Preparing to move from Croydon to Bradford at the end of April, I am conscious of the discontinuities that make life interesting. In Rumsfeldian terms, I am moving from a particular set of knowns and unknowns to a different set of known unknowns and straightforward unknowns.
What interests me about this is something that underlies much of the language we use to explain the news. There seems to be an underlying assumption (or desperate hope?) that there is a pattern to be followed, an outcome to be assumed and a ‘plan’ to be conformed to. Somewhere. Somehow.
Human beings seem to be wired for pattern. Maybe part of the notion of the Imago Dei (being made in the image of God) is the instinct to bring order out of chaos – or, at least, to think that order should be brought out of chaos. Whether with telephone numbers (doubles or triples?) or travel directions, we look for pattern and shape and order.
But, the truth of the matter is: despite the best preparation and the fullest briefings, we have no idea what might happen tomorrow. The outcome in Libya will be shaped by decisions and dynamics that can’t be fully predicted because they are made or shaped by people – and people do strange things sometimes. I have little idea of what awaits me in Bradford (other than in structural terms) because it is hard to be categorical where people are concerned – and people change their minds, behave irrationally in certain (unpredictable) circumstances and have an infinite capacity for surprise.
It might be helpful to the rest of us if politicians and journalists (in particular) left a little space for the unpredictability of life and the inconsistency of human agents – especially where the ‘observer’ becomes ‘agent’ and changes the context. Read any political biography and we realise that what was presented as intended outcome was really a jammy confluence of factors that brought a certain ‘orderliness’ to otherwise random events. Utopia is a fantasy – as is the notion that we are masters of our chosen destiny (rather than constantly surprised by events beyond our control).
And the difference between this fantasy and what is known as the Kingdom of God is simply that the latter takes human agency seriously. Wherever order is sought, chaos is not far behind… and chaos can always be wrested from the jaws of order. Equally, however, what looks inevitable can be transformed by the surprise of hope.
In other words, we just have to get on with whatever is presented to us. In my case, I have to work with what I find and (yes, on the basis of previous experience and the wisdom acquired from it) go from where we really are to where we might realistically become… and put up with whatever good or bad stuff shapes the journey. That’s what makes it all so interesting.
This reminds me of the great Bruce Cockburn song Pacing the Cage in which he says:
Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can’t see what’s round the bend.
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend.
Spot on, Bruce. And that reminds me of the Israeli Deputy Foreign Minister who, after being given a hard time by a group of us in the Foreign Ministry in Jerusalem some years ago, banged the table and said:
Sometimes it seems there is no light at the end of the tunnel. But it is not because the light is not there; it is because the tunnel is not straight.
March 31, 2011 at 10:11 am
Absolutely! I travelled around with my military husband for 25 years – never quite sure when the next posting would happen or what new circumstances would be like!
When arriving in a place though I learnt to quickly suss out situations in an attempt to put down temporary roots and try to feel part of what was going on! All difficult but as a balance often very interesting!
Anne.
March 31, 2011 at 10:14 am
Have also found though that even living in settled ‘civvy street’ it is possible to be suddenly plunged into a deep pool of dis-orientation. This is when it’s good to read some of the psalms, which are often neglected in our modern church services.
Anne.
March 31, 2011 at 10:55 am
As I’ve blogged elsewhere, religions exist to provide convincing and comforting explanations of everything, particularly the nasty surprises (“Why has my house been reduced to matchwood? Why am I sick? Why does my son hate me?” etc etc). But they can’t explain everything; they are so often wrong and the surprises in life offer the good as well as the bad, so let’s endure but also celebrate them. For me, it was the ringing phone on the desk of a colleague who was in the loo. I answered it for her, and the conversation that then took place changed my life for the next 17 years. So I’m with Lawrence of Arabia who in the movie snarls at a mullah who has just quoted a text at him, “Nothing is written!” Bishop, in Bradford you will be surprised by joy, and you know it.
March 31, 2011 at 11:42 am
[…] post with Bruce Cockburn in it is going to be great… but this is a great post by Nick Baines on Libya, life, and uncertainty: …we just have to get on with whatever is presented to us… […]
March 31, 2011 at 12:41 pm
Rimboval: “religions exist to provide convincing and comforting explanations of everything, particularly the nasty surprises”
Can’t agree with that. Religions exist to do all sorts of things. One of the things religions do/religion does [?] is provide interpretations but they aren’t comforting in the sense of being easily digestible. Most religions tell you there is a light at the end of the tunnel but not how to get to it. That’s a personal journey and the reality may be transformational and then the words make sense but it doesn’t happen the other way around. I’m reminded of an old joke. A man falls over the edge of a cliff, manages to cling to a piece of gorse and shouts up “Is there anybody there?”
“YES” [deep booming voice]
“Who is it?”
“GOD”
“Well, what shall I do? What shall I do?”
“CLOSE YOUR EYES. LET GO OF THE GORSE. HAVE FAITH IN ME”
[pause]
“Is there anybody else there?”
If you don’t already know what it means to ‘have faith’ the instruction is a conundrum and impossibly challenging. Anselm’s maxim was “credo ut intelligam”. The understanding comes last. In that sense we are all of us, always, surprised by joy. That is the moment of revelation.