A Star’s Wish
Reframing a Hardly Acknowledged Need
Introduction: A Journey of a Different Kind Before We Begin
It may not be a surprise to readers of this blog that I majored in political science in college, specifically so that I could indulge in political theory, which had become my first intellectual love. A seminar course in the field turned what was meant to be a passing phase on my journey to law school into a genuine passion: the sort of passion that threatens to overtake my personality if not kept in check. Whether or not it is a surprise may depend on how many pieces are on this blog at the time you are reading this one. If there are enough entries, then a certain pattern--this bend towards political theory--might present itself. And yet, despite this, there is still room for a surprise: room that extends from the intellectual interest that is, in equal measure, unanticipated and undiscussed.
In addition to political science, I also studied theology. This choice was not made in hopes of a church career or with some other evangelization-related ambition in mind. Rather, I was spurned forward by a quirk of my identity that I was struggling to make sense of. My ethnic identity was muddled; a variety of factors in my life complicated this aspect of my self-awareness. However, what I did know was that to be Filipino is to be Catholic, and with no option at my university to major in Filipino studies or any program focused on that part of Asia, a theology major was really the closest substitute for this proposed quest of self-discovery I wanted to go down.
Naive, I know. I quickly found out that this was not the case, and there was a disconnect between classroom theology and the perspective of a Filipino Catholic. After all, the Filipino spirituality is far more practical and based on an experience and history that Western thinkers may not be able to fully comprehend. Theological studies are more theoretical, for lack of a better word. At times, they deal in absolutes, but even when this is not the case, their perspective is--perhaps--far too idealistic to feel relevant to those of us in the proverbial trenches.
But I stayed the course and made the most of it by focusing on topics I was interested in. I largely stayed at the crossroads between theology and philosophy, which--admittedly--lined up well with my interest in political theory. Regardless of the ‘why’ I landed at that particular spot, I tried to cater my course selection accordingly. The many required courses for the major focused on developing doctrinal literacy. And given how rare that is in the general population and how destructive a presumption of such can be, fair enough, but I wanted and believed I could have more than that. Simply put, whether one sees the source of divine revelations as God or humans who believed in God, there is something to behold in that text. There is a reason for each parable, line, and even word, and I wanted to understand what wisdom awaited beyond this recitable doctrine. In between the lines, I thought, were unique insights into the human experience because there is no other context defined by such existential issues, giving it a sort of unique contextual power. So instead of focusing on sourcing texts, translation issues (which is an incredibly fascinating study for the interested), or seeking out textual justification of my perceived self-importance, I was then asking things closer to “What did it mean to be a good human?” or “What do human beings want to believe about themselves?” or “What do the narratives we construct about ourselves really reveal about our history?”
For this, I had to form my own path. Did I achieve that? I cannot say. On one hand, I lack the spiritual bravado of my peers, the misplaced confidence of those who have already decided what it is God will say to them before asking, which was my hope. But on the other hand, I lack the understanding of world religions that could have come from better utilizing the few options the department had offered. And--worse yet--those scraps of insight into human nature I was so desperate to acquire have likely slipped through my fingers as I trounced carelessly through the field of random courses that fit my broad and untethered quest for an unspecified enlightenment.
One of my favorite courses was entitled ‘Love in Christian Theology,’ and it--surprisingly--was not a thinly-veiled but seemingly never-ending abstinence lecture. (Admittedly, I had attended a presentation on such false pretenses, so it was a well-founded fear. Fool me once, as they say.) Instead, we focused on the different ways philosophers and theologians have tried to describe the complicated and intoxicating prize that is ‘love,’ which stands as one of the theological virtues of Catholicism and a recurring topic in theology.
The course was fascinating, and I’m sad to say that very little of it has stayed with me. However, one of the ideas that has lingered came from the philosopher Josef Pieper, specifically from his collection of treatises entitled Faith, Hope, Love (1997). The power of Pieper’s argument comes from a tactical choice. Rather than defining what love is, he instead directs his focus towards what it means to love someone. To that end, Pieper described love as an act: when we love someone it is as if we are constantly saying to them, “It is good that you exist and are in the world with me!”
