Article
Comment
Politics
Trauma
War & peace
6 min read

So, what are the prospects for peace and good will?

2025 will need the reconcilers, and their pain.

Emerson writes on geopolitics. He is also a business executive and holds a doctorate in theology.

Two people down a table turn and listen to someone closer talk, against a wall mural.
Reconciliation event, Northern Ireland.
Telos Group.

As we approach 2025, a series of skirmishes are erupting that warn us of impending danger. In Syria, Turkish-backed rebel forces have overtaken Aleppo, taking advantage of Russia’s focus on Ukraine. Pro-Europe protestors in Georgia demonstrate at the country’s parliament in Tbilisi. And South Korea declares martial law in response to purported North Korean threats. President-elect Trump jokes – with much truth in jest – about Canada becoming the 51st state.  

As the world awaits the inauguration of President-elect Trump on January 20, 2025, we are in an in-between state. But there is more feeling of foreboding than of future peace. A ceasefire has been agreed between Israel and Hezbollah, but with rocket fire continuing to be exchanged and Israel yet to respond to Iran’s October missile barrage while Iran pursues nuclear capability. In the United States, Ambassador to Japan Rahm Emmanuel warns of Chinese ambitions to take Taiwan not in 2027 – as commonly believed – but rather in 2025.   

Even if only temporarily, there will be a pause in early 2025 from the conflicts we have been accustomed to over recent years. The inauguration of President-elected Trump will, in all likelihood, put an end to Russia’s war in Ukraine. Russian agreement for peace will be secured, however, only in exchange for Ukrainian territorial concessions. Israel will maintain a ceasefire with Hezbollah while American support helps to remove the remnants of Hamas in Gaza. With American backing, Israel and Saudi Arabia will restart the historic Abraham Accords process as we enter the Spring.  

Yet this pause and these short-term successes will be ephemeral and deceiving, an interlude prior to the much greater threats in store. Antonio Gramsci’s ‘The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters” is often quoted with a tinge of optimism, as if the monsters are here for a moment, but soon to be overcome. Unfortunately, the monsters of our times are well-entrenched, and they are gathering energy for their next acts. And they appear from all sides, as the lesser rather than greater aspects of men and women take centre stage in our politics, whether in the political West or Global East. 

In this world of monsters, division and difference is the default approach to human relationships. We have become numb to these words, but what division and difference signify is a profound weakness in modern men and women bereft of love. Too many men and women prefer basking in their own and others’ flaws, to a striving to overcome these in favour of what we may individually and collectively achieve – if only we tried. We are living in a period of darkness seeking to dampen the light and diminish the spirit of those pursuing the good.  

Division is easy. It is natural. It is emotional. Its focus is the lowest element of ourselves and of others. In comparison, togetherness is faith. It sees the hidden potential of another. Togetherness is unnatural. Togetherness flows from faith and is the unseen-become-reality. It recognises the seeds of good in another, understanding that each person is composed of many contrasting sides, some bad, some good, but the good the more powerful of the two. Togetherness is a choice. It is a choice to water the seeds of faith with patience, to see what these seeds might become with time, consistency, and effort (while maintaining balance of personal space and social connections, as both are vital for emotional wellbeing). 

There is no bridging of divides, no reduction of division, no togetherness, without pain. This is a lesson for the world’s current and future reconcilers across all walks of life. 

In an age of growing division and conflict, togetherness is barely visible. Yet reconciliation remains possible. In fact, it is precisely in these times, when the odds are against the peace of togetherness, that reconcilers in politics, business, academic, non-profit and community sectors are called to step forward with purpose. It is precisely when there is little faith or hope in the future that reconciliation – an act of love – is demanded.  

Reconciliation is the restoration of a favourable relationship between oneself and others. It is achieved through sacrifice. The reconciler experiences pain in order to restore relationships. Reconciliation is built on love for other persons, in spite of their flaws and their continuous resistance, as well as their lack of faith, love and hope at many times. It requires a healthy self-love, in which we seek the fulfilment of our own good as a basis for doing so for others.  

Next to love, the main ingredient of reconciliation is pain, because those who have become estranged fight, they resist, they go back on what they said they would do, they vacillate between good and evil, and they contest the reconciler. The reconciler will die, or come close to dying, at certain points in the reconciliation process. And yet the reconciler is raised following death, defeat only a stepping-stone to the triumph of togetherness.  

The reconciler turns the pain involved in bringing together otherwise conflicting groups, peoples or nations into something much more positive. They internalise pain, incorporating it into their being. This is achieved through love, which enables patience, always seeing the bigger picture and the potential of people. Love is the basis for action to bring others together and keep them together, appealing to their better sides, despite the human tendency to corrupt the good. 

