John Chapman: “dryness is best”

John H Tuesday 30th June, AD 2009

More helpful thoughts from Abbot John Chapman’s Spiritual Letters (see previous posts 1 | 2).

Here is he writing “to a lady living in the world”, who was evidently concerned that her duties in everyday life were distracting her and preventing her from enjoying a “spiritual life” (italics are in original, bold is added):

If we are really uniting ourselves with God’s Will, then we accept passively the duty of being active; whether active in external matters, or active about our own soul. We find God wishes us to be Martha, when we want to be Mary; and this happens every day in external matters. We throw ourselves into them because we do not choose them, but they are there to be carried out. (p.103)

“I am so very busy I can’t be very ’spiritual’”, Abbot Chapman tells the same woman in an earlier letter (p.102). He puts this more bluntly in another letter to her:

I quite understand that you “used to have a supernatural life”, “a spiritual life”. I hope that is gone for good! We have to become like little children. We have just the feelings God gives us; and we thank Him for them, whether they are joys or temptations. (p.99)

He adds:

You are on the look out for “consolation”, merely because you still imagine that you are not serving God properly when you are in dryness. Make up your mind once and for all that dryness is best, and you will find that you are frightened of having anything else! Embrace aridities and distractions and temptations, and you will find you love to be in darkness, and that there is a supersensible light that is simply extinguished by consolation! (p.99)

This reminds me a little of Luther’s concepts of tentatio and Anfechtung: the spiritual trials that make us despair of finding any comfort from within ourselves (what Abbot Chapman would call “consolation”), and instead encourage us to look entirely outwards from ourselves to Christ and God’s promises.

“The most ‘old Labour’ of politicians”

John H Monday 29th June, AD 2009

One of the most remarkable developments in British politics over the past year has been the transformation of Peter Mandelson from a has-been politician in a comfortable Brussels exile, to the most powerful man in the country: saviour of Gordon Brown’s prime-ministership, deputy prime minister in all but name, and festooned with possibly the most magnificent array of titles of any politician since the Reformation. Take a deep breath for:

The Right Honourable the Baron Mandelson of Foy in the county of Herefordshire and Hartlepool in the county of Durham, First Secretary of State, Lord President of the Privy Council and Secretary of State for Business, Innovation and Skills.

As William Hague observed recently, “It would be no surprise to wake up in the morning and find that he had become an archbishop.”

The not-yet-archbishop Mandelson is the subject of a fascinating profile in this month’s issue of Prospect. The writer, Edward Docx, summarises Mandelson’s complex personality by describing the challenge that would face a playwright or novelist asked to depict:

…a man who was both fiercely clever and unfathomably daft, both formidably direct and slyly oblique. A man who was loyal, disloyal, arrogant, insecure, brilliant, gregarious, shy, thick-skinned, thin-skinned, waspish, expansive, wry, camp, cutting and collusive; a supremely perceptive man, the best giver of advice of his generation; a man blind to the effect of his own behaviour, a terrible taker of advice; a vain, narcissistic man, self-sickened on occasion with amour propre; a generous, warm, selfless man; a man prepared to sacrifice himself again and again for the cause of his leader and his party; a man with tenacity, courage, stamina and endurance; a sneak; a man beloved by his friends, a serial godfather; an irredeemably adolescent man with a predilection for cheap theatrics; a small-time gossip; the best strategist of a generation and likewise the best briefer; an attention seeker; a sulker and a door-slammer; a grudge-peddler; a self-dramatist; a putter up of backs; a man popular where you think he wouldn’t be and unpopular where you think he might be loved; a first-rate minister—detailed, efficient, skilful; a decision-maker; a fool, a fine talent and an oracle.

Mandelson is sometimes perceived as a Labour outsider - and his nickname, “the Prince of Darkness”, bears testimony to the suspicion and dislike which many have towards him. However, Mandelson was born “into what might be called Labour party aristocracy”. He is the grandson of Clement Attlee’s deputy prime minister, Herbert Morrison, and was born in 1950s Hampstead, at a time when:

Hampstead was choking with the Labour party and its leaders—Gaitskell, Foot and dozens of their acolytes. Most importantly, the Wilsons lived down the road: a young Peter watched them leave for Downing Street, borrowed their son’s Cub uniform and was invited to visit the prime minister in June 1965—just as his mother Mary had been invited by Ramsay MacDonald a generation previously.

