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Daunted by dad-hood, encouraged by dad

Imminent parenthood pushes Nick Brewer to pause and consider what sort of Dad he needs to be.

Nick Brewer is a critically acclaimed rapper and recording artist. He is a patron of Anxiety UK, and runs Talk About It - helping young people explore creative writing. 

A dad hovers with open arms ready to catch a baby taking first steps
Peter Dlhy on Unsplash

I’m about to become a father for the first time.  

While there is excitement and joy as my wife and I prepare to start this new chapter of life, I’m not sure that I feel qualified to be a dad. As someone with an anxious disposition, I like to be as prepared as possible for any task ahead. However, just six weeks from the due date, I could quite easily do with another nine months to get ready for the new arrival.  

I’ve been reading books about parenting, listening to podcasts, attending classes with my wife, all to try and equip myself with the necessary skills. I’ve also tried to do as much DIY as my limited skillset allows me, to make the house ‘baby ready’.  

Yet, I can’t get away from this nagging feeling that I might not have what it takes to be a good dad. Watching my wife flourish over these last few months, building a strong connection with the baby and preparing for motherhood, is quite astounding. Honestly, I can’t say I have that same feeling of connection with the baby. 

What do I say to a bump? I’m rarely at a loss for words in life, but I was stumped. 

This lack of connection became clearest to me when my wife first suggested that I speak to the bump, so that the baby could get to know my voice. As I hesitantly stooped down and got in position to talk, my mind went completely blank. What do I say to a bump? I’m rarely at a loss for words in life, but I was stumped.  An awkward ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ wasn’t cutting it.  

Suddenly, I had an idea to sing a song. My song of choice was ‘All My Loving’ by The Beatles. This isn’t a song that I’ve listened to in at least ten years, and my wife had never even heard it. So, why did this song come to mind at that moment? Some sort of distant memory had crept in, of my own father singing this to me as a child, most nights before I went to sleep. As this memory came back to me, I started to think, what can I learn about the role of a father from the example set by my own father? 

Can I reach the incredibly high bar that my dad has set for parenting? I’m not so sure, but I’ve got no excuse not to, as I’ve had a near perfect example in him. 

My dad is a very different character to me. While I often overthink and worry about everything, my dad just seems to have an ability to get on with life, regardless of what he might be going through. He’s not the most outwardly emotional man. It would be rare for him to answer the question ‘how are you?’ with anything other than ‘fine’.  

He’s much more of a ‘man’s man’ than me; one of those guys that just seems generally good at most handy things. He’s the type of guy that you would want to help install laminate flooring or rewire a lamp. He’s reliable, having been with the same employer for nearly 40 years, and he gives great financial advice. He is not hypermasculine in any way, but he’s solid. Dependable. He would do anything to help anyone, no matter what it may cost him.  

He has a lot of qualities that a good father needs, and as his son I’ve reaped many rewards from having a dad like this. I’ve grown up feeling safe and reassured. And while I’ve picked up some of my dad’s traits, I’m not sure how similar we are. I’m a lot more emotionally wired than he is. I worry about things that I imagine have never crossed his mind. I’ve spent a lot of time chasing creative pursuits and sought work opportunities that I believed would fulfil me. I’ve spent countless hours trying to figure out my ‘purpose’. I’m extremely unskilled when it comes to DIY. I worry that I’m just a lot more selfish than he is. Can I reach the incredibly high bar that my dad has set for parenting? I’m not so sure, but I’ve got no excuse not to, as I’ve had a near perfect example in him. 

While I could go on about my dad’s various qualities, when I think of the ways in which he has impacted me most, one of the most important things he did was create a safe environment for me to grow up and develop in.  

Through his willingness to patiently let me become myself, with the parental guidance that was required of him of course, he demonstrated love. 

From a young age, I just had this feeling that I could express anything to my dad. Over the years I’ve asked countless questions, expressed numerous fears, and explored several different interests with him. Looking back as an adult, I imagine that I’ve frustrated my dad on several occasions; pondering and worrying about things that he knew I didn’t need to. But he didn’t shut me down, he created space for me to express those things.  

There’s a piece of advice from James, one of the leaders of the early Christians, way back 1,900 years ago. He encouraged his reader to be ‘quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry’. That’s what my dad exhibited to me. He didn’t bat away my worrisome thoughts or ignore my silly questions. He didn’t show frustration, although I’m sure at times he might’ve wanted to. The way that he interacted with me communicated that I was safe and loved. I’m sure he didn’t get everything right, and I imagine if I asked him, he would be able to detail all the things he did wrong. But through his willingness to patiently let me become myself, with the parental guidance that was required of him of course, he demonstrated love.  

For me, the love my father showed me is a picture of God’s love for his children. As I spend these last few weeks to prepare in whatever way I can to become a dad, I rest assured that, even though I am guaranteed to get things wrong, I will have ample opportunity to love my child. St Paul described love as, among other things, patient, kind, the opposite of self-seeking, and always protective.  

As I embark on a journey where I will try and fail and try again to be a good father, I know that I don’t need to be perfect, I just need to show love in tangible ways. My favourite line of ‘All My Loving’ by The Beatles is: 

‘All my loving, I will send to you.’  

I can’t wait to get the opportunity to do that with my unborn child.     

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I’m not sure Christopher Nolan has actually read The Odyssey

The director has drunk the Kool-aid of modernity, and done so deeply
the head of a classical statue looks up amid embers around it.
The odyssey poster.
Universal Studios.