People talk nowadays about the need to ‘bridge divides’ and that we are ‘better together.’ We need, for instance, to bridge divides between regions and capitals, such as between Alberta and Canada, or Québec and Canada in the Canadian context, or between the North East and London, or with Northern Irish reconciliation, in the United Kingdom. But these are easy things to say. More difficult is realising that the process of reconciliation is painful and that leaders seeking reconciliation – at local, regional or national levels – must first become experienced in suffering.  

This experience can only be the result of a prior education in the value of pain, knowing that the joy of togetherness is most profound when preceded by a patient and humble suffering. There is no bridging of divides, no reduction of division, no togetherness, without pain. This is a lesson for the world’s current and future reconcilers across all walks of life, as we enter a world even more replete with conflict.  And in reconciliation, it is always unclear what the outcome is going to be. A person’s efforts could be all for naught, faithful efforts then a matter of failure and bitterness, rather than of sweet accomplishment.  

Anyone seeking reconciliation in a more dangerous world must first die to their previous lives of division. They must leave this self in the past, shedding it. They must become new persons, imbued with love, believing in human potential, who want others to succeed and who are ready to fight to achieve this success. But reconcilers must always fight with love as the foundation of their efforts, and with faith that they will win in their fight, that their efforts will be successful. This faith goes against what is seen – the odds are rarely if ever in reconcilers’ favour.  

We need reconcilers in our day and age. These individuals are in short supply, but they are key to the futures of nations and to the health of our geopolitics. They are the politicians - elected and those behind the scenes - the businesspeople, and the local community leaders who can see the bigger picture and articulate it, keep focused on the potential of those around them, and bear the suffering involved in fulfilling potential.  

The present wars and skirmishes as we enter 2025 will temporarily lessen. They will even pause. We should not be surprised when these re-emerge with more intensity over the next year. This is precisely when many will be called to strive for togetherness in the face of division, knowing that reconciliation is strength in the face of the reality of human weakness. Reconciliation is always a possibility. 

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Snippet
Comment
Death & life
Music
2 min read

Lullabies and lists that tell of lifelong love

A Laura Marling gig and an All Souls remembrance reverberate life.

Jessica is Assistant Professor in Christian Theology at the University of Nottingham.

A misty back lit stage hosts a singing guitarist and a double base player
Laura Marling performs at Hackney Church.
YouTube.

This year, I did not go to my own church’s All Souls Day service.  I went instead to another church - Hackney Church - to hear Laura Marling perform her new album, Patterns in Repeat. Marling wrote its songs in the months following the birth of her first child. Her daughter’s coos and gurgles occasionally overwrite the recording of Marling’s own ethereal, elastic voice as she contemplates parenthood, heritage, and new domesticity. Critics are in agreement: this is Marling’s most accomplished album yet.  

As I stood amid the congregation gathered to hear her, I was struck by the overwhelming love contained in those lullabetic songs. As if line by line Marling swaddles her daughter, each lyric wrapping her with words that hold and assure. Sleep my angel, you’re safe with me. What she conjures is the magnificent reorientation entailed in love - Time won’t ever feel the same - and the promises that tip from the mouths of those experiencing it - I’m not gonna miss it, child of mine.  

Of course, love is not always so pure. We may find, miserably, our own love tilting this way or that, towards dominance or possessiveness, or muddied by some other perversion. But this isn’t to deny that there really are pockets of pure love in our midst. All around us are people writing their own lullabies: sending texts, preparing meals, writing cards, taking photos. And, in these ways, saying to one another, as the theologian Josef Pieper paraphrases the affirmation of love, ‘I am glad you exist’.  

While I listened to Marling sing lullabies for her baby daughter in one church, the gathered faithful of my own congregation read out the names of the dead in another. Each year the list is long and spans several minutes. By its end the names start to undo themselves, beginning to sound only like their component syllables, blurring towards the non-words found in a book of phonics. But each name uttered - perhaps for the only time that year - tells of a whole beloved life, witnessing some homely love swirling still, years later, in the memory of a congregant. In years past I have sat around that altar as those names are read out. I have listened out for the names I added, like a child seeking the face of her mother. 

These two Saturday evenings, unfolding a few Overground stops apart, were not wholly discrepant. Each sounded the cry of love from one person to another, against cynicism, even against death. Each told of love that reverberates where love cannot yet, or still, be reciprocated.  All these hearts swelling and bending and breaking for each other strikes me as a kind of Grand Canyon: a remarkable thing to consider, seeming to be a miracle that might, if we let it, render us speechless.