This approach makes practical sense. Take, for example, a glass of water. If you were to put me on the spot and ask me to define what it is, I may end up grasping at straws, no pun intended. While I know what it is you are talking about and could bring you a glass of water when asked, defining it--while not impossible--poses some unexpected challenges. At some point, an object--tangible or otherwise--becomes so enmeshed into our lives that purpose describes it better than composition would. I doubt, however, that the subtle and thought-out brilliance of Pieper’s work could be credited as the reason this idea has endured in my mind. I honestly had no idea why this point has managed to linger this long, and this cluelessness has bothered me.
Ultimately, it was an independent fiction podcast that brought clarity, though in an unexpected way. This will be a recurring theme on this blog, but bear with me as it is somewhat inevitable and understable. For one, I listen to a lot of independent fiction podcasts, meaning there is an element of opportunity at play. An outcome cannot occur if the event itself never happens, regardless of what the odds may be. As an example, I can never get heads on a coin flip if I never flip the coin despite the probability being 50/50. Here, considering what my relationship with independent podcasts is, we have a plethora of opportunities for an outcome, probability aside. That being said, I would venture to say that this is a fairly likely occurrence by the figurative beast’s nature. Storytelling in general does much of what Pieper did when defining love: it reveals meaning rather than taking the time to define it (to paraphrase Hannah Arendt), and because independent podcasts lack the conventional hurdles to publication that work like filtering mechanisms, they have the chance to reveal the meaning behind more types of experiences with a greater degree of authenticity.
In this instance, Josef Pieper has met Seren, an indie podcast from Robin Howell. In both instances, we get a clear sense of what love means and why it is important to us--or why it feels important. However, Howell’s depiction goes beyond Pieper’s description to show what the act of being loved actually gives us. In doing so, Seren reveals a bit more about not only how we relate to one another but how we have defined, contextualized, and built a subtle but all encompassing message into the foundation of our daily lives.
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Meet Seren (the Podcast and the Character)
Seren is a science fiction podcast that follows the titular character on her journey through space. From the first episode, all we know is that Seren is being sent to terraform a distant planet by order of her planet’s governing body. ‘Distant,’ in this instance, means eight months of space travel, and though this might seem reasonable to some--but certainly not to Seren--this is a one-way trip, compounding the distance by some undefinable variable. To add to that, Seren will be undergoing this trip without any real communication tools or connection to anyone. For what little it’s worth, there is the onboard computer, PEARL, who is not a great companion and has seemingly been programmed with ulterior motives, but beyond PEARL, Seren is effectively dead to everyone who once knew her and unknown to those who have been sent on before her.
The podcast’s eight episodes reveal what all of this actually means. Seren did not willingly undertake this mission, and the distress we hear throughout the series isn’t a mere response to her computer assistant PEARL’s malfunctioning (though initially thinking so is understandable). We are told through the bickering between Seren and PEARL that much of Seren’s mission is highly classified and that Seren is not authorized to know the details. According to PEARL, Seren has to spend her journey reflecting on what led to this exile from her home planet of Lux.
Narratively speaking, this description covers what it is we are hearing in these episodes, but to further break the narrative down into its components, we hear the events that happen in the ship, Seren’s reflections per the order’s of Lux’s governing body known as The High Council, and tastes of the memories or events Seren is reflecting on. Regarding our experience of these memories, they are heavily tethered to Seren’s experiences and serve as a sort of contrast between the Seren we know and the Seren that was or could have been, had things gone differently.
