Article
Culture
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Trauma
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5 min read

What would Pascal make of Emmy-winner Severance?

Locking ourselves away in a room still doesn’t work

Rick writes and speaks on leadership, transformation, and culture.

Pascal ponders a steampunk TV showing Severance.
Nick Jones/Copilot.

Severance, the hit Apple TV series, garnered the most Emmy nominations at the star-studded 77th Emmy Awards. Colors and fame popped on the vibrant red carpet as Hollywood’s elite strolled along the walkway, exuding famous smiles, elegant evening wear, and their signature flair.  

It was strikingly ironic, however, to see the Severance actors in such formal attire, ripe with ready-made smiles. Their presence was, well, very Hollywood. This contrasted sharply with their on-screen characters, who are typically set against a dark, desolate backdrop of despair, compelled to force smiles as if it were an immense burden on their very souls.   

The stark contrast between the opulent Hollywood red carpet and the sterile, bland workspace Severance is set in underscores a core theme in the show: the tension between faith and doubt, belief and despair, light and darkness. 

In the show, the main character Mark S. grapples with the challenge of navigating his own tension in his own calibrated nightmare of hope and despair. He has to cope with the sudden loss of his wife, and it's suffocating him.  

His company, Lumon, helps him deal with this loss through a surgical procedure called Severance. This procedure implants a chip in his brain that creates two separate identities: an "Innie" for work and an "Outie" for home. These two co-existing selves are emotionally, physically, and psychologically unaware of each other, essentially severing the person's whole self into two pieces. Whatever they are trying to bury or escape, becoming “severed” keeps the person’s “Innie” from dealing with this delicate paradox of the “Outie”. In short, they don’t have to choose the light or the dark.  

For Mark S., severance offers a thin thread of disguised hope, a potential breach in his unbearable pain. 

In his Pensées, French philosopher Blaise Pascal explores this intrinsic human tension between faith and doubt, belief and despair - a fundamental aspect of the human experience. He says, "In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t."   

He posits that the evidence between the light and the shadow is just enough to sway us in one direction or the other. It’s calibrated on either side allowing us to lean into our personal autonomy. We are free to choose the hope of the light or succumb to the despair of the darkness; the outcome depends entirely on what we choose.  

Leaning into Pascal, the act of severance relieves Mark S. of this beautiful yet complicated tension.  

A review on Reddit said it simply, “Severing allows Mark to just literally shut his brain off, get the work done, then go home and distract himself with TV and alcohol... he doesn’t want to let it go.”  

It’s real pain and he doesn’t know how to manage it. The shadows are pervasive. However, by choosing severance, Mark avoids the light and the shadows. The more he relies on severance for hope or healing by attempting to bury the shadows, the more the shadows intensify - the shadows Pascal says will blind us in our disbelief.   

The battle that Mark S. faces embodies the very tension that Pascal is surfacing. This tension of choosing the light or the shadows is something we all must face.  

We all carry shadows wrapped in our own circumstances. I think many of us would likely prefer to avoid confronting them. They are painful. They are dark. They are heavy. In truth, if we had the choice I think many of us would likely choose an escape instead of dealing with the darkness, with the secrets and the pain that hide in our souls.  

For example, many of us show up to work or to life like Mark S. in some version of our “Innie” - a professional face of compliance, rule following, corporate persona, goal oriented, etc. and leave the version of our “Outie” at home alone and isolated to wrestle with our demons, with our painful, confusing questions. We curate our internal messiness and disguise ourselves with our own “Innie”. 

For some, our day job is an actual version of a self-imposed severance.  

I wish this tension between the light and shadows Pascal speaks of was less “tense” to say it plainly, and yet it is an inherent, essential part of the human experience.  

This faith that both we and Mark S. wrestle with, by its very nature, lacks complete clarity; this tension is, in fact, a testament to this profound mystery of life itself. It's the wonder of life. There’s just enough data for us to lean into the light and also just as much for us to lean into the shadows. What we see depends on what we choose to believe in.  

This tension is similarly addressed in the Biblical book of Hebrews. It highlights Pascal's subtle paradox and defines faith as "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."  

The freedom to choose “the substance of things hoped for”, this inherent tension of Pascal, is the true marvel and mystery of life. It’s both messy and wonderful.  

Our capacity for choice, to engage with the light and shadows and to lean into one over the other as we wish is a profound gift.  

While some find this very tension a reason for disbelief, Pascal tugs on this and says it's actually fundamental to belief, it's a wonderful component of the human condition - a true gift. It hints at the very essence of hope. It’s the same process we must engage when choosing to believe in or not to believe in something beyond our selves, and ultimately beyond this world.  

