Article
Care
Change
6 min read

Are we forgetting how to care?

The profound act at the heart of nursing.

Helen is a registered nurse and freelance writer, writing for audiences ranging from the general public to practitioners and scientists.

A nurse bends beside a bed and talks to a patient
Marie Curie.

Recently, at a nursing leadership programme in Oxford, attendees focused on the fundamentals of care.   Have we forgotten how to care? What can we re-learn from those who pioneered an ordinary yet profound act that affects millions? 

Anam Cara is an old Gaelic term for ‘soul friend’, a person with whom you can share your innermost self, your mind and your heart. It is a term that Tom Hill, former chief executive at Helen House Hospice in Oxford, used to describe the relationship between his staff and the thousands of children and their families who passed through their ‘big red door’ in its first twenty-five years. The hospice (or ‘loving respice’ as it became known) had been founded by Sister Frances Dominica in 1982.  

Other care in this country can also trace its religious roots. Between 1048 and 1070 in Jerusalem, the Order of St. John was founded for the purpose of helping pilgrims (“our Lords, The Sick”) who had become lost, weary, or beset by other difficulties while on their way to the Holy Land. Today, in the United Kingdom, the British Association of the Order has extended care to older people first in almshouses and later in care homes. A trustee for ten years was John Monckton, a man of ‘considerable talent, enormous integrity and deep religious conviction’; his tragic murder in 2004 led to the creation of the John Monckton Memorial Prize, which recognised and rightly celebrated commitment to care by care workers. 

Today, across the world, seen and unseen, nurses, carers and families continue to provide compassionate care. “Assisting individuals, sick or well, in the performance of those activities contributing to health or its recovery (or to peaceful death) that he would perform unaided if he had the necessary strength, will or knowledge” is the very essence of nursing, captured by ‘architect of nursing’, researcher and author Virginia Henderson in 1966. Meeting more than basic needs such as breathing, eating, drinking and eliminating bodily waste (which are of essential importance), Henderson recognised the role of the nurse in enabling humans to communicate with others, worship according to their faith, satisfy curiosity and sense accomplishment.  

In the desire for modernisation and professionalisation, have we lost sight of the core values and activities central to patient care?

An uncomfortable truth brought out in healthcare reports such as the Final Report of the Special Commission of Inquiry (The Garling Report) 2008, and the Report of the Mid Staffordshire NHS Foundation Trust Public Inquiry (The Francis Report) 2013 is though that this type of nursing is too often done badly or even missed, leading to pressure injury, medication errors, hospital-acquired  infection, falls, unplanned readmission, critical incidents and mortality. According to nurse scientist and scholar Professor Debra Jackson, “missed care occurs much more frequently than we might think”. She cites a systematic review in which ‘care left undone’ on the last shift ranged from 75 per cent in England, to 93 per cent in Germany, with an overall estimate of 88 per cent across 12 European countries’. 

In one offensively-titled paper, “Shitty nursing - the new normal?” (in which the authors apologise for the title but not the questions raised), real-life pen portraits are drawn of patients lying for hours on hospital trolleys, immobile through infection or injury, ignored by staff. Whilst acknowledging contextual factors for poor care, such as a shortage of nurses and resources, the authors argue that circumstances cannot be the sole cause of missed nursing care. 

A report published by the University of Adelaide, School of Nursing, has called for nurses to ‘reclaim and redefine’ the fundamentals of care. It asks whether the cause of the problem (of missed nursing care) lies “deep in the psyche of the nursing profession itself?” “Has something happened to the way modern nursing views and values caring?” it continues. “Indeed, is nursing in danger of losing its claim to care? In the desire for modernisation and professionalisation, have we lost sight of the core values and activities central to patient care? Or is this a broader social pattern where individuals are less inclined to show kindness, compassion, and care for others even if it is a necessary requirement of the job?” 

Compassion, he emphasises, is more than empathy - and way "less fluffy" but much more measurable than kindness. 

Writing in the British Medical Journal, Professor of critical care medicine Peter Brindley and Consultant in intensive care Matt Morgan wonder whether doctors also “too often default to high-tech and low-touch” when patients are dying – a time “when community and connection matter most”. They powerfully begin with a mother’s comment: “Humans are gardens to tend – not machines to fix.” 

Professor Sir Al Aynsley-Green, the first National Clinical Director for Children in Government and former Children’s Commissioner for England, and past president of the British Medical Association, suggests that we as a society need a “momentum for compassion”. Struck by the extremes of compassion witnessed during his wife’s treatment in the last years of her life, Sir Al wants to see a cultural transformation in healthcare: for compassion to be a key operating principle in NHS and care settings, led by the Chief Nurse’s Office; for every organisation to promote the importance of compassion at the professional level; for the views of patients and families to be sought regularly; for much earlier and better focus on compassion in undergraduate and postgraduate teaching programmes for all staff; for compassion to be inspected against by the Care Quality Commission; and for a willingness to encourage staff at all levels to expose poor practice as well as celebrating excellent care.  

