Article
Belief
Comment
Wildness
7 min read

In Search of Wild Gods: Nick Cave and Tom Holland in conversation

On unexpected and remarkable connections in a time of change.

Roger is a Baptist minister, author and Senior Research Fellow at Spurgeon’s College in London. 

A view of an in-conversation on a stage, with a video screen above showing a close up.
x.com/readalanread

“I’ve got to ask this, the opening lyric of one of your most famous songs says, ‘I don’t believe in an interventionist God.’ Do you now?” 

A nervous, but anticipant chuckle, rippled around the audience. How would the world-famous rock star answer? 

With his band the Bad Seeds, Nick Cave, was in the middle of a world tour having completed the European leg with two sell-out nights at the O2 in November. 

“I don’t know.” He said. 

“I don’t sort of test God. I do pray, but I don’t pray for things.” 

It was a cold January evening, a Thursday, and actually freezing outside in central London. But inside the hall 800 souls had turned out to hear a conversation billed as In Search of Wild Gods. A not-so-subtle nod to Cave’s critically acclaimed recent album, Wild God

Organised by the online news and opinion website UnHerd, and hosted by its editor Freddie Sayers, Cave was joined in the conversation by The Rest is History podcaster, Tom Holland. Two men who on the surface would appear to have little in common and exist in different worlds. 

Sayers confessed that, though a non-Christian himself, he found something ‘enticing’ about his guests. Especially so in the way they think deeply about the biggest questions of life, faith, values and personal experience. 

The conversation was candid. Cave spoke movingly about how in the structure and liturgy of a twelfth century church he had discovered the purpose-built place for his ‘existential sorrow’.  He shared how he and his wife Susie were quietly prayed for by an old lady at a communion service and had experienced ‘a deeply, deeply moving movement from a kind of inner despair to a sort of relief’.  

For Cave there is something ancient, something beautiful, something that evokes a profound sense of humility that this form of worship immerses and buries him in. Then it is the Christian story that pulls everything into focus. 

“I’m a storyteller, it’s the way I see the world. I see the world naturally, symbolically, poetically and so the story of Christ fits in there very well.” 

And the album Wild God charts the movement in his journey towards joy. 

“I called all around me, said have mercy on me please 

For joy. For joy. For joy. For joy. For joy.” 

Tom Holland’s story is different. Having grown into an atheist who considered the supernatural to be ‘essentially nonsense’ he happily became a writer of vampire fiction. However, as he progressed into writing history, he realised that to properly understand the world of the Romans or Vikings you have to imaginatively enter their supernatural world. If you don’t, it doesn’t make sense. 

First writing about the ancient world, and then about the beginnings of Islam, he realised how alien they seemed to his own core instincts. His journey had begun. He was discovering the fruit of having been brought up in a society and culture shaped by Christianity for a thousand years. 

Writing his best seller Dominion only further deepened this conviction. The realisation that his belief of every human being endued with an inherent dignity and value rests on the Genesis story of God creating men and women in his own image was a revelation. If this biblical framing is lost then human life is even more vulnerable to exploitation, manipulation or extermination. As some radical voices proposed during the pandemic, ‘humans are the real virus!’ 

Then, fear driven experiences added a further dimension to his growing convictions. While filming in Iraq, having previously entered no-man’s land between the Kurdish and ISIS forces, he entered an Armenian church ISIS had trashed. The one unbroken object was a framed picture of the Annunciation and the Angel Gabriel speaking to Mary. In that moment he felt the rush of something very strange and felt the presence of an angel. This was something of a surprise. He reflected: 

“… realising that if I could seriously think that I could experience an angel it was kind of an amazing experience. I would have never in my wildest dreams imagined that I could literally be able to believe in an angel, and for a brief moment I did believe that I could experience an angel … I know what it's like to believe this and it is incredible.”  

For Holland, allowing himself to consider that the world may be stranger than he thought was a game changer. Having been diagnosed with cancer during the pandemic he believes a prayer for divine help at the site of an apparition of the Virgin Mary was answered. It left him with the bemused thought, ‘this is brilliant I'm a Protestant Atheist who is contemplating the possibility of a Marian intervention.’ 

