I’m told we also have copies of some other editions (larger print, thumb indexed, bonded leather, genuine leather, genuine leather larger print) at various prices.

Email me (johnhalton AT gmail DOT com) or leave a comment if you want more info.

But let’s still take a moment to consider the real problem with the iPad. As Defective By Design notes, it is probably one of the most restricted and centrally-controlled computer platforms ever sold. Not only is all iTunes content (other than music) still controlled by Digital Restrictions Management (DRM), but:

All applications must be signed by Apple if they are to run, an unprecedented level of control for a general purpose computer.

As Defective By Design continue:

The iPad’s unprecedented use of DRM to control all capabilities of a general purpose computer is a dangerous step backward for computing and for media distribution.

The iPad was being widely touted as a “netbook-killer”. That will be a shame if so, as the netbook is a much more “pro-freedom” device, as Jeff Atwood argues in his post A Democracy of Netbooks. As Atwood points out, the netbook features:

No monthly fees and contracts.

No gatekeepers.

Nobody telling you what you can and can’t do with your hardware, or on their network.

In contrast, smartphones (the target of Atwood’s post) “will forever be locked behind an imposing series of gatekeepers and toll roads and walled gardens”:

I don’t care how “smart” your smartphone is, it will never escape those corporate shackles. Smartphones are simply not free enough to deliver the type of democratic transformation that netbooks – mobile PCs cheap enough and fast enough and good enough for everyone to afford – absolutely will.

I’ve been concerned for some time about the rise of the locked-down mobile device and its implications for software freedom. The iPad takes the “corporate shackles” of the smartphone and attaches them to the general purpose computer. This is worrying in itself, given how (as Defective By Design point out):

This past year, we have seen how human rights and democracy protestors can have the technology they use turned against them.

A task which only becomes easier where devices are under centralised control.

Even more worrying is if devices like the iPad begin to supplant the general purpose computer as we know it today. That would eventually make it easier – particularly in the face of concerns about “cyber-terrorism” or copyright “piracy” – for governments to argue that only devices under such tight control should be permitted for ordinary citizens.

So, what’s it to be? Do we want the shiny but tightly-controlled world of the iPad, or the messy (even occasionally “crappy”) freedom of the netbook and other general purpose computers? On second thoughts, don’t answer that question…

‘For John the Baptist has come eating no bread and drinking no wine, and you say, “He has a demon”; the Son of Man has come eating and drinking, and you say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax-collectors and sinners!” Nevertheless, wisdom is vindicated by all her children.’ (Luke 7:33-35)

Now, I think we can take it as read that this accusation was (to put it mildly) an exaggeration: a defamatory slur directed at Jesus’ hanging out with “the wrong crowd” rather than an impartial assessment of his behaviour.

But, reading Deuteronomy 21 this morning, it struck me that there is a darker undercurrent to this accusation thrown at Jesus by the self-righteous. Deuteronomy 21 includes the following passage (a somewhat troubling one for the parent of three sons!):

If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, ‘This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.‘ Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death. So you shall purge the evil from your midst; and all Israel will hear, and be afraid. (Deuteronomy 21:18-21)

In other words, those describing Jesus as “a glutton and a drunkard” were not making a random accusation: they were implying that he was a “rebellious son” who deserved to be stoned to death.

Indeed, the very next paragraph in Deuteronomy reads:

When someone is convicted of a crime punishable by death and is executed, and you hang him on a tree, his corpse must not remain all night upon the tree; you shall bury him that same day, for anyone hung on a tree is under God’s curse. You must not defile the land that the Lord your God is giving you for possession. (Deuteronomy 21:22-23)

- a passage that was applied to Jesus’ death on the cross by the early church (Acts 5:30, 10:39; 1 Peter 2:24). This in turn was a classic example of appropriating an insult: “You say Jesus was a rebellious son? Under God’s curse? That’s only because he took upon himself our (and your) rebelliousness, and bore our (and your) curse.”

The connection between the two is, he suggests, this:

As the experience of our post-political liberal-permissive society amply demonstrates, human rights are ultimately, at their core, simply Rights to violate the Ten Commandments.

