offer the kind of freedom that’s positively enabling. Whimsically, given that he’s Britain’s first Catholic prime minister, I like to think he’ll spend at least some of his holiday plotting a revival of merry old England’s medieval holy days. More seriously, and leaving all party-politics aside, perhaps everyone who loves this country should hope that time relaxing with loved ones will nourish his soul as well as his mind and body. There will surely be work requiring moral leadership awaiting him on his return.
Good morning. August is the month of exam results and education is in the news again. Each year, young people find themselves at the centre of debates about standards, academic versus vocational. Reform, opportunity and social mobility. And governments struggle with how we can equip young people for the economy of tomorrow and still give them a balanced education. But I wonder if we're asking one question often enough – what kind of human beings do we hope they’ll become?A couple of days ago my son phoned in the morning from his regular coffee shop. I could hear the chatter and tinkling in the background. "The coffee here is so good," he said. I replied, "Is this your little moment of joy before you start the day, settle down to work?" He said “joy - that’s a nice way of looking at it.” Afterwards I thought to myself: Why did I call it a little moment of joy? Why do we think that joy belongs only in the margins of life - before work begins or after success has finally been achieved? And I think that our education system reflects that assumption. We make so much effort to prepare children for exams, employment and success that it’s hardly surprising that many end up feeling their value is something they must constantly earn. The pressure and anxiety has made many incapable of seeing or letting any joy into their life – as if joy has now become a luxury.In a world where cynicism and pessimism is everywhere, even encouraged, devastating news a daily feature, to find joy for yourself, and to try to inspire it in others is an act of courage, even resistance. As a Belgian surrealist artist Rene Magritte pointed out it’s a waste when life is made more frightening precisely because that’s easy to do. For him, finding beauty was harder and because of that more important – as he said: ‘it’s much easier to terrorise than to charm.’ Perhaps this is what faith tries to remind us, that to ponder on the world means finding love and enchantment amidst our struggles and sorrows. The Qur'an invites us to look, to reflect and to marvel at the changing seasons, the stars, the diversity of humanity. The words `do they not see’ pull us constantly to what can be observed, imagined and made possible. Whether it’s in a morning coffee or a quiet walk, perhaps joy accompanies us all the time – we are simply too busy to notice.
'Good morning.“August angst” has begun. The phrase describes the stress caused by psychotherapists taking their summer break over the month beginning today.Actually, breaks are part of the therapeutic work - and that explains why August angst is felt by more people than just those in therapy. Breaks of any kind can be challenging. The summer break from work was longed for and then feels unsettling. A personal break from your phone feels positively alarming. So what's with breaks?An interruption to the usual pattern throws you on yourself and, psychotherapy says, recalls anxieties from the earliest periods of life. For there was a time during which routine with no breaks was a matter of life and death: when you were a baby.Then, with luck, you had someone ready, 24 7, to respond to your every beck and call. Sigmund Freud referred to “His Majesty the Baby” because the little darlings ensure that mum and dad never get a break.Continuity of care back then was vital, of course. When toddlers, we might have played peekaboo, to toy with the possibility that we can survive a break. There is also the developmental stage when a child realises that a ball rolling under the sofa isn’t lost forever but has temporarily disappeared. Curiosity replaces tears.To put it another way, to grow up is to transition from a frictionless world, in which needs are seamlessly met, to a world of friction, disruption. It's demanding but we develop. So August angst is a recapitulation of that phase. When the external routine stops, what will you find inside?The phenomenon explains something else: therapists worry about social media because it is designed to be frictionless, infantile you might say. The infinite scroll offers you a constant feed, like a bottle always close to the baby's mouth. Nowadays apps even offer 24 7 access to an online therapist and the effect is regressive. Go online, cultivate infantile states of mind.Breaks disrupt that slip back which is why they are built into spiritual traditions. Jesus told his disciples that he was to leave them, and that they would weep. But then another would come: the spirit of God who would dwell within them. After the disruption, which was traumatic, they would look inside and find more than they had ever expected. But they had to have the break. No friction, no discovery.So, the month of August and August angst. Take a break from your therapist. Take one from your phone, from work. And feel how the break from your usual routine upsets and then expands your soul'
Good morning,If you’re feeling in need of a little nostalgia for the 1980s, then the film, Wham! 10 Days in China that opened in cinemas this week might be just the thing. It’s a documentary about the 10 day tour of China that Wham!, featuring George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley, made in 1985. They were the first pop act to visit the Communist country and it was devised by their manager as a way of garnering publicity for Wham!. In that it was ultimately successful. But as the documentary shows, there were other more profound consequences too from this encounter between cultures.In an interview this week Andrew Ridgeley talked about a behind-the-scenes clash between band members about China. He recalled that backing singer, Shirlie Kemp, was unhappy. At the time she told the music press that the tour was unfair to the Chinese because it threw a spotlight on freedoms they didn’t have. But for Ridgeley, it showed the Chinese that Western values were about freedom and a chance to fulfil dreams and aspirations.The Chinese agreed to let Wham! Into the country as evidence that it was opening up but the concerts were tightly policed. They have taken a similar approach to Christianity, creating an official Protestant and an official Catholic church, both regulated by the Government. Even then they view Christianity with great suspicion. When I visited official churches a few years ago, for example, my group was followed by government officials everywhere. Other Christian churches do exist, though they operate underground. And like those who follow other religions in China, their members face abuse and constant harassment.Part of the tension over Christianity is that even though there is evidence that Christianity first arrived in China around 625 in the Christian era, and today there are at least 44 million Christians, probably more, Chinese officials see Christianity as Western and alien to their culture.But Christianity does not belong to one nation or one continent; God does not have a passport identifying his nationality. It is as much for the Chinese as it is for anyone else. It offers dreams and aspirations, as Andrew Ridgeley said of music. But it needs a place to start.Four years after the Wham! tour, one of those who attended a show at the Beijing Workers’ Gymnasium, Cui Juan wrote a song Nothing To My Name, that became an anthem for student protesters at Tiananmen Square.What begins as a small lifting of the curtain to another world, can be a route to calling for far greater change. It may well cause some initial frustration, as Shirlie from Wham! feared, but it can lead to seeking something, whether music or faith that offers meaning, sometimes triggering a desire for liberty. It’s a chink of light in the darkness.
