I don't know what to make of cases like this: "Christian sex therapist 'refused to counsel gay couples' " - and lost his job as a result. The man's job adds an extra twist, I suppose. What makes someone a Christian sex therapist? What should I make of his having qualified in psycosexual counselling? How deep did his morals run anyway: did he also refuse to counsel those "living in sin" (according to the phraseology of a previous generation) or only same-gendered couples? But those questions are a distraction.
A big part of me says that society is entitled to decide what constitutes discrimination, and which kinds trump which other kinds. If someone's Christian convictions convince them that some things are beyond the pale, and the wider community decides that those convictions are beyond the pale, well, the society wins. Many Christians do seem to come across as barmy, and intent on championing all the wrong causes. But Chrisitians are called to live Godly lives, and if that means being "persecuted", so be it - Paul said as much to Timothy.
But this occasions two further questions, of course: is it Godly to refuse aid to (in this case) gay couples? Christians will differ about that, but this man's mind is made up, clearly.
Looked at another way, though, should Christians simply retreat from things that "society" says are no-go areas? That doesn't seem very salty. I probably regret that this particular guy's case has gone all the way to a tribunal. But in general it seems good to keep asking questions about what is right: you can have all the abstract principles of freedom you like, but there's nothing like the interactions between real people in real cases to test them.
2009/01/05
comprehensible Rollins?
Pete Rollins writes some difficult stuff sometimes. But his blog today, "Beyond the colour of each other's eyes" is really quite comprehensible; quite straight-up-and-down in its intent, it seems. It's well worth a read. Of course, he spices it up somewhat, to the point where lots and lots of people would find one or more things to take issue with: but that's what he does! The central point, though, is a good one. I will not attempt to summarise it here; I just suggest you read it.
[Aside: the penultimate paragraph doesn't really resonate for me, because I confess that I don't notice/know the colour of almost anyone's eyes - my immediate family excepted.]
[Aside: the penultimate paragraph doesn't really resonate for me, because I confess that I don't notice/know the colour of almost anyone's eyes - my immediate family excepted.]
2009/01/01
Climate change as religion
Here's the follow-up to the review I wrote yesterday. Lawson discusses "climate change" as a religion in his final chapter. It's not a completely original thought, but something worth considering. Since I firmly believe that faith can be part of the path to truth, such a comparison should not be viewed as inherently "climate change sceptic". Most of the discussion of this topic that I've seen has come from that angle: I'm more interested in what it has to tell us about faith.
For, viewed dispassionately, the appreciation of the issues surrounding climate change within the population at large seems to have a huge amount in common with pre-reformation Catholicism. There is, for example, a raft of superstitious practices intended to reduce carbon emissions: getting rid of all those evil "on standby" devices, turning off unused lights, walking to the shops instead of driving, and so on. None of these is bad in its own right, but, really, they are not going to make very much difference to the climate - certainly not the individual's actions, and perhaps not even the actions of a whole small nation. Then there's that practice beloved of industries wanting to establish their green credentials, spreading also to other air travellers: carbon offsetting. This resembles so closely the sale of indulgences that there's probably a whole theology essay to be written about it. During "live eight" a year or two ago, weeping celebrities on stage urged us, with tears, to repent from our carbon consuming ways and to live carbon-neutral lives. The atmosphere resembled nothing more closely than a religious rally. Again, the connection to the real science was tenuous in the extreme.
For this would-be religion, the sacred text is, of course, the IPCC Assessment Reports. These are pored over diligently by the scribes, but few ordinary people have actually read the original documents. Instead, most people rely on selected fragments, chosen to make a particular point, or on third party interpretations, or even on myths and conjectures which surround the topic but have no basis, or may have been in an earlier version but were long ago rejected from the authentic canon. Few could tell you the details of the projected climate change - many still think we are chiefly trying to save the ozone layer. Whether we are to be swamped by a tsunami, battered by icebergs, scorched in a northern european desert, few could tell you. And many people would be a little vague on whether it is expected to take 10, 100, or 1000 years.
[As an aside, when this article first appeared, a few days ago, the author had taken decadal temperature differences of, for example, 0.52 C, and "converted" them into 32.94 F. Maybe they can be forgiven as being the skeleton holiday staff, but this is an elementary error. If a journalist on a serious newspaper can suggest unblinkingly that temperatures have risen by 32 degrees fahrenheit in a decade, what hope is there of a reasoned understanding of the data?]