Docx argues that, with this heritage, Mandelson “sees himself as the guardian-in-chief of the Labour party”. Unlike the other members of New Labour’s founding triumvirate - Tony Blair (son of a Tory) and Gordon Brown - Mandelson grew up in the heyday of Labour’s metropolitan power, and this has informed his belief that Labour needs to be a centrist party, free from the ideological obsessions that were tearing it apart when he began his political career in 1979:

He grew up in a place and time when the Labour party were winners—when Labour leaders expected Downing Street. He was there in a way that no other current senior party figure was. And this to him is the real old Labour—a time of glamour and power and prestige and entitlement and seeing the Wilsons off to Downing Street. To him the left-wing and union hijack of the 1970s and early 1980s was “new” Labour—dowdy buttie-eating interlopers crazed by cod-socialism and Trotsky-chic.

Hence, as Docx concludes, “New Labour” wasn’t all that new, in Mandelson’s eyes:

I believe he helped to create “new” Labour as a way of restoring the “old” Labour as he remembered it from his childhood—the Labour of his father and grandfather’s generation, the Labour of winners, of leaders. In this sense, Peter Mandelson is the most old Labour politician in the party.

John Chapman on “despising” our doubts

John H Saturday 27th June, AD 2009

I mentioned John Chapman’s Spiritual Letters in a previous post, since when I’ve taken delivery of my copy of the book. Some good stuff in there, though equally I haven’t fully got my head round Abbot Chapman’s concept of contemplative prayer.

One particularly helpful strand relates to Abbot Chapman’s advice to those doubting the Faith. Not in the sense of having intellectual doubts about particular doctrines, so much as the more general sense that - as I’ve written about before - “It’s all nonsense, Ted.”

Chapman’s response to this is robust:

I should advise you simply to despise temptations against the Faith, and not take them seriously. Those “flashes” mean nothing at all, as you have rightly perceived. (pp.40f.)

He expands on this in a later letter (no doubt the letter to which Rowan Williams was alluding in his lecture), where he writes:

In the 17th-18th centuries most pious souls seem to have gone through a period in which they felt sure that God had reprobated them. … This doesn’t seem to happen nowadays.

But the corresponding trial of our contemporaries seems to be the feeling of not having any faith; not temptations against any particular article (usually), but a mere feeling that religion is not true. It is an admirable purgative, just as the 18th cent. one was; it takes all pleasure out of spiritual exercises, and strips the soul naked. It is very unpleasant. …

The only remedy is to despise the whole thing, and pay no attention to it - except (of course) to assure our Lord that one is ready to suffer from it as long as He wishes, which seems an absurd paradox to say to a Person one doesn’t believe in! But then, that is the trial. Faith is really particularly strong all the time. (p.47)

(Note: the emphasis on “despise” is in the original, in both the above quotations.)

Now, clearly, that advice is not for everyone. Where someone has genuine questions about a particular teaching, that needs to be addressed seriously. But where it is just that general sense that “It’s all nonsense, Ted!”, then Chapman’s advice simply “to despise the whole thing and pay no attention to it” seems sound.

Stilling the storm

John H Sunday 21st June, AD 2009

The storm on the Sea of Galilee

Our middle son, M5, drew this picture in Sunday school this morning. (I don’t have access to a scanner today, hence this is just a photograph. Click for a larger version.)

It depicts the scene in Mark 4:35-41, where Jesus is asleep in the boat as a storm rages and the disciples fear for their lives. (Note the disciples clinging to the mast!)

M5 was at pains to stress that, in his picture, Jesus is in fact just waking up. This, together with the somewhat tomb-like bed in which M5 has placed him, made me realise something I’d never previously noticed about this incident: it prefigures Jesus’ resurrection.

It is as Jesus wakes from sleep that he brings salvation - but also confusion, even terror - to his followers, just as his waking from the sleep of death was subsequently to do.

In Mark 4, Jesus’ first words to the disciples are “Why are you afraid?”, while the disciples “were filled with great awe” (”afraid and amazed”, in Luke’s parallel account). In Mark 16, the angel’s first words to the women are, “Do not be alarmed”, while the women “fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them”.

In each case, though, by faith they - and we - were subsequently able to see these baffling and alarming acts as the power of God breaking into our world in the person of Jesus, with his resurrection stilling the storms of sin, death and hell forever.