Compassion, he emphasises, is more than empathy - and way "less fluffy" but much more measurable than kindness. “It’s putting yourself into somebody else’s shoes – and doing something about it.” Recently appointed the UK’s first Visiting Professor in Compassionate Care at Northampton University, at the age of 80, Sir Al certainly is doing something about it. He has made it his new purpose in life to “embed compassion into every aspect of care”.  

Like Sir Al, Queen Elizabeth II, the UK’s longest serving monarch, espoused compassion, in word and deed. Living a life of compassionate service, the Queen made clear that her Christian faith was her guiding principle. She speaks of Jesus Christ as ‘an inspiration,’ a ‘role model’ and ‘an anchor’. “Many will have been inspired by Jesus’ simple but powerful teaching,” she said in her Christmas Broadcast, 2000. “Love God and love thy neighbour as thyself – in other words, treat others as you would like them to treat you. His great emphasis was to give spirituality a practical purpose.”    

When nurses do unto others as they would have done unto themselves, and act as role model to colleagues, not only do patient experiences of care and their outcomes improve – but so does job satisfaction for nurses: a critical factor in nurse recruitment and retention – the biggest workforce challenge faced by healthcare organisations. Across the UK, there are currently more than 40,000 nursing vacancies, and thousands of burnt-out nurses are leaving the profession early. Whether nurses decide to stay or go is driven in part by their daily experience at work. The late Kate Granger, Consultant in medicine for older people, inspired Compassionate Care Awards in her name, envisioning that such a legacy would drive up standards in care - and surely also help retain nurses, through restoring a sense of pride, achievement and fulfilment to the nursing workforce.  

Essay
Character
Culture
Film & TV
Leading
8 min read

In pursuit of greatness: a prayer for Timothée Chalamet

Fame is the new heaven, and the star is just being honest about getting there.
Timothee Chalamet, wearing  light yellow suit reposes in a seat a the Oscars, clasping his hands, his eyes closed.
Chalamet contemplates that Oscar.
ABC.

So, Timothée Chalamet didn’t win the Oscar. I feel sad for him. No one has campaigned for an Oscar more persistently. For the last few months he has been everywhere- popping up on podcasts, cruising with Kendrick Lamar, riding a bike to the red carpet, appearing as Timothée Chalamet in a Timothée Chalamet look-alike competition. All to win the hearts and minds of the academy. Even if his acting didn’t get him an Oscar, his Oscar campaign deserves one.   

And Oscar campaigns are big business. Ever since Harvey Weinstein upped the game, every studio has invested vast amounts in getting their film on the podium. The 97th Academy Awards (2025) paused briefly for an emotional reflection on the Palisades fires, a cause for which the Hollywood studios donated somewhere between five to fifteen million dollars. But I doubt they are as keen to a pause on the estimated half a billion dollars they each spent for their film to be at the awards in the first place.  

On the night itself, Chalamet lost out on being the youngest ever winner of the best actor award, to the previous (and therefore current) youngest ever winner, Adrien Brodie. Up to that point he seemed to be a shoo-in.  The Golden Globe was his. The SAG award was his. And his campaign was charming. Most people, including me, really like him. He was great as Paul Atreides in Dune. And as Wonka in, er… Wonka. And as [insert male character here] in Little Women – or was it Little House on the Prairie? (I always get those two mixed up). And, while I haven’t seen A Complete Unknown yet, the reports suggest he so embodied Bob Dylan on screen that he now needs an exorcism more than an Oscar. He deserves the awards.  

But his acceptance speech at the SAG award was informative. He does the usual – thanks his mum, the cast and crew – and then takes an abrupt left turn to address his pursuit of greatness. He acknowledges it is an unusual thing to say but makes it clear that he aims to be like his heroes – Daniel Day-Lewis, Marlon Brando, Viola Davis, both Michaels (Jordan and Phelps), indeed Dylan himself. But it is not entirely clear what he means by greatness. Does he mean virtuosity in the craft of acting? Or fame? Or both? If he doesn’t win the Oscar, will he still be great?   

Way back when in the mid-1980s, before podcasts and Oscar campaigns, literary scholar Leo Braudy published an ambitious book telling the story of Western civilisation through the lens of fame. The Frenzy of Renown argues that fame as we know it began with Alexander the Great, whose artefacts and exploits were designed to spread his name across the known world. He in turn became the model of godlike fame for Julius Caesar and the Romans.  

With the birth of Christianity, things became a little more confused. Fame and renown became ambivalent pursuits in a cosmos where true lasting greatness was conceived as greatness in the eyes of God. This was what allowed men and women to vanish anonymously into deserts and monasteries believing their names would be erased from the world but written in heaven. So many monastics went to their deaths issuing instructions for their writings to be burned, only to be disobeyed by zealous acolytes who disseminated their teaching in every conceivable direction. They must be delighted, gazing down from their heavenly repose, to see the pages they consigned to the flames available with 1-Click on Amazon. 