A select body of "climate scientists" form the priesthood. Their interpretation is the only correct one - even though we are actually discussing a vast range of sciences (from atmospheric physics to plant biology, and many points in between), and few excel in the subjects on which they pontificate. Dissent is to be eliminated; sceptics ritually burned (at least metaphorically -their careers, at least, to suffer).
There are a great many who do not really undertstand, but are nevertheless full of zeal, and good deeds. Their low-carbon lifestyles are worn on their sleeves, inconvenient lapses (well, I really did have to go to Australia) kept under wraps. (Conversely, I know of serious climate scientists who have been excoriated by their colleagues for daring to fly to attend a conference.) They will happily buy nonsense plug-in devices designed to make your fridge burn less electricity (!?); some will happily dispose of perfectly good appliances to buy low-emissions ones (never mind the energy cost in creating them).
And, of course, where there is belief, there is doubt. Climate change gives rise to plenty of unbelievers, who will laugh at the folly of the faithful, who will scoff at the inconsistencies in the arguments. Some will even understand (and reject) the authoritative texts better than the zealous believers. The topic isn't really amenable to out-and-out proof: evidence can be proposed, and dismissed.
This may appear a frivolous comparison, but on close inspection, the whole shebang seems disarmingly close to our systems of religion. Perhaps the sociologists could tell us why. It strikes me that sooner or later, the belief system surrounding climate change will undergo a major reformation (maybe involving the repudiation of indulgences): in the compressed kind of history we enjoy these days, will there later be a great emergence of funky postmodern climate change enthusiasts?
Perhaps I'm just an unreconstructed modernist when it comes to science. I find it hard to get enthusiastic about postmodern epistemologies for hard data. And yet the science of climate change is a near-perfect illustration of quite how the real practice of science can (and generally does) diverge from the "ideal" of a diligent process of making hypotheses, testing them, revising them, and testing again. The reality gives the lie to the naive philosophy of Dawkins and his friends: this is a much more interesting and diverse conversation than he would allow.
Perhaps the similarity in cult surrounding climate change on the one hand, and traditional faith on the other, points more to an innate (or learned?!) need to understand how we have erred, and how we may be saved; how we may swap destructive consumptive practices for life-affirming human-scale relational ones. Both are aiming to add to the sum total of human happiness: by teaching us to love God and our neighbour, or by avoiding the devastation which could come from an out-of-control climate. There's probably room for both, but I think that if we lazily imagine that the forms of dialogue which suit the one will also suit the other (and allow them to hold sway), we shall be the poorer, I think.
[not sure if I'm rambling there. This isn't a well-formed essay. Only a blog. Sorry. Comments welcome!]
For, viewed dispassionately, the appreciation of the issues surrounding climate change within the population at large seems to have a huge amount in common with pre-reformation Catholicism. There is, for example, a raft of superstitious practices intended to reduce carbon emissions: getting rid of all those evil "on standby" devices, turning off unused lights, walking to the shops instead of driving, and so on. None of these is bad in its own right, but, really, they are not going to make very much difference to the climate - certainly not the individual's actions, and perhaps not even the actions of a whole small nation. Then there's that practice beloved of industries wanting to establish their green credentials, spreading also to other air travellers: carbon offsetting. This resembles so closely the sale of indulgences that there's probably a whole theology essay to be written about it. During "live eight" a year or two ago, weeping celebrities on stage urged us, with tears, to repent from our carbon consuming ways and to live carbon-neutral lives. The atmosphere resembled nothing more closely than a religious rally. Again, the connection to the real science was tenuous in the extreme.
For this would-be religion, the sacred text is, of course, the IPCC Assessment Reports. These are pored over diligently by the scribes, but few ordinary people have actually read the original documents. Instead, most people rely on selected fragments, chosen to make a particular point, or on third party interpretations, or even on myths and conjectures which surround the topic but have no basis, or may have been in an earlier version but were long ago rejected from the authentic canon. Few could tell you the details of the projected climate change - many still think we are chiefly trying to save the ozone layer. Whether we are to be swamped by a tsunami, battered by icebergs, scorched in a northern european desert, few could tell you. And many people would be a little vague on whether it is expected to take 10, 100, or 1000 years.