Žižek gives examples of this (some more successful than others, perhaps):

“The right to privacy” – the right to adultery, in secret, where no one sees me or has the right to probe into my life. “The right to pursue happiness and to possess private property” – the right to steal (to exploit others). “Freedom of the press and of the expression of opinion” – the right to lie. “The right of free citizens to possess weapons” – the right to kill. And, ultimately, “freedom of religious belief” – the right to worship false gods.

(Of these, the most relevant to this week’s discussion is of course “the right to lie”.)

It’s not that human rights are opposed to the Commandments, just that they make it impossible for the state to impose obedience to the Commandments:

Of course, human Rights do not directly condone the violation of the Ten Commandments – the point is simply that they keep open a marginal “grey zone” which should remain out of reach of (religious or secular) power: in this shady zone, I can violate these commandments, and if power probes into it, catching me with my pants down and trying to prevent my violations, I can cry: “Assault on my basic human Rights!”.

This highlights the general problem of the relationship between the state and individual rights, a problem that underlies the issues under discussion in the Citizens United case:

The point is thus that it is structurally impossible, for Power, to draw a clear line of separation and prevent only the “misuse” of a Right, while not encroaching upon the proper use, that is, the use that does not violate the Commandments.

A paragraph that could almost have come from Jacques Ellul: the difference being that, while for Ellul this would be further confirmation of the need to eschew political power, I suspect Žižek would be more inclined to say we need to “sin boldly” by exercising power without being too squeamish over any “encroachments” upon the “proper use” of individual rights…

It’s safe to say that Žižek sees Christianity as at times useful for his purposes rather than true. Which is fine: I feel much the same way about Marxism .  Žižek does however have some fascinating (and really quite deep) insights into Christianity. For example, his comments on “Christ’s scandalous words” in Luke 14:26:

If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and his mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters – yes, even his own life – he cannot be my disciple.

Most of us find these words deeply uncomfortable, and prefer not to think about them too closely. However, Žižek argues for a surprising connection between these unpopular words and one of the most popular chapters in the entire Bible: St Paul’s (so-called) “hymn of love” in 1 Corinthians 13.

He observes of Jesus’ words:

Here, of course, we are not dealing with a simple brutal hatred demanded by a cruel and jealous God: family relations stand here metaphorically for the entire socio-symbolic network, for any particular ethnic “substance” that determines our place in the global Order of Things.

In other words, Jesus could just as easily have said “If anyone does not hate his country, his race, his religion, his economic system…”. Žižek continues:

The “hatred” enjoined by Christ is not, therefore, a kind of pseudo-dialectical opposite to love, but a direct expression of what Saint Paul, in 1 Corinthians 13, with unsurpassable power, describes as agape, the key intermediary term between faith and hope: it is love itself that enjoins us to “unplug” from the organic community into which we were born – or, as Paul puts it, for a Christian, there are neither men nor women, neither Jews nor Greeks…

In other words, what Jesus is describing in Luke 14:26 is exactly the same as what Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 13 and Galatians 3:28 (as alluded to at the end of the last quote): the creation of a new community in which we may still retain the same formal relationships – we are not literally to sever all connections with our families or communities – but in a wholly new way, a new way of agape mediated through Christ and the Christian community.

As Žižek concludes:

No wonder that, for those fully identified with the Jewish “national substance”, as well as for the Greek philosophers and the proponents of the global Roman Empire, the appearance of Christ was a ridiculous and/or traumatic scandal.

To put it another way: science tells a coherent and compelling story about the universe. As Christians, we can either spend our lives trying to say science’s story is wrong and that those telling it are evil or deluded – or we can insist that it is not the only story that can, or needs to, be told. I prefer the latter approach.

To take another example to illustrate this: we believe that, in the Lord’s Supper, the bread and wine become the body and blood of Jesus.

If the elements were subjected to scientific analysis after the words of institution had been spoken then the results would be clear: the bread would still be bread and the wine would still be wine. Every aspect of the elements could be subjected to the closest scientific scrutiny, and the result of every test would be the same: absolutely no physical change would have taken place.

Now, in broad terms there are three ways in which we can proceed from here. The first is that of the scientific rationalist: empirical observation conclusively demonstrates that no change occurs in the bread and wine in the Supper. Therefore no change does occur, and the belief that the bread and wine are the body and blood of Christ is obscurantist superstition. You will find no shortage of people willing to agree with that conclusion (including, sad to say, many Christians).