This struggle, the shadows of pain and suffering and the light of hope and belief is precisely what makes us alive; it’s what makes us human. It points us to the heavens where hope and faith were authored.  

The question isn’t whether we have an “Innie” or an “Outie”, a tension of light and darkness, of faith and doubt. We all do. We all wrestle with this essence. The question is do we have the courage to wrestle with these internal conflicts, enabling us to bring our whole selves - our flaws and pains, our joys and hopes  - into every interaction. 

This tension Pascal speaks of is ultimately a mirror that shows us, us. We are all tempted to numb our pain, divide ourselves, to compartmentalize the shadows. But Pascal reminds us there is always enough light to see, if we choose it.

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Review
Culture
Film & TV
Masculinity
4 min read

Adolescence reflects our darkest corners, here's how we can respond

Each one-take episode is an exercise in empathy.

Lauren Westwood works in faith engagement communications for The Salvation Army.

  A father walks with his son away from the camera, his hand on his son's shoulder.
Netflix.

‘Is it really that bad out there for our children?’ 

This was the text my mum sent our family group chat following episode four of Adolescence, the astonishing new drama from Netflix. Anyone familiar with previous work from Stephen Graham will know to expect grit and challenge, but Adolescence is different. 

Adolescence paints a stark picture of a world gone wrong. We observe this in the Miller family who, within a few minutes, stand and watch as their lives are upended when their teenage son and brother is arrested on suspicion of murder. 

Technically, it is remarkable. The script is stunning. The cast are incredible. The direction is impeccable. The camera perceives the action in one continuous take, and the viewer receives this without a single edit. We watch each second of the hour-long episodes with precise focus, curiosity, tension and compassion. As the camera is moved, so are we. We become immersed in the spiralling realities of the detective, of the disbelieving father, of the psychologist, of the scrawny boy who wets his bed when armed police raid his bedroom. We pass person to person and take on their emotional load, even for a moment. These are not simply tug-on-the-heartstrings moments, watching Adolescence is an exercise in empathy. 

These one-take episodes flawlessly capture extended scenes of flawed humanity. Minute by minute, we learn more about Jamie Miller, played by Owen Cooper, the thirteen-year-old boy at the centre of it all. His parents are loving. He gets on with his sister. He is polite to the nurse at the police station. Jamie appears like a typical young boy. A worn teddy-bear sits atop his star-adorned bedding that matches the wallpaper. His friends are impish, awkward and they are the usual levels of unkempt. He seems just like any other kid. 

These small acts bring light to dark places, and demonstrate how the viewer might live right in a world where much feels wrong. 

As the plot unfolds, we see how darkness, and Jamie’s anger, lurks behind a digital life. Mostly hidden in emoji codes and Instagram comments, it is only in episode three when a stream of explicit misogyny pours from Jamie’s mouth. It emerges that his development has been intercepted by exposure to toxic masculinity, incel ideology and the incessant rage of ‘the manosphere.’ We witness the unravelling of lives that are disconnected despite sharing the same roof. Just as the uninitiated are confused by terms like ‘red-pilled’, Jamie’s parents are stunned at why their child would commit such a crime. 

Adolescence is a sobering watch because it holds up a mirror to a bleak picture of society. In the same week that Netflix released the series, a teenage boy was sentenced to life imprisonment for the fatal stabbing of a fifteen-year-old girl in the London borough that neighbours my secondary school. 

But it is also a rallying cry for social response. The ultimate aim isn’t for the audience to be depressed into stagnancy, but to consider afresh the responsibility we have for each other, particularly for the generations coming behind us, and to take action in our communities. When my mum asked about the reality for ‘our children’, she was supporting this concept of collective responsibility and care for the next generation. 

As Adolescence reflects our darkest corners, so does it present those among us who are trying to connect and show up in love for struggling young people. We see this in the detective who goes to the chip-shop with his son in an attempt to build their relationship, and also in the psychologist who carries around a container of mini-marshmallows for Jamie’s hot chocolate. These small acts bring light to dark places, and demonstrate how the viewer might live right in a world where much feels wrong. 

The glimpses of positive intergenerational connection in Adolescence should serve as a compelling reminder to churches, a remaining shared space where generations collide. We learn so much from each other that we simply cannot gain from siloed, disconnected living. At its best, the Church provides a space that allows people to break out of their usual circles and habits, to be loved and to love, to be challenged and corrected, to develop a connection to God and to his creation.  

To consider again the question, ‘Is it really that bad out there for our children?’ 

Quite possibly. But in the reflecting of light, however dim it may seem, we are presented with the possibility of something better. As generational barriers come down, we can move beyond empathy and into action. 

Support new writers

Since March 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. Many by writers from our Emerging Leaders programme, like Lauren. All this 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?

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

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