[As an aside, when this article first appeared, a few days ago, the author had taken decadal temperature differences of, for example, 0.52 C, and "converted" them into 32.94 F. Maybe they can be forgiven as being the skeleton holiday staff, but this is an elementary error. If a journalist on a serious newspaper can suggest unblinkingly that temperatures have risen by 32 degrees fahrenheit in a decade, what hope is there of a reasoned understanding of the data?]
A select body of "climate scientists" form the priesthood. Their interpretation is the only correct one - even though we are actually discussing a vast range of sciences (from atmospheric physics to plant biology, and many points in between), and few excel in the subjects on which they pontificate. Dissent is to be eliminated; sceptics ritually burned (at least metaphorically -their careers, at least, to suffer).
There are a great many who do not really undertstand, but are nevertheless full of zeal, and good deeds. Their low-carbon lifestyles are worn on their sleeves, inconvenient lapses (well, I really did have to go to Australia) kept under wraps. (Conversely, I know of serious climate scientists who have been excoriated by their colleagues for daring to fly to attend a conference.) They will happily buy nonsense plug-in devices designed to make your fridge burn less electricity (!?); some will happily dispose of perfectly good appliances to buy low-emissions ones (never mind the energy cost in creating them).
And, of course, where there is belief, there is doubt. Climate change gives rise to plenty of unbelievers, who will laugh at the folly of the faithful, who will scoff at the inconsistencies in the arguments. Some will even understand (and reject) the authoritative texts better than the zealous believers. The topic isn't really amenable to out-and-out proof: evidence can be proposed, and dismissed.
This may appear a frivolous comparison, but on close inspection, the whole shebang seems disarmingly close to our systems of religion. Perhaps the sociologists could tell us why. It strikes me that sooner or later, the belief system surrounding climate change will undergo a major reformation (maybe involving the repudiation of indulgences): in the compressed kind of history we enjoy these days, will there later be a great emergence of funky postmodern climate change enthusiasts?
Perhaps I'm just an unreconstructed modernist when it comes to science. I find it hard to get enthusiastic about postmodern epistemologies for hard data. And yet the science of climate change is a near-perfect illustration of quite how the real practice of science can (and generally does) diverge from the "ideal" of a diligent process of making hypotheses, testing them, revising them, and testing again. The reality gives the lie to the naive philosophy of Dawkins and his friends: this is a much more interesting and diverse conversation than he would allow.
Perhaps the similarity in cult surrounding climate change on the one hand, and traditional faith on the other, points more to an innate (or learned?!) need to understand how we have erred, and how we may be saved; how we may swap destructive consumptive practices for life-affirming human-scale relational ones. Both are aiming to add to the sum total of human happiness: by teaching us to love God and our neighbour, or by avoiding the devastation which could come from an out-of-control climate. There's probably room for both, but I think that if we lazily imagine that the forms of dialogue which suit the one will also suit the other (and allow them to hold sway), we shall be the poorer, I think.
[not sure if I'm rambling there. This isn't a well-formed essay. Only a blog. Sorry. Comments welcome!]
Review: An appeal to reason
Review: An appeal to reason: A cool look at global warmingNigel Lawson
This isn't the kind of book I normally review here, but it raises some interesting questions, so Happy New Year, and enjoy!
Lawson complains that he had trouble getting this book published, that most publishers wouldn't dare touch it. That is of course a shame, but is also indicative of the problems surrounding this topic.
You could argue, of course, that publishers were wise to shun the manuscript, since Lawson seems to fail to address the right argument, in places. The very fact that he deliberately puts "global warming" rather than "anthropogenic climate change" in the sub-title seems calculated to annoy some. In his cursory treatment of the scientific case, he looks more at the scale of the warming anticipated by the climate models, rather than the rate of change: it is widely accepted that the climate has changed much, historically, but the thing which worries many today is the speed at which some measurements are moving.
There is, of course much ignorance about the important issues here (I'll come back to that later). Would you, gentle reader, know, for example, whether the current IPCC predicted rise in sea level through the 21st century is on the order of 5mm, 5cm, 50cm, 5m, 50m, or 500m? I think that all of these (with the possible exception of the last) has been seen in the media at some stage. Or could you state the predicted range of global mean temperature rises, and enumerate the principal feared impacts of them? Lawson is meticulous in referencing, with about 25% of the book given over to footnotes: he may be selective in his choice of data, but the research is impeccable. Moreover, he relies heavily on the IPCC report and the UK Government's Stern report, both of which are highly influential for public policy and are scholarly interpretations of other data.