The second approach is that of the creation scientist or ID proponent: the only reason why scientific investigation fails to identify a physical change in the elements is because scientists are blinded by their materialist and naturalist presuppositions. What is needed is a new scientific paradigm founded on biblical principles, which will then allow the changes in the bread and wine to be demonstrated by empirical observation.

The third approach is to accept the scientific finding, but to insist that it is not the whole story. The bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ because Christ himself says so, through his minister, in the words of institution. This is invisible, undetectable, completely beyond any scientific observation; true only because Christ’s word declares it to be true, and believed by us because we believe Christ, not because our own observations back him up. The doctrine of the real presence does not contradict our observations (in contrast to a literalistic reading of Genesis 1-3), but it does insist that science is not the only story to be told about the bread and wine.

We’re left with the conclusion that this is how God works. A scientific observation of Jesus during his earthly ministry would have concluded that he was “just” human; a scientific observation of the elements in the Supper finds they are “just” bread and wine; and scientific observation of natural processes finds that they “just” operate according to scientifically-observable principles. But in each case there is something more to be said, without having to unsay the science.

Science, religion and the “hidden God”

2009 has been a year of significant anniversaries for science: the 400th anniversary of Galileo’s first use of the telescope in astronomy and both the 150th anniversary of the publication of On the Origin of Species and the 200th anniversary of the birth of its author, Charles Darwin. Such scientific commemorations provide a good opportunity to reflect on the often controversial question of how ‘religion’ and ‘science’ relate to one another.

Religion and science are often presented as being in irreconcilable conflict. However the roots of western science can be found in the Christian worldview, in which a God of order presides over a creation that is regular and predictable in its workings. Christians can be found working in all areas of mainstream science – in astronomy, biology, physics, geology and many more – without believing that their vocations are in conflict with their faith. Some of these are highly respected as scientists and communicators on science and religion: the likes of Kenneth Miller, Owen Gingerich and John Polkinghorne. Even scientists who are not Christians often have a far more nuanced and sympathetic view towards religion than familiar and strident voices such as Richard Dawkins.

It seems to me that the conflict between science and religion has frequently been exaggerated by people on both ‘sides’. Rather than going over the familiar areas of conflict in this article, I want to consider whether there are any distinctively Lutheran perspectives that can help us understand the relationship between science and religion; and in particular, between the findings of science and biblical teachings that appear to contradict them.

1. The “hidden God”

The ‘theology of the cross’ is central to Luther’s thought. In his Heidelberg Disputation, Luther contrasted the ‘theologian of glory’ with the ‘theologian of the cross’. The theologian of glory seeks ‘the revealed God’: the God whose nature and will can be discerned from visible things and events. As Luther writes, the theologian of glory ‘looks upon the “invisible” things of God as though they were clearly “perceptible in those things which have actually happened” ’ (Heidelberg Disputation, Thesis 19).

By contrast, the ‘theologian of the cross’ recognises God as the God who is hidden under suffering and the cross and who can be known only through the church’s proclamation of the crucified Christ. As Luther puts it, ‘true theology and recognition of God are in the crucified Christ’ (Heidelberg Disputation, Proof 20).

Both Christians and scientists can fall into the trap of thinking that God’s existence and nature should be visible from ‘those things which have actually happened’. This leads some to conclude that God does not exist, since they see no evidence for him in the findings of science. It leads others to reject those findings and look for alternative ‘scientific’ models in which God’s handiwork is more plainly evident.

However, the theology of the cross suggests another approach: one in which God’s work in creation is hidden beneath the visible things that are the concern of science – “in, with and under” them, we might say – and discernible only by faith, not by sight. As the writer to the Hebrews observes:

By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

Hence there is no need for us to insist that evidence of God’s work in creation should be discernible in the findings of science – and attempts to do so usually end up as both bad science and bad theology.

2. Vocation

The doctrine of vocation is another of Luther’s distinctive contributions to the life of the church. He broke down the medieval barrier between ‘sacred’ and ‘secular’ callings and taught that the roles of ordinary life – as spouse, parent, employee – are themselves ‘masks of God’ through which God works to serve our neighbour.

The work of a scientist is one vocation through which God can work in this way; and a highly valuable one. Christians who have an aptitude and interest in science should be encouraged to see this as a way in which they can live out their faith in service to others – not as something which is in conflict with their faith.