When Sayers asked Holland and Cave whether they think about themselves as Christians, Holland was clear, ‘I do’. He has come to own that his deep-seated ‘gut convictions’ have no objective justification outside of Christian faith. Added to this his profound experience of the supernatural is Christian and he has no experience of any other way of approaching the divine. He admitted that even allowing himself to contemplate the possibility of faith felt a little illicit at the time. Yet he realised opening himself up to the possibility made his life happier and more interesting. Even so, he still does not believe in life after death. 

Cave was more circumspect. He didn’t feel the need to call himself a Christian or not a Christian. 

“… but I have to say there are moments in church where this feeling is washing over me and I'm thinking about these claims that are being made, and I can kind of believe it. It feels like there is something that is both truthful and imaginative … that is more beautiful than rational truth and feels like something that I really truly can believe in. That doesn't mean that I feel that way all the time, but I do feel that really seeping into my life more and more and I guess this is the beauty of the ritual of going to church.” 

Sayers wondered whether we are at a ‘change moment’ in Western culture. With past certainties falling away, political upheavals and technological changes he wondered whether we were at the beginning of momentous shifts? ‘It does feel’ he suggested, ‘like this is a time where things are being revisited at a really fundamental level and people are searching.’  

Holland was not so sure. He saw the rapid fading of Christianity in the West and the subsequent fading of the ‘muscle memory of values’ as pointing in the other direction. Atheists at least took Christianity seriously, but he saw a rising generation with no understanding or interest in the stories that underpin our culture. 

He was happy to identify himself a Christian and sees this as being inextricably linked with the cultural values that have shaped contemporary Britain. Along the way he hopes that others might be provoked by his example to undertake a similar journey to his own. 

Cave, likewise, didn’t think there was a ‘crisis of meaning’ in the world at large. He was more concerned with what he saw as a ‘general demoralisation’ going on in the West as a result of what was happening in the world. A kind of flattening of expectations, which led him to be concerned about what might rise up on the back of it. 

Yet he sensed there was a change, a ‘quite remarkable’ and fundamental change. Given the kind of platform UnHerd is, he observed: 

“… you've invited me along to talk about my religious ideas no one would have done that five years ago.” 

And maybe that’s it.  

As a musician and poet, through personal tragedy, sorrow and searching, Cave has insights to share about ‘life, the universe and everything’. 

As an historian, Holland’s reflections and personal experience have led him to make, what for him, have been unexpected and remarkable connections. 

Truth be told, Cave and Holland stand in a long line of artists and academics, public figures and popular heroes who have had similar experiences and journeys. Individuals who have made the same kind of connections and sought to share them with whoever wanted to listen. From the author G.K. Chesterton to journalist Malcolm Muggeridge, and the scientist Francis Collins who led the Human Genome Project to physicist John Polkinghorne the list is a long one. 

Maybe what is happening in our culture is the beginning of an opening up of new possibilities in our public conversations. 

The wars and the rumours of wars. The climate crisis. Fuel poverty. The ascendancy of a different brand of political leadership offering a very different view of the world. The existential threat that rapidly advancing technology typified by AI offers, accompanied by the prospect of unimaginable and hopeful advances. All of these trends, and an ever-lengthening list of others, promise a disruption to the patterns of life with which we have become familiar and comfortable. 

Maybe this disruption is the portent of revisiting the more fundamental matters of our existence. 

Maybe, in future, we will look back to Cave and Holland as contemporary prophets whose reflections paved the way forward. If there are cracks in our old inherited order, maybe … 

“There is a crack, a crack in everything  
That's how the light gets in.”

(‘Anthem’ by Leonard Cohen, 1992)

 

Join with us - Behind the Seen

Seen & Unseen is free for everyone and is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Alongside other benefits (book discounts etc.), you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing what I’m reading and my reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin

Editor-in-Chief

Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Easter
5 min read

I know who will be most affected by legalising assisted dying

Contemplating lent revives hard memories and raises fresh fears.

Ryan is an ordained Priest in the Church of England, currently serving in south London. 

A close up of a forehead bearing an ash cross marked on it.
Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash.

“What’s that - a face tattoo?” 

These were the words of one person as I walked past them on the streets on a recent Wednesday, with the ashes of last year’s burnt palm-branches placed across my forehead in the shape of the cross.  

The cross has been a symbol of hope for over two millennia; that even in the most painful of circumstances, darkness does not have the final say, including in death.  

