Article
Awe and wonder
Culture
Film & TV
5 min read

Why you need more cathedrals in your life

A TV tour of the ancient landmarks showcases their relevance to today.

Pat is vicar of St Peter’s Notting Hill and author of A Pocketful of Hope

A vicar stands arms in front of himself, behind him is a cathedral
Channel 5.

There’s a moment I love every time I drive down to visit my mum. It comes on the A30 heading south towards Salisbury. You come over a brow and round a bend and then there she is, the 123m tall spire of Salisbury Cathedral. Regal, majestic, aloof, dominant. So many words to describe this glorious building. And I remember remarking to my brother one time, who doesn’t share my Christian faith, as he sat in the passenger seat, how amazing it is that without saying a word, the architecture itself bears witness to the reality of another world, another Kingdom. Proclaiming a message to that city. A lighthouse of sorts, continually pointing people to God as they sail on rough and secular seas. 

For me personally, it was a real joy to get to visit six of our most stunning Cathedrals for a two-part series I presented for Channel 5 called, Britain’s Great Cathedrals – To the Glory of God. It comes at a critical moment as cathedrals now face potential financial ruin due to the Government’s recent decisions concerning National Insurance and the Listed Places of Worship scheme. Thrilling I hear you say, but before you scroll on by, suffice it to say that these developments could see the closure of many of our nation’s most magnificent landmarks! This would be a disaster, not just for the soul of the church, but also for the soul of the country. I want to suggest three reasons for that being the case, which are their unrivalled ability to inspire (pardon the pun), inform and include. 

The truth is, whether you’re a person of faith or none whatsoever, you can’t help but be inspired when you see or enter one of these buildings. Whether it’s the glorious facade of Lincoln, the expansive nave of Canterbury, or the sheer strength and grandeur of Durham, these edifices were built to amaze and generate awe. Why else would I say ‘wow’ almost 900 times in just two episodes?! Take it from me, you run out of adjectives pretty quickly. But that’s precisely the point. They were built to lift the mind and soul from the drudgery of what was all too often a pretty grim existence and place their thoughts firmly on higher things. Whether they make it all the way to Heaven itself, or go no further than a vaulted ceiling, the primary mission to inspire is achieved. Would I rather someone is impacted more by the Spirit behind the stone, or the grace behind the glass, of course I would. But would I take the needle of someone’s thoughts and worldview being moved even a fraction, as they perhaps ponder, ‘what moved these people to build this? What did a society and culture believe to prioritise and shape such real estate?’, then yes, I’d take that in a heartbeat. There’s nothing in all of Britain to rival our cathedrals to inspire. 

But it’s not just that. It’s the simple truth that so much of our heritage and history is tied up in these monuments of stone and glass. Artistry developed, architectural techniques advanced, and our cathedrals were undeniably and unavoidably central to the life of the nation. As such, their ability and value to inform a people about who they are and where they come from is unmatched. People might not like it. They may even push against it. But for good or ill, it’s what made us who we are. And look a little closer, and you quickly discover that most of the values that we so embrace and espouse today herald directly from the faith proclaimed in and by these architectural marvels. Secularism has done its best to sever such values from their source, but as the historian Tom Holland has demonstrated, seeking to do so is about as logical as trying to claim that the apples on the branch of a tree have nothing to do with its roots. The facts simply don’t bear it out. And what greater facts can a city proclaim than its skyline, so often dominated by ecclesial geometry. Our cathedrals are filled with the history not just of people, but the ideas that moved them and shaped Western Civilisation. Long may they continue to inform. 

One of the biggest building projects we read of in the Old Testament is Noah’s building of the ark. A behemoth of a boat, big enough to house and include all. And it’s that final idea of inclusion that perhaps speaks most powerfully today. We hear it used a lot, but all too often it’s become a synonym for an approach that has no shape, no constitution or actual covenant of belonging. What draws me to the faith behind these edifices is precisely that even as the invitation goes out into all the earth, just as Noah’s did to all creation, we only enter on God’s terms. He’s the One who calls us in and gets to name and define us all. Whilst this may at first sound narrow, it is in fact the way to liberation. Joined by common bonds and values, held together by the One to whom these buildings point. The sheer vastness of cathedrals conveys there’s room indeed for all, just as the ark had space for its guests as it made its way to a new world. The invitation of our cathedrals, both in form and opening hours, goes out into all the world declaring, ‘Come! Whoever is thirsty, let them come; and whoever wishes, let them take the free gift of the water of life.’ For the message in stone for even hearts of stone is that in Christ, all can be included.  

 

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Review
Culture
Film & TV
Trauma
5 min read

This bad TV version of The Last of Us ruins much more than storytelling

Following up the acclaimed video game doesn't deliver prestige viewing.
A pensive looking woman glances to the side.
Ellie, played by Bella Ramsey.
HBO.

