Conversations with Nana

I looked in on The Ricky Gervais Show a while ago – the one where he and a friend have conversations with a man named Karl, all three of them in cartoon form. I didn’t understand the format at the time and after a few minutes I moved on. Without any prior information, it just seemed like overheard conversation without any meaningful point.

Then I saw a clip on You Tube where Gervais explained the concept and had a demonstration conversation with Karl. Gervais and his friend simply sit down together with Karl in a sound studio and converse. There are no memorized scripts, and no director designing the mood. A topic is introduced, such as what to do with our ever expanding garbage, Karl gives it some thought, and draws his logical conclusions, such as shoot it into outer space. The majority of the show is devoted to listening to Karl, or reading from his journals, and then Ricky and his cohort questioning his thinking with loud guffaws from Ricky and blatant ridicule from both.

The point is that Karl, to whom much of the conversation and philosophical question are directed, appears to be intellectually impaired in a uniquely fascinating way. He is capable of ordinary conversation, he understands the question, or recognizes that the topic is new to him and then readily asks for clarification, and he applies a consistent logical type of reasoning to his answers. But, in Karl’s case, logic does not indicate wisdom, intelligent thinking, or even correctness. Logic in Karl’s case means following his own established premise to its predictable conclusion, without being sidetracked by extraneous variables. Any “but, what if” questions are simplistically brushed away.

What keeps the show from degenerating into a Don Rickels style attack-a-thon is the demeanor of Karl. He is never hurt or offended. Occasionally he will furrow his brow in a puzzled way, as he tries to understand why his thinking is being questioned. He does not get defensive, does not raise his voice in an attempt to get his point across, but it must also be noted, he never laughs or even smiles, ever. He is aware he is being laughed at, but Ricky’s contention that Karl is his best friend – a stupid man, but in a delightful way – seems to allows Karl to simply ignore the ridicule and quietly wait for the laughs to subside. It does not really occur to Karl that his thinking is flawed, or even ridiculous. Rather he thinks, no doubt, that Ricky just has a personality quirk in his social skills. Karl’s non-reaction is part of his overall “flat affect”; his logical brain does not make emotional connections. He is a kind of non-intellectual Star Trek Spock.

Another point that saves the show:  Ricky’s counter points and attempts to educate his friend are intelligent and thought provoking, making this format a showcase for Gervais – thus, the show’s title. There is something refreshing in his raw non-malicious honesty (although Gervais’ uninhibited, loud braying can be overkill.)

But I am left questioning the ethical and moral implications of this show’s premise. How long before the watcher is lulled into feeling justified in bullying someone, because he deserves it for being so dumb? Is playing with Karl’s non-defensive brain possibly just another form of attacking those who are different? Is it ok because Karl is not wounded or offended, or planning to sue for defamation of character? If Karl is receiving equal shares of the show’s profits, does that mean he is not being exploited or taken advantage of? Who would be protected, in this case, if laws were enforced in protection of the innocent?

March 2012

This is part of my Sunday Sermons series, where I wrote rebuttals to the Baptist preacher’s sermons while I lived in Costa Rica.

You are sitting in a filigreed garden gazebo with tendrils of clematis and wisteria winding up the six posts surrounding your seat. From where you sit you can see straight ahead through one of the six open spaces. You see shrubs and young trees, backed by older stately and lacy willows. Flowers meander everywhere in spectrums of color, bordering lawns and paths. You gesture toward the framed scene and say, “That is Paradise,” a place you would like to enter to be surrounded by its beauty. But what you do not realize is that you are only seeing one-sixth of this beautiful garden. If you could stretch yourself around you would know that there are five other views of the garden, placing your vine-covered gazebo in the center of it all. Not only are you already “there,” your place resides at the very center, without which the garden would be out of balance.The gazebo is a comfortable and safe place to be. Sometimes you are content to sit on its bench and gaze out, thinking to yourself, “This is Paradise, just sitting and looking at such beauty. I need nothing more.” It is hard to remember sometimes that the gazebo is not organic, but was constructed by human hands.

In this metaphor, the gazebo is like religion, it points you toward Paradise but advises you to stay on your bench if you want to get there. The New Testament states that its hero brought good news: “You are already in God’s garden. In fact, you are the center of it. Rejoice.” In the book, Conversations with God, the Old Testament’s Ten Commandments become ‘God’s Ten Commitments.’ Rather than saying, “You have to do this in order to be with me,” these reinterpreted laws are saying, “You can be assured you are with me when you see these self-fulfilling signs.” We might even go further to say, all the signs do not have to be in place all the time. When they appear, perhaps only briefly at first, you are having a little visit, sitting at the center of Paradise for a special time.

There are many signs within each commitment. For example, you will not want to lie for any reason, and your truth telling will be kind and without judgment. You will not feel the need to save face by defensively denying the obvious. Or, you won’t want to gossip. Gossip is telling another person’s story, usually without permission because they are absent at the time. Gossip is stealing another person’s story, the oldest version of identity theft. Gossip is a betrayal of trust, spreading information out of the context in which it was originally placed. A brief moment at the center of Paradise may only entail a small warning voice stopping your words from going further. Eventually, the inner caution may be replaced by a real desire to go no further, and perhaps further along, the thought of adding your delicious version of the story will not even occur to you.

The point of it all is that you are already there, you’re it, you are the garden and the center, made in the image of God. Already, always. But we don’t get it at first because our vision is limited. The gazebo, in this case religion, gives us a point of reference, a focus, a plan. But it is meant to be only temporary; its point of view is a starting point, at first a place to get your bearings, values and goals, and eventually something to experiment with and test against until you experience the freedom of self-determination. Religion teaches us right from wrong so that we can successfully operate in its world. Eventually we have to trade in that teaching for the neutrality of neither right nor wrong, in order to find our own unique path leading to the central view of the garden.

2012