Stephen, thank you so much for the introduction and the thoughtful comments and question.

I want to start by saying I’m thrilled you’ve picked up on the connection to Station Eleven and this weekend’s holiday (it feels way too on-the-nose to call it an Easter egg, but…). It was challenging for me to keep my essay this week brief because there’s SO much that can be said about the Christian allegory in Mandel’s excellent novel: from the plague to the title’s reference to sacrifice (and life after death!), the text is brief but incredibly rich. I found myself thinking about it for months after reading it and before even knowing there was a TV show in production.

As for how we ourselves can be more Fool-ish, there’s so much to be said about bravery in art—Leigh Melander’s MythBlast kicking off our April theme two weeks ago really struck a chord with me. The invisible spine within my own essay is this concept that the courtly fool, the jester, is the only one in the room who can speak truth to power. The jester is seen by the court as simply the clown, but in reality they have to be absolutely surgical with their calculations in how to use truth to get laughs and not literally lose their head in the process. They have to be both carefree and calculated at the same time, all the time. They have to have the tension of a survivor. In this way, the fool in the castle, the actor on the stage, and the survivor on the post-apocalyptic road have to have the same mindset.

These people can’t have their guard down, and for some of us, things aren’t *quite* that dire right now, but for many others, they absolutely are. People around the world at all times are in the position to ask themselves every day: Is my art worth my safety? Is my expression worth my life? You have to make those decisions for yourself. And people who decide no, it’s not worth it, you know, we can’t possibly blame them. Those who decide yes, it is worth it, become legends. Or, of course, are remembered as fools. It depends on who’s telling the story.

(I’d also be remiss not to point to the book Art & Fear as the formative text for me while I was studying art history for my undergraduate degree. Anyone interested in this concept who hasn’t read it should pick it up ASAP.)

I’ve always admired the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Stoppard’s play, not only because it’s a very funny show but because he portrays them with such genuine curiosity and depth of wonder. That is something I try to remind myself to carry with me. It’s something I really love about talking to children. We should all strive to have the Fool’s sense of wonder.

You’re absolutely right. We can do only what’s in our power to be more open, more compassionate, but we still need to protect ourselves. Think of the scene where Ted beats Rupert at darts to keep him from the box for the season: Ted never raises his voice. He never makes ad hominem attacks. He even has the humility and intelligence to let Rupert think he’s winning. This is a great example of how Ted uses his power of observation — much like we were discussing in another comment comparing him to the Agatha Christie Detective, Hercule Poirot — to protect himself and others without being fueled by fear.

Roy is fueled by anger, certainly, but he’s curious. Anger alone isn’t toxic; in fact, I would say it’s vital to challenging systems of oppression. He isn’t driven by fear. You can feel whatever you’d like, but being measured in your response it what achieves results.

Thank you for your contributions to this conversation! I’m glad to be able to talk through this outside the bounds of what a 1k word essay allows.

I love your parallel to Inspector Clouseau, who was largely inspired by one of my very favorite fictional characters, Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot. Talk about reserving judgment! Things are not always what they seem, and you must keep an open mind to get to the truth.

You’ve really touched on something I’ve been thinking about lately with de-centering the story from Ted to any of the other characters, especially female characters. Maybe one day I’ll be able to write a piece about Rebecca and Keeley, a fascinating dynamic that packs a major punch in understanding the feminine — but also, vitally, the masculine as it presents in someone outside of the male characters. You’re quite right in calling Ted the Call. It was difficult for me to see how Ted himself changed over the course of the first season, rather he was a catalyst for change in others. I’m about to start season 2, and I expect to see some development there for him.

I think I get what you’re saying, @drewie.  Let me know if I’m off base.

You’re right about the world being unforgiving; most people don’t get a second shot at the Grail Castle. There is a cost to choosing kindness over competition, and we get the chance to make that choice over and over every day. I don’t expect that being tender means being naive; Ted said to “be like the goldfish” and forget past hurt, which feels naive. He also says to “be curious, not judgmental,” and “do the right-est thing,” which are both much closer sentiments to the one I hope readers take away from this essay. There are lots of reasons, situational and institutional, that allow Ted to come out ahead. If all of us bent a bit more and had that same compassion for ourselves and others, we may be surprised what would happen.

To be blunt, “nice guys” don’t finish last because they’re nice, but because it’s a quality that isn’t valued in our society as much as competitiveness, power, and rugged individualism. (Note: this is a totally different conversation if we talk about “nice guys” in the romantic sphere, so please take all of the above as regarding more concrete endeavors! I’m talking specifically of career here, based on what we see of Ted and Parcival’s aspirations.)

Thank you for your comment, and your question. Both these men are strangers in an uncertain situation far from home. While Parcival fights his nature to appear as a proper knight, Ted leans into his nature as something of a crutch. Whatever the reason, he makes the opposite blunder of Parcival: rather than holding it all back for appearances, he lets it all out, appearances be damned.

Whereas Parcival would have been able to heal the Grail King with his nature, try as he might, Ted will not be able to do the same with Rebecca. Maybe there was no “What ails thee?” equivalent in Ted’s case. Not to spoil the plot too much, but Rebecca does eventually bend. Ted himself doesn’t heal Rebecca, though his nature does show her there’s another way to live; she’s responsible for healing herself.

Thank you for the introduction, Stephen! I’m glad to be able to talk about this week’s MythBlast with the community. I have to admit, there was so much more I wanted to say, it was tough to keep the word count within bounds.

I was first introduced to Campbell’s work through my mom, herself a myth-minded storyteller and artist. We watched the Bill Moyers special the summer after my senior year of high school and I was riveted. My introduction to Campbell that summer, then to John Berger soon after through Ways of Seeing, was a one-two punch that bust open up my understanding of what art can do.

It feels notable to me that the men I have admired in my early life as a reader and artist have had a gentleness to them, a humility that lets wonder in. As a child of the 1980s and ’90s, for me this includes Fred Rogers, Jim Henson, and Bob Ross: paragons of what masculinity can be in our modern Western culture (being American, I can and will only speak to representation in Western culture, in this piece and beyond, so please keep that in mind). It’s also important to note here that these are all white men who have likely been afforded the relative space and comfort in their lives to be able to remain creative and thoughtful, so there is privilege there as well. This doesn’t preclude anyone from accessing this type of masculinity, but it sure does make it easier for some.

Masculinity manifests in so many different ways, so I want to make a small note about what I mean here: in this essay and for the purposes of this conversation, let’s have a shared understanding of masculinity as this quality in people who identify as men, who move through the world in what’s perceived as a male body.

What’s interesting to me is that we often talk about our “humanity,” whether it’s about finding it, losing it, or having faith in it restored. Unlike masculinity, “humanity” isn’t gendered… and yet I think we are talking about so many of the same qualities. Compassion, humility, kindness, justice, empathy, the desire to do the right thing and support others, to put them before yourself.

I feel compelled to add, too, that this gentleness isn’t just a “nice to have,” but a necessity. Masculinity lacking these qualities is what we call “toxic” for a reason. It’s truly a matter of life and death that the masculine among us conform to more human qualities.

What I love about Ted is his ability to not take things personally, including how people see him. He strives to understand how other people work. He forgives, and it’s genuine. Anyone who’s spent time in an American high school knows sincerity is the death of coolness, and really, what’s more powerful that a person who chooses kindness and understanding over fearful respect and aloofness? To me, that’s bravery.