Good Morning,‘Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people:’ these beautiful words from Isaiah open the Seven Weeks of Consolation which begin now, and lead up to the Jewish New Year. Yet only days ago was the bleakest date in the Jewish calendar, the Fast of the Ninth of Av, marking the destruction of Jerusalem. The embers of the fires that devoured God’s temple were still red hot in memory; the surrounding hills, once forested, were devastated. Yet the rabbis insisted on proclaiming Isaiah’s words of comfort. How dared they? How could they be so brazen! Would we say, “Take comfort!” while the flames near Madrid and Bordeaux are burning, bringing horror to the people, fire-fighters, animals?But the prophetic message was not: ‘Don’t worry. It’ll all be okay.’Rather, it is ‘We must look on disaster, then take hope, not by turning away, but by living differently. ‘Prepare a highway for God,’ Isaiah continues: ‘Make the world better,’ he demands. I thought of his words as I cut turfs to help Tracy and Roger Mclachlan rewild their 91 acres at Bac Dhub in the Highlands. We were building leaky dams to raise the water level of a stream so that it would rewet and restore the peatland. In short, we were doing what beavers do naturally. ‘The peat will regrow one millimetre per year,’ Tracy explained. ‘But it’ll absorb more carbon than trees.’ It’s her pledge to the future.I compare that one millimetre per year to the forest fires raging forward and shudder. Where’s your comfort, Isaiah?But I know that countless local groups worldwide are saying: ‘This is our place, our park, trees, birds. We’re determined to do everything we can for our world, our children, our future.’I speak to Simon Oldridge, Co-founder of the National Emergency Briefing UK, in which the country’s leading experts on security, health, food and weather tell the climate crisis as it is. The film of the briefing has already been screened to over 2,000 groups. ‘People feel better when they’ve seen it,’ Simon explains. They say, ‘The issues aren’t being boxed away. There are things we can do. People feel motivated.’Action from the bottom up is great, Simon acknowledges. ‘But we need urgent, galvanising leadership from top down,’ because this is about everything: energy, agriculture, how we eat, travel, insulate homes.That’s Isaiah’s message. ‘Look up and see!’ he insists. This is God’s world. Take comfort, not by turning away, but by treating creation with the love, justice and respect it demands.
The stunningly beautiful goddess Calypso offers Odysseus something that you might think no human being could ever refuse: never to age and never to die. Stay with me on this Island and you will achieve immortality. And yet refuse it he does.
I am really excited to see the new Christopher Nolan film version of The Odyssey. Last summer holidays I read it to my boys whilst we were holidaying on the next island along from Ithica. And there are so many fascinating philosophical and theological issues it raised: not least, what are we to make of Odysseus’ preference for risk and death over immortality and agelessness. Earlier this year the American tech entrepreneur Bryan Johnson launched his Immortals programme; at a cost to the individual of a million dollars a year, it offers a promise held out in its strap line “don’t die”.
In a fascinating essay on why Odysseus is right to refuse this, the philosopher Martha Nussbaum argues that there are some things that the immortal Gods are not able to do that human beings are: not least amongst them is to show courage. If you can’t risk anything because you cannot die, then how can you possibly be courageous? What sort of life would the hero Odysseus have if he stayed with Calypso on her deathless realm, and gave up any need for his famous craft and resourcefulness? And what would love itself mean if you could never put anything on the line for others? That’s why we cheer Odysseus on as he decides to refuse Calyspso her seemingly unrefusable offer.