The doctrine of vocation can also be valuable in telling us what not to do. I have no aptitude for car maintenance, so it would be a denial of both my calling and that of the car mechanic to attempt to service our car for myself. Richard Dawkins is an engaging and persuasive writer on science but when he attempts to write about religion or theology he becomes shrill and ignorant, to the embarrassment of many more thoughtful atheists. Equally, pastors should be cautious when engaging with scientific arguments that lie outside their vocation.

But there is another, deeper way in which the doctrine of vocation can provide an insight into the relationship between science and religion. That is to see the whole of creation as a vocational universe, in which natural processes are themselves ‘masks of God’ through which God works. This is shown by Psalm 104, in which God is revealed to be intimately involved in processes which everyone agrees are capable of scientific description without reference to the Bible: the rising of rivers, the growth of plants, the rising and setting of the sun, the activities of predators, and so on.

Many Christians are concerned that science leaves ‘no room for God to work’. But God does not need ‘room to work’, fitting himself into the gaps around natural processes. Rather, he hides himself within those natural processes and uses them to accomplish his purposes, in a manner beyond scientific observation.

Conclusion

Lutherans, like Christians of all traditions, will no doubt continue to disagree on how to relate the findings of science to the teachings of Scripture. I have suggested a couple of ways in which distinctively Lutheran perspectives can provide a way of looking at science and religion and the relationship between them. Whatever conclusions we reach on scientific questions, however, what remains of first importance is our confession, with Luther and the whole church throughout the ages, that ‘God has made me and all creatures’, and that ‘for all this it is my duty to thank and praise, serve and obey Him’ (SC III). This is most certainly true!

Bubbling under: Casiotone For The Painfully Alone (70), Little Boots (70), Bad Lieutenant (59), The xx (50), The Hidden Cameras (44), St Vincent (26, all in the last week of the year).

The main difference compared with previous years is where I’m coming across new stuff. For the past few years, eMusic has been my main source for discovering new music. This year, it’s been eclipsed by a combination of Twitter and Spotify, to the extent that I’m still pondering whether to ditch my eMusic subscription.

The Twitter/Spotify dynamic has encouraged two other trends: first, being surprised by artists I wouldn’t have expected to like (Amanda Palmer, Public Enemy, Lily Allen); second, rediscovering old music that had previously passed me by for one reason or another (Tindersticks, Cocteau Twins, The Auteurs). Arguably The Auteurs shouldn’t be on the list, as I used to own their New Wave album on CD and got rid of it some years ago: Spotify enabled me to discover, belatedly, just how foolish a decision that had been.

Another way to discover new music in the social media age: Camera Obscura and The Clientele both cropped up in replies to tweets I’d posted saying “Can’t think of anything to listen to, anyone got any suggestions?”

Rather than writing an essay about each artist, here is a sample track for each one. The links are to YouTube videos, to avoid excluding the Spotify-challenged, but if you do have Spotify then I’ve also set them up as a playlist:

• Amanda Palmer (Twitter, Spotify, YouTube): Leeds United, Ampersand.
• Tindersticks (Spotify): Travelling Light (in which the Tindersticks and Carla Jorgensen channel Nancy & Lee).
• Public Enemy (Twitter, Spotify): Welcome to the Terrordome.
• Gillian Welch (eMusic): April the 14th Part 1 (if you have Spotify, also check out I Dream a Highway in all its 14m 44s glory)
• Cocteau Twins (eMusic): Heaven or Las Vegas.
• Lily Allen (Twitter): F**k You (a sadly-appropriate anthem for a year where the BNP has enjoyed a higher profile than ever before; also: *language warning*, in case the title wasn’t enough of a hint!).
• The Auteurs (Spotify): Show Girls.
• Doves (Spotify): Kingdom of Rust. (Though the finest contribution made to my musical world by Manchester this year is this glorious, must-watch video for Elbow’s cover of Independent Woman.)
• The Clientele (Twitter, Spotify): I Hope I Know You.
• Camera Obscura (Twitter, eMusic): Lloyd, I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken (replaced on the Spotify playlist by French Navy).

