Winter Sunday mornings are a good time for mild depression. Awake to grey skies as the bedroom radio clicks into action. Well, that’s one way of looking at the words dribbling out of the airwaves. Bouncing off the bedroom walls and hitting my half awake ears.
It’s billed as a weekly reflections on topical issues from a range of contributors. That’s elementary well-crafted BBC wibble[1]. Range of contributors means radio chums who sit well with the semi-religious Sunday schedule.
If we go back a couple hundred years, a middle-class family would be huddled around a hulking great bible looking for insights and explanations of the world around. Technology, namely radio, gives us the opportunity to squeeze all that into a short morning sermon. Now, the internet means a keen listener can revisit an ephemeral broadcast, any time, and any place.
Sunday morning should, in my mind, mean an articulate 10-minute essay on anything. Yes, anything. Often, it’s a rush to be profound and tickle unwilling asleep brain cells. This can start with controversial words that are then diluted for the breakfast table. Rather than writing a best-selling self-help book that only sells at international airports, Radio 4 drags in a version of deep thought to churn over a subject that’s vaguely topical but not quite. Vaguely philosophical but not quite.
Strangely, I like listening to the laconic warbling of someone like Wil Self[2]. It’s true that I can only do that if the dosage is reasonably thin. An excessive exposure to early and intense thoughts about the human condition can get overwhelming. Especially when sentences are the length of a double decker bus.
Sunday’s awakening is a moment in the week when I can be assailed by adolescent optimism or gravelly pessimism. Bravura passages can run the gamut of the whole of history. Equally, they can dissect a microscopic moment of personal revelation.
I’m going to get Confucian. If I recollect correctly, he has something to say about NOT being obliged to accept gifts that are not given with the best of intentions. It’s a kind of allegory. It’s a good one for the social media age.
Let’s say Suella Braverman does a slot on the BBC’s Point of View. I might be included to turn the radio off. But that’s not a good reaction for me, a person who believes in freedom of speech within civilised and reasonable limits. There’s the rub.
The essence is that it’s one thing to be offered a gift of someone’s great “wisdom” but there’s no obligation on my part to accept it. I think, in this country there’s too much a tradition of not rocking the boat. That’s to accept a gift as a matter of politeness. Even if the gift is quite appalling or bound to be harmful. Some cultures and countries don’t have that problem. I’m a great fan of Dutch bluntness. It’s a classical Britishness that has unwanted repercussions whereby we tolerate that which should be given short shrift.
How did I get to this point? Don’t tell me pessimism is good for us on a damp gloomy Sunday morning. Human events are not mostly random. Agreed randomness is a big part of life but please drop the “mostly”. Understanding probability is a useful skill. Randomness isn’t so random. But don’t let such an understanding led you to think that choice is immaterial.
I will choose. Radio, on or off. Get up now, or slumber.
[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m001t34q
[2] https://www.theneweuropean.co.uk/out-of-their-minds/
John Vincent 