What’s the point of the TV adaptation of The Last of Us

Throughout its second series, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this question. I’m still short of an answer. 

Turning the two The Last of Us video games into prestige TV was always going to be problematic, because those video games already were prestige TV. You just had to press buttons on a controller now and then.  

The first The Last of Us video game is regularly included in lists of the best video games ever, and it’s not because of any ground-breaking gameplay or because of any technological advancements it made. It’s because of its story.  

It is richly character-focussed, gritty, realistic, and utterly human. The Last of Us Part I (as it’s now known) carries the kind of gravitas and emotional complexity you might expect from the likes of The Sopranos, Breaking Bad, Chernobyl, or The West Wing. It’s already prestige TV.  

So, is the TV adaptation simply an attempt to make this same story accessible to people who don’t play video games? Maybe. That would make sense, were it not for its deeply frustrating second series, the finale of which has just aired. 

The Last of Us Part II was massively controversial when it released in 2020. (WARNING: absolutely colossal spoilers ahead, for both the games and the TV show). Joel – the main protagonist of the first game – is abruptly and brutally murdered in its opening act. This leads Ellie – his pseudo-surrogate-daughter – to hunt down those responsible in attempt to enact a reckoning.  

In the video game, most of the story is told over the course of three days. First, from Ellie’s perspective, then from the perspective of Abby, Joel’s killer. In the TV show, the second series covers Ellie’s side of the story before very abruptly shifting to Abby’s side in the final seconds, leaving the viewers with a cliffhanger. Even as someone who’s played the game and knows what’s going to happen, it felt like a bit of a slap in the face. 

But for someone who hasn’t played the games it must be bordering on nonsensical. Even spread over two series, the story is so truncated, and so much is left unsaid. I can’t imagine making sense of this series without having played the video game first. But the TV show is basically just a live action remake of the game. Which again begs the question: what’s the point of the TV adaptation of The Last of Us

I’ve found this series, and the video game it’s based off, hugely frustrating. Because it’s trying to convey an important message. But both the game and the show contrive to undermine their important central ideas through poor storytelling techniques and structures.  

But in making clear what was left unsaid in the game, the power of the moment is undercut. Much is spoken; little is said. 

Let’s take one example. Half-way through the game (or towards the end of series 2), Ellie has tracked down and tortured one of Abby’s friends for information on her whereabouts. Afterwards, she talks to her lover Dina about what happened.  

In the game, it’s harrowing. Ellie is visibly shaken by what she’s just witnessed herself do. “I made her talk.” She says. And then to Dina: “I don’t want to lose you.” “Good,” comes Dina’s reply. And that’s it. Cut to black. Little is spoken; much is said.  

But where the scenes last about 30 seconds in the game, in the TV show it’s over five minutes long. “I made her talk. I thought it would be harder to do, but it wasn’t. It was easy. I just kept hurting her.” So says Ellie, halfway through the conversation. The writers are clearly trying to make explicit Ellie’s fear that she’s losing herself, and Dina by extension, in her thirst for revenge. But in making clear what was left unsaid in the game, the power of the moment is undercut. Much is spoken; little is said. 

“I know writers who use subtext and they’re all cowards,” Garth Marenghi once said. I can only assume he writes for HBO now. 

It’s a shame the scene gets fluffed as badly as it does, because really it’s the centrepiece of the narrative. Faced with unthinkable violence, Ellie chooses to repay the act in kind. But, in hunting down and torturing those responsible, ultimately Ellie finds herself becoming less and less human with each act of revenge. Here, in this conversation with Dina, Ellie begins to glimpse the reality of this. That acts of violence towards others are ultimately also acts of violence towards her own nature.  

This is, as it turns out, a deeply Christian notion. Where other Ancient Near Eastern creation myths depict their gods as creating the world through violent and bloody struggle, in Genesis God merely speaks life into being. Where Jesus’ disciples would violently overthrow their Roman oppressors, he instead says “those who live by the sword, die by the sword.”  

Moreover, Jesus’ death by crucifixion was unspeakably cruel and violent, encompassing protracted public humiliation, sexual abuse, and mutilation. It is here that Christ draws the suffering of the world to himself, that we might be given the opportunity to live free from the ongoing cycle of violence that surrounds us. Not that we might avoid having violence done to us, but that we might find the strength not to be violent in turn.  

And this is the ultimate paradox at the centre of Christianity: that the greatest show of strength the world has ever seen is found in Christ’s being nailed to a tree.  

Violence begets violence begets violence begets violence. That’s the message of The Last of Us Part II; albeit one conveyed in a rather ham-fisted way. While I’m not optimistic, I hope the next series of the TV show manages to fix the game’s wobbly narrative structure to convey this in a way that is nuanced and compelling. Because it’s a message we desperately need to hear. 

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