But to conclude this post, a video that highlights a large part of the appeal of Amanda Palmer: her direct and transparent relationship with her fans (she wrote the song and posted it straight onto YouTube as part of a discussion about Lady Gaga), her engaging personality, her humour and her incisive songwriting. Enjoy!

“This man looks like a corrupt idiot and acts like one, but this should not deceive you – he is a corrupt idiot.”

The Today programme had an item this morning about Silvio Berlusconi. It was interesting (worth catching up on once it appears on “listen again”), but followed the typical pattern for British media coverage of Berlusconi: an overall tone of amusement and condescension towards those crazy Italians and their strange political ways.

One little detail mentioned in passing in the report: Berlusconi’s rewriting of the Italian constitution to reduce the power of the judiciary (with their impertinent attempts to prosecute him for corruption) and to locate all executive power in Berlusconi alone. Hmm. Remind you of any other Italian leaders over the past century? No matter: let’s get back to chortling about “friendships” with “lingerie models”.

Slavoj Žižek gives some reasons why we shouldn’t feel too smug about Berlusconi. Far from being an Italian oddity, Žižek argues, Berlusconi is part of a pattern of “post-democratic” populism. He describes Italy as “a kind of experimental laboratory of our future”:

If our political scene is split between permissive-liberal technocracy and fundamentalist populism, Berlusconi’s great achievement is to have united the two. (First As Tragedy, Then As Farce, p.48)

This combination makes him “unbeatable, at least in the near future”, with a disconsolate Italian Left seemingly resigned to accepting him “as Fate”:

This silent acceptance of Berlusconi as Fate is perhaps the saddest aspect of his reign: his democracy is a democracy of those who, as it were, win by default, who rule through cynical demoralization. (p. 49)

As such, Berlusconi represents a new kind of politician, the “postmodern” leader who becomes impervious to criticism, since no-one even expects him to stick to his electoral programme. Žižek continues:

This new kind of president mixes (what appear to be) spontaneous naive outbursts with the most ruthless manipulation.

Hence Berlusconi’s buffoonery “should not deceive us” (see Žižek’s slightly adapted quotation from the Marx brothers at the start of this post):

Beneath the clownish mask there is a mastery of state power functioning with ruthless efficency. Even if Berlusconi is a clown, we should therefore not laugh at him too much – perhaps, by doing so, we are already playing his game. (p.51)

Later in the same book, Žižek turns his attention to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. In contrast to those on the Left who (on the principle that “my enemy’s enemy is my friend”) condone Ahmadinejad as “the hero of the Islamist poor”, Žižek describes him as:

a genuine corrupted Islamo-Fascist populist, a kind of Iranian Berlusconi whose mixture of clownish posturing and ruthless power politics causes unease even among the majority of ayatollahs. (p.123)

Žižek’s view is that our “cynical pragmatism” may mean that:

we in the West are effectively entering a post-democratic era, getting ready for our own Ahmadinejads. Italians already know his name: Berlusconi. Others are waiting in line. (p.125)

Who might our Berlusconis or Ahmadinejads be? We probably don’t know their names yet, but even among existing politicians we can see parallels with Berlusconi’s style of politics.

Berlusconi’s combination of “spontaneous naive outbursts with the most ruthless manipulation” put me in mind of Boris Johnson, whose carefully cultivated image as an upper-class buffoon distracts people from his political ruthlessness and ambition (to which Sir Ian Blair can testify; watch your back, Dave). It’s worth bearing in mind that, back when Boris Johnson was editor of the Spectator, the magazine seemed intent at times on rehabilitating Benito Mussolini.

In Simon Cowell’s proposal for a “political X-Factor” we have a recipe for our own marriage of “permissive-liberal technocracy and fundamentalist populism”.

Over the Atlantic, a similar combination of buffoonery, populism and “cynical demoralization” can be seen in the rise of Sarah Palin. (What may save us in Gov Palin’s case is that the buffoonery appears to be a genuine reflection of her political and personal limitations, rather than a cultivated front for political acumen.)

I’m not saying that any of these individuals is a Berlusconi (let alone an Ahmadinejad) in waiting. But they are a straw in the wind, an indication that western politics could develop in some worrying directions over the next couple of decades. Our cynical disillusionment about politics makes us feel sophisticated, but makes us ripe for exploitation.

cf. Isaiah 7:14

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.