Redactio ad absurdum

John H Thursday 18th June, AD 2009

Yes MinisterThe row over the heavy redaction of the “official” disclosure of MPs’ expenses reminds me of the incident in Yes, Minister, where Sir Humphrey is threatened with the disclosure of errors from his early career that would destroy his prospects for further advancement in the civil service.

The problem is that Jim Hacker has promised to release the papers to the press. How to resolve this problem? Sir Humphrey produces the file of papers to be disclosed, explaining that “this is what we normally say in circumstances such as this.”

The file contains a sheet of paper reading as follows:

This file contains the complete set of available papers except for:

(a) a small number of secret documents;

(b) a few documents which are still part of active files;

(c) some correspondence lost in the floods of 1967;

(d) some records which went astray in the move to London;

(e) other records which went astray when the War Office was incorporated into the Ministry of Defence;

(f) the normal withdrawal of papers whose publication could give grounds for an action for libel or breach of confidence or cause embarrassment to friendly governments.

As Hacker observes in his diaries, when he looked in the file “there were no papers there at all! Completely empty.”

And if you’re still labouring under the delusion that Yes, Minister was a comedy, as opposed to a gritty documentary-drama, check out the list of matters which are stated to have been redacted from MPs’ expense records. If they’d been able to organise a flood in time, they would have done.

Rowan Williams on John Chapman on prayer

John H Wednesday 17th June, AD 2009

Rowan Williams’ Holy Week lectures this year were on the subject of prayer, and I can strongly recommend checking them out. Per Caritatem has links to the MP3s. The three lectures look at prayer in the early church, in the Reformation era, and in the 20th century, and are full of fascinating insights into prayer drawn from figures of each of those eras (including the likes of St John Cassian, St Teresa of Avila, Martin Luther and Thomas Merton).

In the third lecture (MP3), on “the quest for God in the modern age”, Dr Williams devotes some time (from 27′00″ onwards) to the early 20th century Benedictine abbot, Dom John Chapman. He recommends getting hold of a copy of Abbot Chapman’s Spiritual Letters (currently out of print, alas, though I’ve managed to order a reasonably-priced copy today), which he describes as “absolutely packed with radiant common-sense on the subject of prayer”.

For example, Dr Williams quotes what Abbot Chapman described as his “two axioms” on prayer:

  • “Pray as you can; don’t try to pray as you can’t.”
  • “The less you do it, the worse it gets.”

But the section that particularly struck me was when Dr Williams described Abbot Chapman’s comparison of 17th and 20th century responses to spiritual problems. Dr Williams summarises this as follows:

In the seventeenth century, everyone believed in God. So if you had a spiritual problem, you were quite likely to be worried that God didn’t like you. You knew that God was there, but he wasn’t obviously doing anything for you, so God must dislike you. So you worried about whether you were going to hell.

Now, says Chapman, in the 20th century, not many people believe in God in Europe. So the characteristic worry in the 20th century is not that God’s going to send you to hell, but that he’s not there at all.

Those may seem very different situations, but Chapman (as mediated by Williams) observes that “basically it’s the same sort of problem”:

It’s a problem about how you come to terms with the fact that God is not performing in the way you’d like him to. You’ve put your money in the slot, you’ve pressed the button, and nothing’s happening.

Hence the problem is “fundamentally the same” whether you’re in the 17th or the 21st century, and (Dr Williams continues):

…the answer is the same, which is simply getting used the fact that God does what God does, not what you want God to do. And the good thing about that is that part of what he does is love you.

“Political liberalism” vs culture war

John H Wednesday 27th May, AD 2009

I’m half-reading John Rawls’s Political Liberalism, - a lot of it is some way over my head - in which Prof Rawls sets out his answer to the question:

How is it possible for there to exist over time a just and stable society of free and equal citizens, who remain profoundly divided by reasonable religious, philosophical, and moral doctrines?

Prof Rawls argues - surely correctly - that “the diversity of reasonable comprehensive religious, philosophical, and moral doctrines found in modern democratic societies” is a “permanent feature”. The only way to maintain a single comprehensive religious, philosophical or moral doctrine would be “by the oppressive use of state power”.

Hence Rawls’s concept of political liberalism, as distinct from liberalism as a “comprehensive doctrine” in its own right. Consensus cannot be reached on any comprehensive worldview; however, it is possible within “the domain of the political” to find an “overlapping consensus” between “reasonable comprehensive doctrines”.