Greek myths are full of hubris. Full of it. I feel like ‘hubris’ isn’t a word you hear very often anymore. It means excessive pride or self-confidence that leads to a downfall, in case you were wondering. “Boris Johnson’s hubristic underestimation of the effects of ‘Partygate’ was the final nail in his political coffin,” we might say.  

In one myth, Icarus is imprisoned, but given wings held together by wax in aid of his escape. He is warned not to fly too close to the sun, because the heat will melt the wax. Guess what he does? Yep! Flies too close to the sun. The wings melt and he falls to his death. Hubris

Another myth tells the story of Prometheus. No, not the slightly underrated Alien prequel. (That’s right, I said underrated, but that’s another article for another day). Prometheus defies the Greek gods by stealing fire and giving it to humans. As punishment, Zeus ties Prometheus to a rock and has an eagle eat his liver, only for it to grow back overnight so the eagle can come back the next day and start again. Hubris. 

Greek myths are full of hubris. Full of it. 

And so, this is why I find the new poster for Christopher Nolan’s upcoming adaptation of Greek epic The Odyssey so … bizarre. But then I’ve been nervous about Nolan’s adaptation since it was announced. Nolan is a wonderful filmmaker, but he’s also deeply naturalistic in the messages he conveys. By this, I mean that all his films suggest that nature – the physical, material world of atoms and things – is all there is. Even when he has opportunity to explore themes of the mystical, or magical, or the supernatural, he only does so when a purely ‘natural’ explanation for such things is possible.  

For example, in The Prestige (and HUGE spoilers for the film here: it’s incredible, please watch it if you haven’t), Nolan tells the story of two rival magicians, played by Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale. Robert Angier (Jackman) is trying to work out Alfred Borden’s (Bale) teleportation trick. The secret? (Seriously: big, big spoilers here). Science. Nikola Tesla has invented a device that can clone someone but send the clone to a different location. The trick – the mysterious MacGuffin at the film’s heart – has a natural, scientific explanation. Magic isn’t real and you’re a fool if you think otherwise. 

Perhaps this is also why Nolan directed the wonderful Dark Knight trilogy. After all, Batman’s superpower is just wealth: it’s entirely naturalistic, with nothing that can’t fit into a scientific way of understanding the world. Or we could point towards the science fiction that underwrites Inception, Interstellar, and Tenet. For a filmmaker so gifted at tension and intrigue, he has surprisingly little truck with mystique, mystery, and the divine. But this is a problem when it comes to The Odyssey. A huge problem.  

Let’s return to that poster I mentioned earlier. It shows the head of a classical Greek statue, flames ember underneath it. The caption? Defy the Gods. And it’s at this point I start to wonder if Nolan has actually read The Odyssey. Because The Odyssey takes questions of divinity and their authority very, very seriously. Like many Greek myths and poems, the message of The Odyssey isn’t ‘defy the Gods’. No: it’s ‘trying to defy the gods is an unbelievably stupid, futile, and dangerous thing to do’. Nolan would seemingly have us raze Mount Olympus to the ground.  

Look, all we have is a poster so far. Nolan might prove me wrong. But we shouldn’t be surprised if Nolan reworks The Odyssey in such a way that ‘defy the Gods’ becomes its central message. Because Nolan is a quintessentially modern filmmaker.  

In a 1965 book called Freud and Philosophy, French philosopher Paul Ricœur described the modern period as dominated by a climate of suspicion or scepticism. Within this ‘climate of thought’, the straightforward understandings of things are actually deceptive, instead hiding hidden, deeper, and ‘truer’ meanings. He described Sigmund Freud, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Karl Mark as the ‘masters of suspicion.’ And so the world around us is to be approached suspiciously, to uncover the ‘truer’ meanings about our subconscious (so Freud), our false, religiously imposed morals (so Nietzsche), or our exploitative economic systems (so Marx). 

Each of Ricœur’s ‘masters of suspicion’ might be mapped on to one of the villains in Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy. Liam Neeson is Ra’s al Ghul, a Freud-like figure who helps Bruce Wayne navigate the psychological effects of his parents’ murders in childhood. Heath Ledger’s mesmeric Joker is Nietzsche’s stand-in, exposing our misguided systems and structures of ethics, tethered to a religious framework we no longer hold to. Tom Hardy’s Bane is Marx, freeing Gotham’s proletariat from the economic structures that oppress them so. 

It's not a perfect fit, but I think there’s more than enough evidence to say that Nolan has drunk the Kool-aid of modernity, and he has drunk so very deeply. And this would be fine – absolutely fine – if he wasn’t planning to adapt The Odyssey. Because, as a quintessentially modern filmmaker, Nolan’s work emerges out of and celebrates a culture wherein ‘defy the gods’ is a slogan that can only be heard as heroic, courageous, and noble, rather than dumb and futile, as The Odyssey would stress to us. 

Defying divinity is not heroic. The Odyssey knows this and knows it well. Defying the gods never ends well for humans stupid enough to try in Homer’s work. Our modern sensibilities encourage us to be suspicious of institutionalised power, especially when that power takes a religious shape. We are predisposed to imagine that invocations of the divine are nothing more than thinly-veiled power-grabs. And sometimes they are. But The Odyssey is right to say that divinity itself is not to be trifled with. Renounce your creator at your peril. 

Like all his other films, Nolan’s The Odyssey is likely to be tense, wrought, and cinematographically immaculate. But also like his other films, I worry it will be deeply naturalistic in the way it handles the inescapably divine and supernatural elements present in Homer’s epic. The Odyssey has an important message for our increasingly hubristic society. I just worry that Nolan’s not the man to convey it as it deserves. 

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