Despite being a convert from Christianity to Judaism, Nussbaum intriguingly suggests that there is something about this giving up of immortality that explains one of the key features of Christian theology: of God becoming human, of a God who is prepared to suffer and die in the name of love. What is attractive about both Odysseus and Jesus is that they are both prepared to have skin in the game, which is pretty much the very definition of incarnation.
Personally, I don’t buy the idea that that science could one day make us immortal. But, and here’s the point, even if it were true, I think we should refuse it. Indeed, I don’t think we often fully grasp what immortality of this sort would mean. Because to live beyond the realm of suffering and death is to live in a way that is no longer human – without the possibility of heroism, without the possibility of risking all for love. Why is it, for instance, that so often in Greek mythology, perfect Gods fall in love with imperfect human beings rather than their own kind? Because fragile humanity can exhibit exciting virtues, risky love-soaked courage in the way that the gods just cannot.
Of course we don’t want those we love to be taken from us. Yet also, death is what makes life valuable and precious. In the words of the late Queen Elizabeth II, “grief is the price we pay for love”. What Odysseus discovers on Calypso’s Island, is that without death, life will be drained of its meaning.
Good morning. This week France's parliament approved a bill banning social media access for children under fifteen. They can still use messaging services like WhatsApp, but not platforms like TikTok and Snapchat. It's part of a global movement that saw Australia ban social media for under-sixteens last year, and the UK plans something similar for next spring, potentially adding an overnight ban for sixteen-to-seventeen year-olds.We've heard the arguments many times: on one side the experience of parents and the studies linking childhood social media use to bullying, sleep deprivation and mental health problems. On the other, concerns about free speech and the difficulty of enforcing a ban.But governments are now moving from consultation to action, and this feels like a turning point. We're realising that social media apps aren't just tools. They take hold of our attention, direct it, shape who we become. Buddhism has always taught this. A mind trained on outrage becomes quicker to outrage. A mind trained on comparison becomes quicker to feel lacking.Social media platforms are built, deliberately, to exploit these mechanics — offering stimulation to prompt a feeling, knowing that feelings of liking and disliking impel us to act. They maximise the very reactivity Buddhist practice has always tried to loosen. And the attention economy links that reactivity to money: every second of captured attention is monetised, which means the pressure to capture more of it will only intensify. Without a response, we risk being overwhelmed by tech-powered reactivity.Buddhism calls us conditioned beings — shaped, moment by moment, by what we attend to — and places the responsibility for that squarely with us. Not blame for being conditioned, which none of us chose, but responsibility for what we do about it. I think we are gradually understanding that living well with tech-driven conditioning is a central challenge of our time, and the response has to work at both levels: the personal discipline of noticing where attention goes, and the collective willingness to set limits on what is being done to it.That's what France's parliament has just attempted. Children are especially vulnerable, but the deeper question doesn't stop at fifteen or sixteen. What am I training my mind to become, simply by what I let it rest on? Technology raises the stakes because it conditions us faster and more relentlessly than anything the Buddha could have imagined. The least we owe ourselves is to know that it's happening.
Good morning.
Like millions of others, I stayed up late on Saturday, watching the England men’s team play Norway. It’s actually the first live game I’ve watched this World Cup, and not just because time differences make for very late finishes. What attracted me was that I would be watching it in a crowded bar alongside several hundred of the Church of England’s most committed members, bishops, vicars and lay people, gathered in York for the summer meeting of the General Synod. From the moment we roared out “God save the King”, with a raucous enthusiasm sufficient to send any self respecting choir leader running for cover, to the joyful air punching which greeted the final whistle, we were bound together in a common cause.
Watching the match in York with my colleagues brought home to me that neither following Jesus nor following the England team are things I’m satisfied doing on my own. My faith is far more than a combination of private beliefs and personal moral practices. Yesterday morning, along with most of my fellow Synod members, or at least those of us who had recovered from the match, I attended the main Sunday Service in York Minster. The hymns we sang differed somewhat from the chants I hear on a Saturday afternoon, as a season ticket holder at Salford City’s home fixtures, but both are an expression of a shared commitment and belonging. So, whilst there are plenty of churches whose services I could follow on line, some of them with Premier League quality preachers, the moment Covid restrictions were lifted, I was straight back in church. I need to be worshipping God as part of a congregation gathered physically together. That’s where I belong.
But gathering in church is not the end of the matter. The final prayers of the Church of England Holy Communion Service often include the plea, “Send us out in the power of your Spirit, to live and work to your praise and glory”. It’s a powerful commissioning, one that underpins how Christian faith breaks out beyond the church doors, equipping us to serve both our communities and the whole creation. It’s a reminder too that we are not simply sent on private missions, but to work together, tackling the inequalities and injustices so visible in the world around us. That, for me, is a faith worth belonging to. A faith that needs to gather together.
By Wednesday’s semi-final, Synod will be over. I’ll be with another of my tribes, in Parliament. And with all due respect to the other home nations, who are no longer contenders for the cup, I think Britain will be better governed if the palace authorities can match York University and find us a big screen, so we too can watch the game together.