The zeitgeist is all about the anti-heroes. Television has been swamped by narratives about edgy, immoral protagonists who draw our sympathies, and despite our best efforts find ourselves rooting for them. Walter White and his Heisenberg get-up remain pop-culture icons, despite Breaking Bad ending in 2013. The mischievous Tyrian Lannister was a fan favorite on Game of Thrones; and who could forget about Mad Men’s Don Draper with his bougie lifestyle, multiple affairs, and mysterious personal history. The anti-hero trend does not appear to be waning with the success of Netflix’s The Witcher.  If you have followed my blog, then it should be no secret that my favorite tragic protagonist on television is BoJack Horseman. As of January 31, the final episodes of Bojack Horseman are streaming on Netflix.

If you have not watched BoJack Horseman, you should probably do that. I’ll wait. SPOILERS AHEAD.

In the sixth and final season we see BoJack in rehab and in recovery following his years of substance abuse. He decides that his life in Hollywoo was toxic, reconciles with some individuals from his past, lets his hair go gray, then takes a teaching job at Weslyan University in Connecticut. It’s a quaint ending for a 90s sitcom star whose life has continually unraveled as he engaged with his toxic family history bit by bit. 

Only that isn’t how BoJack’s story ends. It is only the final season’s mid season finale. The second half brings BoJack’s more recent history, and crimes, to the forefront. Two Hollywoo investigative reporters track down BoJack as they followed leads concerning the death of Sarah Lynn. The former child star-turned-pop sex symbol dies from an overdose while going on a bender with BoJack in the third season. For the most part, Sarah Lynn’s death acts as the haunting presence in BoJack’s mind that continually draws him to change. His former co-star now acts as the voice of his subconscious whenever he abuses substances or relationships. She takes on a Jiminy Cricket-esque quality but with more sarcasm and derision. But reality soon catches up with BoJack as his past is brought into public light. News headlines expose his involvement with Sarah Lynn on the night of her overdose. BoJack leaves his new life as a theater professor, a role he loves, to go back to Hollywoo to face interviews and controversy. 

BoJack attempts to make amends in earnest, going so far as to sell his home for the money to  settle with Sarah Lynn’s family. His skills of reconciliation, learned in recovery, are on full dispaly, all while being housed by paparazzi. Even after tv executive Angela tells BoJack that Horsin’ Around has been recut without BoJack for streaming and re-release, his only response is a hopeful “Is it good?” However, once she reveals to BoJack that he could have prevented the firing of his former business partner and estranged friend, 

His last bender nearly kills him— he almost drowns in the pool we’ve seen in every title sequence since s1e1. He is saved by the family who bought his house. The final episode opens with BoJack being arrested for breaking-and-entering. BoJack admits to Mr. Peanutbutter that the sentence was “probably for everything else,” acknowledging the litany of illicit activity and moral transgressions he has committed throughout his history. BoJack goes to prison where he teaches theater to his fellow inmates. The majority of the last episode takes place at Princess Carolyn’s wedding. BoJack’s ex-girlfriend/agent/manager is getting married and is in a stable relationship. He encounters Todd, who spent many seasons sleeping on his couch, now in nurturing relationship and running his own day care. And the episode final moments are between him and Diane, who is also now married. All three individuals each tell BoJack that, while they hold no ill will against him, they are removing themselves from his life. Or more appropriately, they are removing him from their lives. Even as BoJack and Princess Carolyn dance at her wedding, sharing bits of nostalgia, Princess Carolyn informs BoJack that once he is released she will connect him with agents and managers who would want the opportunity to represent him, but she will no longer fulfill those roles.

Too often, the anti-hero narrative ends either in complete reconciliation, or final judgment typically played out in death. In Mad Men, Don Draper finds inner peace and creates one of the most iconic soda commercials in history. Both of his marriages may have failed, but he is portrayed as the victim in each case, regardless of infidelity or emotional abuse. Walter White, on the other hand, dies in an industrial lab of drugs based on his formula. In one case, the protagonist continues in life a new person, without any allusion to consequences for past transgressions. In the other, his violent delights bring about violent ends. The two reflect an all too common dichotomy: the anti-hero’s past becomes inconsequential and he lives happily ever after, or he dies.

BoJack Horseman does neither. BoJack does not die. But BoJack is not reconciled with former lovers and friends, or left to pursue his academic life at Wesleyan in peace. Instead, the grace Bojack receives is coupled and blended with the consequences of his actions. 

His friends have recognized their own agency, relinquishing responsibility for BoJack’s actions rather than rushing to assist him covering them up. They will no longer let BoJack have unjust claim over their lives. Old habits die hard, and even the content Professor Horseman turns to them to help him evade responsibility when the Sarah Lynn story catches up with him.

There is grace for BoJack. His prison sentence is not as long as he would likely deserve, and he gets to pursue his newfound passion of teaching through teaching theater to his fellow inmates. He is able to continue his recovery, and speaks to how well it is going. He even gets furlough to attend Princess Caroline’s wedding. Most of all, BoJack is alive despite his brush with death in his old pool. He is alive and his friends have promised that they bear him no ill will, even if they have decided that they are healthier without BoJack. 

In their last conversation, BoJack repeats to Diane the adage “Life’s a bitch, and then you die.” It is an adage that certainly seems fitting of Walter White, lying dead in a meth lab. But Diane responds “Life’s a bitch… then you keep on living.” Whether it be Don Draper or Walter White, we never see the rest of their lives. White is dead, and we are left to ponder Draper’s success following his creation of a Coca-cola commercial. But we get to see BoJack’s life continue, because for many life continues and their histories remain. It is a fitting element for the series finale, echoing the words of BoJack’s grandfather “Time’s arrow neither stands still or reverses. It merely marches forward.” The continuation of life bears intrinsic hope. BoJack can still grow, and work towards wellness. And he can do so even his past on display in the public light.

The brilliance of BoJack Horseman is that the writers have refused to ignore the broader implications of their off-color humor. Jokes about sexually manipulative relationships or drug use show themselves in later episodes to be allusions to real trauma and dysfunction. BoJack cannot escape the toxicity he has perpetuated in his adult relationships. While the viewer has had a front row seat to the family history that feeds BoJack’s addictive and abusive behavior, and sympathizes for him, the writers refuse to let BoJack off the hook for his transgressions.

BoJack must face the consequences. But BoJack’s life still goes on. He fears that his life is over, but his life continues even in prison. BoJack Horseman keeps on living. Time’s arrow marches forward.

This is where I find wisdom and power in BoJack Horseman. As a Christian, I affirm that God has imparted grace to humanity, reconciling us to God’s self through the person of Jesus Christ. “As far as the east is from the west,” writes the Psalmist, “so far has he removed our transgression from us.” 

Yet our very own experience reminds us that while we may reconciled to God, we are not always reconciled to other human beings. Some relationships we damage through our transgressions do not heal, or are restored to what they once were. Our experience of grace on this side of eternity does not mean that our actions do not ripple throughout our relationships and harm others. We find ourselves in the inexplicable tension between grace and consequences.

It should be noted that it is an important plot point in the penultimate episode of the series that there is no afterlife. The life BoJack is living is all there is. And while I have a theological qualms with the perspective, it is an important reminder that our actions and relationships matter in the here and now. By the grace of God and those who love us, we might never reap the full devastation of what we sow. But the consequences and collateral might also be inevitable, if only to a lesser degree than their potentiality.

Grace for BoJack is that he gets to keep on living, to be better, and to love better.