As a society, we don’t really talk about death that much. Margot Robbie’s Barbie was the quintessential party-pooper when she pondered: 

 “do you guys ever think about dying?”. 

It’s no fun to dwell on death and dying, and for many of us, we put it off as long as we can. That all changed last year with the introduction of the assisted dying bill into the Houses of Parliament. Our national attention was, for a rare moment, captured by death.  

As a parish priest, I’ve seen the finality of burying someone into the ground. I’ve seen the sadness in the eyes of those trying to grieve. 

The words of Ash Wednesday, which remind us that we are ‘but dust, and to dust we shall return’ are echoed in the famous words that the priest recites in those last moments of burial, ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. In that moment, amongst the bereaved, there is no escaping the inevitability of death. It is the ultimate statistic, 1 in 1 die. 

Whilst death is of course universal and will affect us all, the impact of this assisted dying bill could have consequences for some of the most vulnerable in society.  

As I reflect on my time as a Priest in East London, this is not abstract theory, but something I lived with each day. I served amongst a hugely diverse, vibrant, community in one of the poorest parts of the city. As I try to picture some the people I’ve walked alongside, I know it is these lives that will be most affected.  

One of the reasons I have concerns about the bill is the prospect of these people being coerced into ending their own lives prematurely, by a world that has already told them their lives are of little value. There are already huge disparities in access to the current provision of palliative care at the end of life, particularly amongst people of colour, the disabled and the poor.  

Of the 500,000 people who die each year, 100,000 do not access the care they need. This number is skewed towards ethnic minorities and those who come from poorer backgrounds.  

There is much confusion and misinformation about what end-of-life care even is. Research conducted by Marie Curie shows that 1 in 5 people from an ethnic minority background believe Palliative Care is actually Euthanasia.  

We only need to look at what has happened around the world when the ‘right to die’ becomes a duty to die. Even with the best of intentions, other jurisdictions show us that safeguards rapidly deteriorate and those who are already vulnerable become even more so.  

I worry that the way in which this bill is being handled - rushed through, little time being given to properly chew over the profound consequences it may have - reflects the wider way we view death. 

By trying to provide a ‘choice’ for a certain group of people, the consequence will be taking away real choice from those who already have little. 

Yet we know that for those who do access it, palliative care can be hugely effective in improving their quality of life, and for some, they can even outlive their prognosis. During Ash Wednesday’s service, I met an elderly gentleman who was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer in 2019. He was told he had five months to live. He described every day of his six-year survival since as a ‘miracle’, his eyes filled with evident joy.  

Such a blessing stands in stark contrast to the lonely final days of my 96-year-old great grandmother. She was suddenly taken ill during the Covid-19 pandemic and was frantically rushed to a hospital. Amidst the chaos, exasperated by the restrictions against seeing family that were in place at the time, I distinctly remember confused conversations about placing her in a care home for her final days. It was clear she needed a lot of specialist attention, more than our family could provide ourselves.  As she was discharged to stay with our aunt, she never did reach that care home, as she died at home. She was buried in our local cemetery, with our family watching on Zoom.  

My final memory of my great-grandmother will be the FaceTime call we shared when she was taken to hospital, with the poor data connection and shaky picture. I am so grateful for the few family members who were able to be by her side when she died, but I’ve often wondered whether she fully received the care she actually needed during those final days, in the way she needed it.  

What my great-grandmother didn’t have a lot of at the end of her life was time.  

That’s also true for this bill. Concerns have been raised that only five hours of debate were given to this Bill in the chamber, comparatively short for a change in the law of this magnitude.  

I worry that the way in which this bill is being handled- rushed through, little time being given to properly chew over the profound consequences it may have- reflects the wider way we view death.  

Do we view death - and indeed the dying- as something to be shoved to one side, not spoken about in the hopes we can avoid its impact? Or do we view death as an important moment to review who and what matters most in life?  

Perhaps for some, the fact that Christians devote a period of 40 days to dwell on death may be one of the mysteries of faith. However, perhaps it’s not such a bad idea after all.  Death may bring with it fear, grief and pain and so we tend to avoid it. But do we risk missing out on much more? As we head into Easter, the cross still serves as a powerful reminder that, especially in death, Hope can be found, that Good has triumphed over evil, and Light shines even in the darkest of places.  

Celebrate our 2nd birthday!

Since March 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.
If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.
Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief