Nepo-Babies and the Economy of Fairness

The Injustice of Getting What We Don’t Deserve

In the wake of the newly minted season three of White Lotus, as is the case so often in the entertainment industry, the cast underwent numerous interviews and PR events to further push the show. One such interview I saw wasn’t so much an interview but a personal Instagram reel of when Patrick Schwarzenegger, who starred as Saxon Ratliff in the show, found out that he got the part. In an endearing moment full of laughter and tears, sitting down with his mom and sister, he shared the good news, to which all were overcome with joy. 

What I didn’t expect, and quite honestly what ended up dulling the moment, was reading some of the comments under the post (which one should never do). Of course, some were happy for him, but most of the responses were backlashes. Cries of “nepotism” and labels of “nepo baby!” filled the screen, making the dismissive determination that the only reason he got the job was because of his last name, being the son of Arnold Schwarzenegger. One unknown actor sighed, threw his hands up in the air, and said that this was how Hollywood worked: “We work our tails off to get jobs, and yet people with less talent get work ahead of us simply due to their names.” 

Now, to be objective, was nepotism involved? I suppose no one could say for sure except the director. I think it’s naive to say that nepotism didn’t play any role whatsoever — having “Schwarzenegger” in your opening credits certainly doesn’t hurt. And yet, Patrick’s acting was superb. He not only had the physique for the role, but he also evoked the perfect amount of disdain appropriate for his character. I can’t imagine anyone else in the role. So, it’s complicated. 

But, for me, acting isn’t personal, as I don’t act. I can’t act. I have no interest in acting. But it doesn’t take long for me, when I’m honestly probing my heart, to remember when I’ve chimed in myself on the figurative Instagram posts of life — when someone in my field of work or with a shared hobby of some kind gets a “role” or accolade because of some level of nepotism or just being in the right place at the right time. At the core of nepo-angst is injustice. It’s a cry of unfairness that someone who worked less was favored over someone who worked more. 

The question of fairness posed by nepotism is certainly worth asking, but answering it raises more fundamental questions over whether life is best governed by such a calculation. You could argue the economy of fairness is the question of life. But demands for fairness tend to always be a one-way street: we demand the benefit we have earned, but rarely desire our accounts to be reconciled when we run a deficit. Few want the exactness of a perfect justice applied at all times and in all areas of life. 

For his part, Jesus had little time for rigorous fairness. If anything, he seemed to delight in turning the whole idea on its ear. He tells a story and says that in God’s kingdom those who work one hour and those who work eight hours are both paid the same at the end of the day! “The first will be last and the last will be first” — a calculation that only makes sense on Opposite Day. Or when he chose a no-name fisherman over an elite Pharisee to be his #1 disciple. You can hear people typing in comments from a million miles away: “What did he do to get that role?” But putting the emphasis on doing, we come to learn, is the wrong question to ask. 

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul warns and instructs the church that this is the normal Christian life: being laughed at and mocked — even by other believers sometimes! — for their simple, grace-based, works-lite version of Christianity. We’re more like Isaac, he says, the child who was born out of nowhere miraculously, than we are Ishmael, the child who was born in response to something Abraham and Sarah did. We are from the genealogical line of “I’ve earned nothing.” And this often becomes too much for those who like to keep score. But it resounds anyway: the world doesn’t revolve around how much work we put in, moral or otherwise; it revolves around grace. 

In the economy of grace, we’re all undeserving nepo babies. We’re given the part in the movie only because our dad is the film’s producer, director, editor, and key grip. We who never showed up for auditions, rehearsals, or even filming, and yet find our names at the top of the opening credits. 

It’s all as baffling as it is deeply unfair. But it’s no cosmic accounting error; it’s precisely as God intended from before the foundation of the world. And when we come to understand that, we realize that our ledger books of righteousness can neither praise nor accuse. Instead of crumbling in agony underneath perceived unfairness, we find that we’re free to rejoice when others rejoice — even when they win and we lose. No pretense, no competition, no fake smiles, because deep down we know of a God whose accounting is measured by love. A God who has accepted us, and others, apart from our works and through his never-ending, sacrificial love.