Approaching the modern era though, fame in its old guise returned with a vengeance. The Renaissance rediscovery of ancient Greece and Rome, and the invention of the printing press, allowed images and words to find a mass audience. Even Christians became less enamoured with retreating into monasteries, and more concerned with reaching the public. Thanks to this new technology, Luther in his most productive period produced more literature than all his opponents put together. He was the original early adopter. The church had never seen anything like it- a heretic who would not shut up.  

But he wasn’t the only heretic. Many who followed craved his fame but lacked his faith. Over time widespread belief in heaven eroded but the desire for life beyond death lingered. With no assurance of a God capable of remembering us, the only remaining option was to be remembered by others- ideally as many others as possible. By the nineteenth century Nietzsche was re-writing the words of Jesus. ‘He who humbles himself will be exalted’, said the gospels. But Nietzsche added a new cynical twist: ‘he who humbles himself wants to be exalted’. The age of the humblebrag had arrived. Even those who claim indifference to fame were not to be believed, they were simply pursuing notoriety by other means. Only two choices remained: the glories of fame or resentful anonymity. For the ancients immortality lay in fame. For the medievals it lay in heaven. But we live in a hybrid era – fame is the new heaven. 

So, when Chalamet speaks of greatness maybe he is just being honest. Maybe he is just saying out loud what most of us keep to ourselves. We fear being forgotten and to be great is to be remembered.  

And given that the self is not an object, not really a thing at all, any attempt to sum ourselves up with a tag line or a meme diminishes us even when intended to promote us. 

But there is a rarely acknowledged paradox to greatness. A paradox reflected in the way many English bible translations use the word ambition. At face value we could be forgiven for thinking the biblical writers were just plain confused about it. In one letter the apostle Paul warns us against ambition and in another he claims he’s relentlessly ambitious. Ambition is the worst of sins and somehow also the most commendable of attitudes. Make up your mind Paul! Which is it: ambition or no ambition? 

When peering under the hood of the English translation, we discover that ‘ambition’ is used to render two Greek terms that couldn’t be more different. One of them (the root word eritheia) is usually translated selfish ambition. Paul says it is unanimously bad. So bad in fact, he tells the Philippians not to do anything out of selfish ambition. It connotes strife and electioneering- the kind of self-interest that creates factions for its own advantage. Not one for the character wish-list.  

The other term for ambition strikes a markedly more wholesome tone. Paul uses it for his ambitions to preach and his desire to please God. At root, it’s the word philotimeomai, literally meaning the pursuit of that which is honourable. It forms the basis for arguably one of the most beautiful instructions in the entire canon: ‘Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands’. It speaks of the love, honour and inner stillness associated with the privilege of rising to a task. A contentment with life few of us ever achieve. 

Two qualitatively different experiences of ambition. One is the attentiveness that any serious person brings to whatever it is that occupies them. It’s how parents parent, how governors govern, how coders code, how actors act. It is the desire to do whatever we do well. The other is the desire for other people to know about it. When Chalamet speaks of greatness of course he means mastering the craft of the actor, but he also means gaining the recognition for having done so. He, like many of us, collapses two motives into one. The idea of being great without being seen-as-great becomes unimaginable. But being something, and being seen as something, are not the same something. 

Just contrast the experience of self we have in these two different pursuits. When we pursue excellence or skill – whether in painting or parenting, surfing or science – we generally achieve a state of self-forgetfulness. We do not think of ourselves but of that which we wish to master. We become absorbed in the challenge of learning the subtle nuances of our craft. If we get good at it, we know we are good at it, not because we’ve formed a high opinion of ourselves, but because we have repeated experience of doing it well. This can lead to something that looks like arrogance. Add a crowd and our performance is likely to improve. Challenge us to show our skill and we’re ready to prove it. We’d be idiotic to deny what we know in our bones.  

But in promoting ourselves, we relate to our self in a different way. Instead of forgetting the self in pursuit of something beyond the self, we construct a self to promote. The self becomes an object, a commodity, a list of saleable assets for the market. And given that the self is not an object, not really a thing at all, any attempt to sum ourselves up with a tag line or a meme diminishes us even when intended to promote us.  

Even worse, if we get stuck in the mode of self-promotion it can be so vivid and enticing, we lose touch with the moment-by-moment, concrete reality of our embodied existence.  

Who we imagine ourselves to be becomes hyper-real, more real to us than who we actually are. Life becomes an unwelcome interruption to our dreams. We gain the world but we lose our souls. It was the fear of this condition that provoked Thomas Merton to profanity in warning against it: 

If I had a message to my contemporaries, it is surely this: Be anything you like, be madmen, drunks, and bastards of every shape and form, but at all costs avoid one thing: success . . . If you are too obsessed with success, you will forget to live. 

If I had a prayer for Timothée Chalamet, it would be for greatness without self-consciousness. May he rise to the full magnificence of all he is meant to be without needing to know it. It is my prayer for all of us.  

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