This then leads Rawls to offer the following three conditions as “sufficient” for society to achieve the outcome described in the paragraph quoted above:

First, the basic structure of society is regulated by a political conception of justice;

In other words, society is not regulated by a particular religious or philosophical view of justice, but by one which operates at a political level.

second, this political conception is the focus of an overlapping consensus of reasonable comprehensive doctrines;

So the political view of justice is not a separate doctrine imposed on all other worldviews. Rather, those holding each “reasonable comprehensive doctrine” can agree on that political view of justice, even if they do so for different reasons rooted in their overall worldview.

and third, public discussion, when constitutional essentials and questions of basic justice are at stake, is conducted in terms of the political conception of justice.

In other words, our participation in the process of deciding these fundamental issues may be motivated by our broader worldview, but need to be expressed in terms of the overlapping consensus of the “political conception of justice”. Where we fail to do so, at best we will find ourselves unable to persuade those who hold different “comprehensive doctrines”; at worst, we will undermine social cohesion by eroding the “overlapping consensus” and promoting a clash between “comprehensive doctrines”.

These principles, especially the third, perhaps explain some of the problems with political engagement by Christians. We still have a lingering nostalgia for the days when society was indeed ordered by one single comprehensive doctrine: ours. This results in our political activities being pulled between two different objectives: first, achieving particular ends within the context of a pluralist society; second, re-establishing “the Christian worldview” as the basis on which society is ordered.

As a consequence, we are often very bad at arguing our case in terms which can persuade those who do not share our worldview, but who nonetheless share the same consensus on the basic ground-rules for political discourse.

This is what motivated my post at the end of last year asking for “secular” arguments against euthanasia. We can argue till we are blue in the face about the “sanctity of life” and the applicability of the commandment against murder, but all people outside our worldview will hear is an attempt to impose our “comprehensive  doctrine” on the most vulnerable people in our society.

Hence, while our worldview may be the motivation behind the political position we take, we need to find other ways in which to express that position in the political debate. (To my mind, one of the most powerful arguments is the social psychology concept of “social norming” - the way in which people’s supposedly “free” choices are shaped by what society regards as “normal”. In other words, legalising euthanasia will “normalise” it and lead people to choose it who would otherwise not have considered it.)

The same applies to any other area in which Christians find themselves advocating a particular political position. Otherwise, we may congratulate ourselves on our “faithful witness to the truth”, while hardening society against our views in a way that is unnecessary and counterproductive.

Of the making of laws there is no end

John H Monday 4th May, AD 2009

In previous posts, I’ve argued that “technique” can help explain New Labour’s economic policy and authoritarian tendencies. Another feature of government since 1997 has been the proliferation of new laws, with an estimated 2,685 laws having been introduced each year since Labour came to office, including a total of more than 3,000 new criminal offences.

Again, Jacques Ellul (writing in 1954) attributes “the enormous proliferation of laws” as being a consequence of the “technicisation of the law”. In the past, if a law was promulgated more than once, that was normally the result of its having gone unobserved the first time:

Legal multiplicity today is something else again. Whatever a technician believes is true must be made into law. But his inferences only concern details. His analytic spirit leads him to perceive, understand, and affirm strictly localised truths; and thus strictly delimited, they then become the objects of law. There must be a law for each fact; whence the indefinite proliferation of the legal apparatus. (The Technological Society, p.297).

Ellul contrasts a technical approach to the law with a legal system “which merely establishes principles and lays down general lines of procedure”, entrusting to the judges “the creation of the living law”:

Such a state of affairs is intolerable to the technician, who dreads above all else the arbitrary, the personal, and the fortuitous.

Hence the judiciary must be hemmed in by ever more prescriptive laws that give judges less room for discretion (for example, mandatory criminal sentences), “in such a way that the citizen will understand exactly where he is heading and just what consequences are to be expected”.

As Ellul continues (in a phrase which perfectly encapsulates much modern legislation, not least that originating in the EU):

The smallest detail must therefore be invested with the majesty of the law. (p.298)

As with my previous posts, I’m not saying this in order to absolve New Labour, and certainly not in order to argue for its continuation in office. However, the imperatives of technique mean we should not expect any major change of direction, whichever party (or coalition of parties) comes to office next June.