The reason for Seren’s exile has less to do with her or any conscious choice on her part but more with the larger history of her homeland, including and especially the war that shaped Lux and--as a result--shaped the expectations for and role of a citizen in Lux. Episode Three, appropriately entitled ‘Truth,’ provides many of the pieces needed to reassemble this history. In it, Seren is unloading what could genuinely be called an emotional burden, and consequently, some details are lost. However, for this consideration, we only need the overarching story, which goes as follows: Lux was attacked by the inhabitants of some other world who wanted the planet for themselves. While Lux was able to hold its own and survive the onslaught, it was not without a great deal of death. A majority of people, according to Seren’s estimations, were killed. These deaths were initially meant to clear the planet for these invaders, and though the invading force was pushed back, there were still complications stemming from having so many dead. In the ashes of so much despair and needing to restore Lux to what it was, the High Council issued a commandment that takes precedence over all that came before: repopulate. It was then codified into law, and each citizen of Lux must now find a life partner of their choosing and then raise children together. Those who fail to do so are seen as failing in their civic duty. To mitigate this so-called ‘betrayal,’ these uncoupled citizens must then offer up themselves to the greater good by becoming a colonist, which means being sent to a distant planet to find an alternative home.
By those standards, Seren's inability to find a partner was essentially her casting a silent vote for Lux’s failure. Or that’s how it was interpreted. Now, she must become a colonist of whatever farflung planet she is travelling towards. Assuming that is possible, of course. There’s certainly room to doubt that. After all, Seren has no way of knowing if she is being sent to a viable planet, if the journey is something that she is meant to survive, or if other colonists have survived it. In theory, this could be a death sentence carefully presented as to be more acceptable to the masses. That is a small, yet very relevant detail in this reckoning.
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What Transit Line Are We On Today?
There are various ideas worth unpacking in this podcast’s premise. First and foremost, the idea that presence or population determines ownership of a land or planet is both an inevitability of intergalactic conflict and a lingering topic in political theory. It also is relevant to an ongoing border dispute between Egypt and Sudan. Second, you could also tie this podcast to the larger social contract tradition. That option is certainly tempting for me given my academic history, but I digress. Or maybe you don’t think that would be a digression. Maybe that is the part that you think is worth considering. After all, questions of authority and where it truly draws its legitimacy from always feel relevant but in this case, especially so. The heavy hand of a mysterious council able to send someone to an implied death on a distant planet isn’t a great form of government by most reasonable standards, and the unreasonableness of it calls out to the sort of objections already present in the larger cultural dialogue. As an added point for that strain of thought, this story is being told by a victim of the council’s arbitrary rules, and the perspective of those marginalized by society has been added to the social contract tradition only recently but with fervor. But as a third possibility, a conception of ‘the good life’ that revolves around family and children is not a new one but one that constantly asks to be revisited and more closely examined by each new generation in light of their values and experiences.
Ultimately, though, it’s the reason for Seren’s banishment that gave me a philosophically-rooted pause because it resonates with the Josef Pieper quote that has managed to claim a space in my mind against overwhelming odds. Or, rather, it goes beyond just a mere shared vibration and taps into what lies beneath the surface of that quote and to the hidden roots of what ‘love’ means to us, be it innate or taught.
When you read (or think of) the line in question, “It is good that you exist and are in the world with me,” you may see a celebratory tone beneath the words. The speaker of the line--or the lover--is saying of the beloved, “I rejoice that you are here with me because you bring me joy (otherwise unspecified) or comfort.” It’s a more generalized version of more familiar phrases such as “I’m so glad we got married” or “I’m so glad I asked you out.” In these statements, the outcome of an event--be it a meeting, bonding ceremony or the like--is revealed to be the ideal one through the all-knowing lens of hindsight. Sure, in the moment, it felt like a gamble, but it turned out to be the winning hand. As a result, we want to rejoice in this occurrence. We have something above our expectations or merits to be appreciative of, and we feel compelled to express that appreciation to others.
The act of expression serves a few different purposes, some more obvious than others. Most obviously, it is expected. Good things are to be acknowledged almost as a sort of praise or positive reinforcement. But beyond just standard etiquette, there is a practical reason for this, especially here. In the case of the lover and beloved, appreciation is seen as part of regular maintenance for the relationship. Expressions of appreciation provide the stimulus necessary to keep one’s partner engaged rather than burnt out or isolated. Two different metaphors can illustrate what I mean. For one, these expressions create a dividend or other return on someone’s investment. In this way, it would be a reward for doing well. On the other hand, they turn the speech a lover is effectively giving into an ongoing conversation or shared dance. It means that there is another presence there with you; there is clear companionship and all that entails. Either way, it creates a channel through which a lover’s needs can be met and provides the assurance that this channel will remain active and fruitful.