Lawson is less than convinced by the arguments for the extent of warming, and the impact on sea levels. He is even less sure about the link with CO2 emissions. But once he gets past those, he is onto firmer territory because he discusses economics and politics, his own speciality (he was formerly Chancellor of the Exchequer, the chief Finance minister in the UK government). His argument runs something like this: assuming the IPCC predictions are correct, is it better to try to reduce CO2 emissions to forestall the warming, or to adapt ourselves and our economy to cope? If we are to reduce CO2 emissions, what real prospect is there of reaching (globally) sufficiently low emission levels that the predicted catastrophy is averted? And if that is achieved, what will be the impact on the global economy?
He begins to turn the discussion to a moral argument: in most countries, there are many more deaths from the impact of cold weather than from too much heat. Even assuming we do not adapt at all, a warmer world will probably see fewer temperature-related deaths. There is some evidence of a warmer, CO2-richer world seeing better crop yields. The IPCC worst-case scenarios are based upon people in the developing world being 50 times better off at the end of the 21st century than at the start - the impact of global warming being to reduce that to 45 times (if I understand correctly). Or, in another scenario (with less warming), being 8.5 times better off instead of 9 times. Is it just to try to deny them the fruits of rapid industrialization in order to try avert that disaster?
As I report it here, the polemic seems hollow and fanciful: Lawson is reasonably persuasive. He goes on to talk about the "discount rate" for future benefit, too: to what extent is it just to sacrifice the well-being of the current generation, for enhanced well-being of future generations? The answer depends on far too many unknowns.
It strikes me that the whole issue of climate change has become so politically charged, and so mired with spurious argument, that it has become impossible to have a reasonable debate. This book (and even more so, the one by Lomborg which I am just starting to read) is an important contribution. There is a very good argument to be had, starting from the assumption that the IPCC's data is correct, about what to do about it. The UK government's commitment to reducing CO2 emissions by 80% by 2050 is widely trumpeted, but (a) unachievable, without some enormous break-throughs in power generation and storage, and (b) pointless unless the rest of the world follows - and India and China show no sign of being interested in doing so.
One school of thought says that we have already passed a "point of no return". Suppose that were true. What is the moral response? To cut emissions anyway? or to eat, drink, and be merry?
Lawson's final chapter looks at climate change as a religion. I want to come back to that, separately. He's not the first to make the observation, I think, but the parallels are quite, quite striking.
2008/12/17
I want to be wrong
I have a deep sense of foreboding for the coming few years.
Perhaps it is an indication of the turmoil we have seen in the financial world in the last year or so that someone can recently be arrested for an alleged fraud to the value of $50bn. $50bn ! $50bn!! Surely a few more chickens will come home to roost before this settles down. And when it does, for good or ill, the shape of the whole finance sector is going to be changed for years to come.
For that and other reasons, a big recession seems to be taking hold. That's bad enough for those at the margins of western society - how will it affect people in India and China, and other places which have come to rely on rapid economic growth. Then, there's the impact of measures to reduce carbon dioxide emissions: if they are to be effective, they are going to begin to bite hard - affecting, again, most profoundly, those at the bottom of the heap, who have the least choices. And - whether due to anthropogenic climate change or not - there seem to be many places suffering from drought.
Meanwhile, there seem to be ever more signs of society disintegrating. Whether it's young people rioting in Greece, or the rise and rise of extremest political parties across Europe, or tensions and instabilities in the European Union, or news of immigrant communities in Britain feeling disaffected and isolated from the wider community, the impact seems to be tension, and a threat of strife. Add to that a veiled threat of many nascent terrorist plots, with many experts predicting nuclear terrorism as a strong likelihood within a few years.
Not only do I fear these outcomes, especially as they will affect the weakest in society. I fear, too, what the general population's response will be, and what the political class will do. This will not be a re-run of 1930s fascism - there are too many people watching out for that, to defeat it on principle. But that does not mean it will not be brutal, violent, and profoundly illiberal.
Frankly, I'm scared. I'd love to be completely wrong. But the signs really don't look good. Let's not get all apocalyptic about this: WWII wasn't the end of the world, but it was a very very bad thing.
God give us grace to learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.
Lord, have mercy.