Technique vs liberty

John H Sunday 3rd May, AD 2009

Following on from my previous post, another area where we see the triumph of technique within our political system is through measures such as increased surveillance and monitoring, and supremely in the plans for an identity card linked to a national database.

This would not have surprised Ellul, who observed that any technique used by the police and other authorities, far from being applied only to criminals, ends up being “applied everywhere it can be applied”. He continues (p.100 of The Technological Society):

This is no perverse decision on the part of some party or government. To be sure of apprehending criminals, it is necessary that everyone be supervised. It is necessary to know exactly what every citizen is up to, to know his relations, his amusements, etc. And the state is increasingly in a position to know these things.

While Ellul at one point describes this (somewhat hyperbolically) as “the transformation of the entire nation into a concentration camp”, the process need not be all that intrusive or unpleasant for the average citizen:

This does not imply a reign of terror or of arbitrary arrests. The best technique is one which makes itself felt the least and which represents the least burden. But every citizen must be thoroughly known to the police and must live under conditions of discreet surveillance. All this results from the perfection of technical methods.

For a description of how this “discreet surveillance” works in modern Britain, see this recent article on the Guardian’s website (though do bear in mind that your IP address and other information will be accessible to the website when you do so, and that your ISP may be required to retain a record of your visit to that page in case the police need to check on your communications).

Ellul’s statement that “this is no perverse decision on the part of some party or government” should not be taken as excusing the current government for the enthusiasm with which it has gone about the task of increasing state intrusion on our lives and eroding (even deriding) traditional liberties. However, it is a reminder that we should not assume that these developments are simply the result of some particular tendency within the Labour Party, and that a change of governing party will therefore produce a significant and permanent change in direction.

The technical imperatives (and technical possibilities) that have driven developments in recent years will still be there once the Conservatives are in office. While some particular, high-profile projects may be dropped, a reversal of the “technological determinism” of government - “since it was possible, it became necessary” - is highly unlikely.

Some of us can remember that, back in the early/mid-1990s, it was the Conservative government that was putting forward plans for a national identity card, and the Labour opposition that was opposing it as an encroachment on our liberties. Once Labour was in government, they soon revived the ID card project, only to find it opposed by a Conservative opposition that had rediscovered the importance of individual liberty.

The high profile and symbolic status of ID cards - not to mention their ruinous cost - means they are unlikely to survive the election of a Conservative government, at least in the short term. However, I predict that the national database itself will survive, along with other measures such as monitoring of electronic communications.

It will be noted that the ID card scheme is always promoted on technical grounds (though these grounds tend to change on a regular basis, leading to the description of ID cards as “a solution in search of a problem”), and it is always opposed on ideological grounds, in particular the (highly attractive and important) ideology of individual freedom.

This illustrates a general principle: a governing party is under an obligation to govern effectively, and as a consequence will be driven towards technical means of achieving this. However, a party in opposition has no capacity to do anything. All it has to offer are statements of what it believes and intends; that is, ideology.

This is one reason why a period in opposition can be so healthy for a party that has become imprisoned by the technical imperatives of government; as I hope Labour is soon to discover.

Politics and technique

John H Sunday 3rd May, AD 2009

I’ve recently picked up reading Jacques Ellul’s The Technological Society again, after a year or so’s hiatus (it’s a great book, but even the publisher has to concede in the blurb that Ellul writes with a “maddening thoroughness”).

I’m glad I did, because his chapter on “Technique and the State” is proving to be one of the best explanations I have ever read for the politics of the last 30 years - despite having been written in 1954. Anyone wanting to understand why New Labour has developed in such a centralising and authoritarian direction - and why the next Conservative government is unlikely to be radically different - would do well to read this section of Ellul’s book.

The overall thesis of The Technological Society is that “technique” - which we could loosely define as “technology considered as a social force” - has become the dominant force in our society; that technology, far from being a neutral tool or servant of humanity, has the effect of reshaping society and even humanity itself to fit the inherent dynamic of technology towards “absolute efficiency … in every field of human development”.

In the fourth chapter, Ellul looks at how technique has affected the state. He observes that the private sector is far more effective at inventing and implementing techniques, but once technical progress is made, the state inevitably comes to make use of it.

Almost all areas of technique are utilised by the state: industrial, commercial, insurance and banking, organisational, psychological, artistic, scientific, planning and biological. Nor is this a matter of political decision or calculation:

No deliberate choice on the part of the state, no theoretical decision, has brought about this growth of technique; its causes were independent of the personal or collective. The modern state could no more be a state without techniques than a businessman could be a businessman without the telephone or the automobile.