However, there is another way to look at it, and this alternative reveals itself when one undertakes a small shift in perspective, a shift that for me was facilitated by this podcast. The lover might mean to offer this message of appreciation or gratitude and mean it wholeheartedly, but that does not mean it is the only message the beloved would take from it. After all, the word ‘exist’ points to an interpretation rooted on a more fundamental level of the human psyche than what we first think.
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The End of the Line
Using the word ‘exist’ raises the stakes a bit. Suddenly, it is not just your actions or behaviors that are praiseworthy but who you are. And it isn’t even just a matter of being praiseworthy. For the beloved, the sentiment of love as Pieper describes it provides a reassurance--or initial assurance--that one’s very life or existence is valid and welcome. And I mean the beloved is ‘welcome’ potentially not only in the embrace of the lover but also more broadly, which is the conclusion that Seren led me to. I mentioned that my interest in theology was, in part, because of the existential foundation of theological questions, but the dire nature of Seren’s plight gives its themes an existential spin that I had previously thought exclusive to theology. Without this spin, I doubt I could have reached the following point.
When love is expressed, the beloved has their existence justified or the like, whether it was earned or not. And it can certainly feel, at times, as if a place in the world needs to be earned for a variety of reasons. For one, there are the many demands or requirements placed on us by everyday living. There are hoops we have to jump through to be seen as a “productive” or “contributing” member of society as one’s labor is payment for a place at the figurative table. Effectively, with this mindset, it is one’s labor that makes them part of the whole, and failure to provide that--regardless of the why--is condemnable. But even setting that aside, we can certainly imagine a version of ourselves that would be more useful, more productive, more skillful, or more likeable than what we currently are. There are implications to that, which can be hard to reconcile ourselves with. While self-improvement resources are numerous and cycled through regularly thanks to trends and pop psychology, there’s only so much that can be done on that front. Our inclinations and limitations will remain as they are. Never mind the overwhelming cultural pressure to fit an ever-changing body type that is--in all likelihood--incompatible with one’s anatomy. To a great extent, we can be the best version of ourselves we can be, but we are still just that: ourselves. If ‘we’ are not good enough for others to want or for society to want because of what ‘we’ are, there’s little to nothing ‘we’ can do about it.
Are we taught to be hyper-aware of this or is it some evolutionary carryover from days when one could only survive by being accepted by the travelling pack they were born into? I don’t think it’s an easy thing to parse out: not a nature versus nurture distinction but a blend of the two. Regardless of the source, we each retain a sense of uncertainty, of not knowing if the figurative place we find ourselves in--in our community, family, or the like--can truly be considered ours. Despite the facts of our existence or wherever we may be, a certain question remains: are we accepted genuinely and for ourselves or has there been a miscommunication or mistake of some kind? More often than not, there’s no way of knowing which it is. We might be inclined to think one way or another, but even that does not mean we are certain about it or at peace with the very real uncertainty we find ourselves stuck with. However, in the act of being loved or in the message the lover sends to the beloved, there is a rare potential for the beloved to receive confirmation. In that ‘I love you,’ the beloved is being told that they are welcome as they are, potentially receiving this message for the first time. And as a result, the beloved can finally rest. They do not need to go on to fight, to prove themselves, or to assert their claim over the space of the cosmos they find themselves residing in. Or, in other words, the beloved has finally received permission to settle down and call a certain space their home.
Another way of thinking about this would be as an invitation to enter this home. While it is true that the beloved already exists in that space, which might defeat the purpose of an invitation, the metaphor still holds. On one hand, it could be a retroactive invitation which does much of what I just described. Second, it could be an invitation to stay or--second and a half, perhaps--to enter into a figuratively deeper plane. In this dialogue, the lover gives permission for the beloved to stay or re-enter into a space created by that lover, and rather than being an ordinary space, it is a space that promises to meet many of the beloved’s emotional, mental, spiritual, or physical needs. This place is more commonly known as ‘home.’ Once again, it is a concept whose purpose or function speaks better to its nature than any strict definition. To that end, ‘home’ is the place where one can lower their defense, be themselves authentically and recharge. It offers a vital service, and--by extension--those who can provide a home are offering vital access to a vital service. It is a gift, you could say, from the lover to the beloved.
When rephrased in that way, the connection to Seren becomes a bit more obvious. Lux is a brutal place to live, and escaping that brutality requires an invitation or a very personal type of acceptance. Citizens of Lux are required to love someone and to have someone love them in order to stay on their planet. They quite literally need someone to say to them, in so many words, “Lux is your home,” and through that indirect expression, one’s life is not only affirmed but actually saved.
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Unexpected Bridges
At first glance, these two things--the experience of Seren and the one we might have-- can feel incomparable. Yes, having romantic love is beneficial to the beloved. As I said, it provides a sense of much-needed validation and support, but regardless, in our world, the uncoupled person still has a life. Seren can’t say the same thing. [Remember, she does not know what will happen once she is flung from her planet’s surface.] One is seemingly a mild discomfort, and the other is a potential death with extra steps. However, I would caution against jumping to that conclusion while still recognizing the appeal of it. This jump would only lead you away from the premise of my previous point and what truth lies within it. Namely, that this validation has serious and innate ramifications for us and our lives on a fundamental level.
Consider human nature at its core. Human beings have an innate need to belong or for some sense of belonging, individual details otherwise unspecified. As I said earlier, it is not just the need to belong but coupled with that is the need for assurance, specifically the assurance that those around you are content with the status quo that includes you. They are content or even happy having you around and in what can be thought of as your space. You cannot just coexist with others. Rather, you need the assurance that you are not constantly on the verge of being tossed aside because your weaknesses or limitations were revealed. Consequently, being in love or having love may not literally be a matter of life and death for us, but it certainly feels like such.
We are wired to need an anchoring point or some sense of home, but even beyond that, at times, the arbitrary way we design things in our world often assumes some level of connection or partner-type figure. It goes beyond the saturation of love stories or love-based types of conflict points in various media properties or how the minimum meal size for meal kit services like Hello Fresh and Blue Apron is for two people. That may be easy to dismiss as a nothing problem or a mild inconvenience, but these are the day to day examples. It goes beyond that. Small but critical aspects of our lives assume or tend to assume that adults have all coupled off, commitment level unspecified. For example, I’ve had to put off a number of medical procedures because I need to be released into someone’s care or have someone assist me with the aftermath. I could ask a family member, but I live far away from them, something many people have had to do in order to find gainful employment or some form of a career. I could ask a friend to help me, but depending on the procedure, that can be seen as an odd or inappropriate request. And a friend willing to do that would likely ‘love’ or ‘be happy that I exist’ in a different way, a way that is downplayed or ignored by our popular consciousness. And if either option is not possible--for whatever reason--there is no social system equipped or designated to deal with the temporary burden of my care that would normally fall to a partner.
As said, though, a friend is a potential stop gap, and yet, the role of friendship is underutilized. Which raises further questions, does it not? Is this undermining of friendship because of some cultural conspiracy or the result of some internal inclination? After all, we build a life with a romantic partner while friendships--for all the good they do--may be temporary states or loose affiliations dictated by circumstances. And as a woman, historically the way I am addressed and even my surname was a reflection of my coupled status. There were points in history in which my life in its entirety was handled exclusively by said partner, if I had one, and my ability to navigate the world would be hindered if I did not. Even as we move away from those archaic traditions, similar assumptions remain in place and free from any sort of scrutiny in other aspects of our lives. If I were to buy a house, as an example, I’d likely do it with a partner. Friendship is not strong enough to support a deed or mortgage, apparently. And child rearing is still a two-person job (or a one person job if you don’t mind a serving of social stigma and added difficulty), and while I might appoint a friend as godparent of my child, co-parenting with a friend I never had any romantic attachment too is seen as an unusual arrangement: an arrangement that is possible and within the law but not one most people would feel comfortable choosing. As for bank accounts, well, in the United States, it’s taboo to even discuss finances with a friend, but while we’re moving towards retaining financial independence in a long term romantic relationship, to many, the lingering expectation of shared accounts makes sense because it is assumed that two committed romantic partners are building a life together and need to fund it together. In fact, the alternative to a shared account model still involves devoting a certain amount of your regular wages to the maintenance of that shared life and all that it entails.