The growth of technique leads to a fundamental change in the nature of the state, and to a reduction in the power and importance of politicians:

The state is no longer the President of the Republic plus one or more Chambers of Deputies. Nor is it a dictator with certain all-powerful ministers. It is an organisation of increasing complexity which puts to work the sum of the techniques of the modern world. Theoretically our politicians are at the centre of the machinery, but actually they are being progressively eliminated by it.

As a result, “the structures of the modern state and its organs of government are subordinate to the techniques dependent on the state”. There is therefore a convergence between the activities of modern states, regardless of their political system.

The most striking example of this at the present time must be the growth of capitalist economical techniques in China. More generally, Ellul can be seen as prophesying today’s worldwide framework for global trade under the World Trade Organisation, when he writes that:

there is one and one only efficient method for establishing a system of international commerce, and it is necessary to comply with this method, no matter what the view of the state.

If a state decides to put ideology ahead of technique - “to dream of the realisation of a certain kind of justice rather than to make use of technical means” - then it is free to do so. But if it does then “it must expect almost inevitable retribution such as the French Army suffered in 1940″ (where French military doctrines had failed to take account of the technological transformation of warfare by the Germans).

A superficial reading of this chapter might suggest, however, that Ellul had wildly misread the situation. At the time he wrote, the most important manifestation of technique in the life of the state was planning, in particular economic and industrial planning. He seems to have expected that the end-result of technique would be wholly planned economies. Does this meant that the rebirth of economic liberalism in the late 1970s and 1980s disproves his thesis?

It would be interesting to see how Ellul deals with this in his later books on technique, but my view is the development of neoliberalism confirms Ellul’s thesis rather than disproving it. Neoliberalism was not a reaction against technique per se; it was a response to the failure of the particular techniques which were being introduced at the time Ellul wrote. While those who promoted neoliberalism may have been motivated by ideology, neoliberalism’s success was established on technical grounds: the perception that it worked better than the previous, statist approaches.

When Margaret Thatcher came to power in 1979, she was able to argue that the previous economical and industrial techniques had failed. Over the next decade, her government made changes that were justified on technical grounds: for example, that privatised industries worked more efficiently than nationalised industries, or that lower taxes were more effective for promoting economic growth than high taxes.

Labour initially tried to resist Thatcherism on principled grounds, but repeatedly failed to persuade the British electorate to prefer “fairness” over efficiency. The party only regained power with New Labour’s acceptance that the economic techniques established since 1979 must be taken as a given. Indeed, New Labour’s first significant action on taking office was to transfer a key aspect of fiscal control - the setting of interest rates - from political control to technical control.

New Labour’s attempt to combine economic liberalism with a social democratic emphasis on public spending was itself perceived as a technical success. The Conservatives followed the familiar pattern of opposing New Labour on ideological grounds, before embracing that technical consensus in the first phase of David Cameron’s leadership (the “heir to Blair” phase).

This explains the current situation in British politics. The credit crunch has resulted in economic liberalism being seen - rightly or wrongly - as having failed as a matter of technique. It claimed to be the most effective and efficient way to run an economy; that claim is now widely doubted, even derided. However, no alternative technique has yet presented itself.

Hence we see unedifying incidents such as the 50p tax rate in the recent budget. No-one really believes this tax rise will solve the crisis in our public finances: those who support it do so on ideological grounds - the belief that justice requires that the rich pay more than the previous 40% rate - while those who oppose it appeal on technical grounds (such as the “Laffer curve”) to claims that higher tax rates actually result in lower levels of revenue.

The Conservatives, however, find themselves paralysed in the face of this measure. They could argue that the current recession is not a failure of economic liberalism, but of social democratic interferences with economic liberalism, and that consequently what is needed is improved implementation of neoliberal techniques. This would involve promising to revoke the 50p tax rate and arguing the technical case for keeping the 40p top rate.

However, as Fraser Nelson argues in the Spectator, this would expose the Conservatives to ideological attacks by Labour; attacks which the Conservatives are still keen to avoid. The result is a messy compromise: of attacking the increase while refusing to revoke it. This is a microcosm of the broader problem facing British politics at this moment: the problem faced when a political system built around technique finds that it has run out of techniques to implement.

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