That might all seem well and good to you. After all, there’s a traditional aspect to all of this that is evolving to meet the times and could eventually be correctly entirely. Historically, you might be arguing as a rebuttal to my concerns, the marital bond was the crux of one’s life, and it wasn’t so much about romance but about cultivating beneficial family ties, protecting wealth or an inheritance, child-rearing, etc, etc. And while culturally our priorities have shifted away from these values, the skeletal framework remains; partnerships are meant to be the foundation upon which one builds their future, but now these partnerships are a product of choice, usually a romantic choice. The romantic aspect is an upgrade, perhaps. One’s partner is chosen for their alluring nature, for their lovability, for their appeal, and as a person worth celebrating. It is good that they exist, you could say, so much so that you want to share in their existence or tie your existence to theirs.
There is an unrecognized premise to that rebuttal. This is not the world we would have chosen for ourselves, but it is the one we have. Therein lies the acknowledgement that we are not born into a new world, free from the works or scars of other generations. Quite the opposite. We find ourselves straddled with an unshakable inheritance. And when it comes to romantic partnerships and their necessity in navigating shared spaces, we are bound to the language of the past: to this foundation and to the walls built upon it wherein spaces are always carved out in pairs. Whether we want to prioritize romantic partnerships or not and regardless of the difficulties present in that quest, there is still some sort of expectation or directive latent in our daily lives.
Seren brings this idea home, no pun intended. Seren was not born into the generation marred by the devastating invasion or the generation immediately after. And yet, she is still held to those standards, stuck living in the consequences of it all. Yes, her consequences are more fatal, but the details are more of a means to an end than any sort of counterpoint. To take a quote from Hannah Arendt a bit out of context, “Storytelling reveals meaning without committing the error of defining it.” With this choice, the show’s creator Robin Howell does not define what we risk if we are uncoupled. Rather, they reveal the experience of it: that it comes with real costs and distress. It may even be outright incompatible with the world around us. In addition, for those among us who are uncomfortable being single--for whatever reason they might have--their concerns are often brushed over or set aside with dismissive platitudes. But, speaking from experience, platitudes do nothing to resolve genuine emotion or emotion-based experiences. In fact, they do the opposite; they often worsen or intensify negative emotions. No matter how one might try to justify these platitudes, one cannot dismiss being literally sent into space by government order. It’s a design choice that forces the listener to acknowledge a reality through revelation and not definition.
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Conclusion
I should be closing this essay with some sort of grand takeaway: a lesson that, with the right lighting, can look like a call to an action that promises sweeping changes and improvements to our situation if taken. But ultimately, Seren shows--metaphorically--how impossible this is. As I mentioned, the entire construction of Seren’s world is founded on these notions, meaning that she can’t break free without outright breaking the system, which is not something she is in a position to do, but beyond that, in Episode 6, a more life or death connection to Seren’s home planet and its values is revealed. In short, were Seren to reject her role, it would quite literally be the death of her, and so that option--in so far as she had it and for the rest of us--simply does not exist. In the face of that, any call to action would be hollow.
There is awareness, however, a deprivation that resists conventional description, but from there, I can tell no one what path to take. Seren’s ending, at least, is hopeful, and the same could be said for us, as new chapters in one’s life often bring new opportunities, new worlds, and new expressions. Perhaps this hope is what we should be holding onto. If love is the assurance that your existence is valued and your presence is welcome, then hope could be seen as the assurance that the conversation has not ended yet.
Work Cited
Howell, R. (2021, July 20). Seren Podcast. https://serenpodcast.carrd.co/.
Pieper, J. (1997). Faith, hope, love. Ignatius Press. Purchase Link.