Perhaps it is an indication of the turmoil we have seen in the financial world in the last year or so that someone can recently be arrested for an alleged fraud to the value of $50bn. $50bn ! $50bn!! Surely a few more chickens will come home to roost before this settles down. And when it does, for good or ill, the shape of the whole finance sector is going to be changed for years to come.
For that and other reasons, a big recession seems to be taking hold. That's bad enough for those at the margins of western society - how will it affect people in India and China, and other places which have come to rely on rapid economic growth. Then, there's the impact of measures to reduce carbon dioxide emissions: if they are to be effective, they are going to begin to bite hard - affecting, again, most profoundly, those at the bottom of the heap, who have the least choices. And - whether due to anthropogenic climate change or not - there seem to be many places suffering from drought.
Meanwhile, there seem to be ever more signs of society disintegrating. Whether it's young people rioting in Greece, or the rise and rise of extremest political parties across Europe, or tensions and instabilities in the European Union, or news of immigrant communities in Britain feeling disaffected and isolated from the wider community, the impact seems to be tension, and a threat of strife. Add to that a veiled threat of many nascent terrorist plots, with many experts predicting nuclear terrorism as a strong likelihood within a few years.
Not only do I fear these outcomes, especially as they will affect the weakest in society. I fear, too, what the general population's response will be, and what the political class will do. This will not be a re-run of 1930s fascism - there are too many people watching out for that, to defeat it on principle. But that does not mean it will not be brutal, violent, and profoundly illiberal.
Frankly, I'm scared. I'd love to be completely wrong. But the signs really don't look good. Let's not get all apocalyptic about this: WWII wasn't the end of the world, but it was a very very bad thing.
God give us grace to learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.
Lord, have mercy.
2008/12/13
an excellent post
Here is a very thoughtful post: "So long, sola". Nic Paton argues that the modern way of holding the doctrine of "sola scriptura" is amiss. He says that it's at odds even with the intention of Luther and the rest who coined five "solas" as pillars of the Reformation, and he makes rather eloquently the point that the whole structure of the epistemology surrounding scripture is itself, er, unscriptural.
He mentions Wesley's "quadrilateral" in which truth is found in Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience; he even goes on to suggest that we might add to this Creation, intuition, and imagination. Wow.
I find these lines of thinking thrilling and liberating ... but also quite unsettling. It feels naughty, taboo, dangerous: am I really allowed to admit that the text of the bible, if taken as a single book (which it is not) has all manner of contradictions within it? Can I say that, rather than having to construct complex arguments about why it all means the same thing really? Can I happily repudiate those odd arguments that if two books, their authors separated by centuries and seas, use the same word in different contexts, they must be referring to the same thing? Is it ok to suggest, as I did last month, that "that was then; this is now"?
It feels like one is messing around with foundational ideas, with the fear that everything will come crashing down and nothing will be left. But as I write that, I'm reminded of Rob Bell's picture of doctrine not as the bricks in an edifice, but as a collection of springs surrounding a trampoline. Pulling out the one marked "scripture", and giving it a stretch to see what happens, seems like an excellent move.
He mentions Wesley's "quadrilateral" in which truth is found in Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience; he even goes on to suggest that we might add to this Creation, intuition, and imagination. Wow.
I find these lines of thinking thrilling and liberating ... but also quite unsettling. It feels naughty, taboo, dangerous: am I really allowed to admit that the text of the bible, if taken as a single book (which it is not) has all manner of contradictions within it? Can I say that, rather than having to construct complex arguments about why it all means the same thing really? Can I happily repudiate those odd arguments that if two books, their authors separated by centuries and seas, use the same word in different contexts, they must be referring to the same thing? Is it ok to suggest, as I did last month, that "that was then; this is now"?
It feels like one is messing around with foundational ideas, with the fear that everything will come crashing down and nothing will be left. But as I write that, I'm reminded of Rob Bell's picture of doctrine not as the bricks in an edifice, but as a collection of springs surrounding a trampoline. Pulling out the one marked "scripture", and giving it a stretch to see what happens, seems like an excellent move.
2008/12/08
formative influences (7?) : loving liturgy
A comment from Mike Morell, put me in mind of this:
Growing up in a decidedly non-liturgical fellowship, occasional tastes of liturgical worship seemed rather wonderful. Not particularly the theatrical aspects: costume, processions, colours, and the rest, but the prayers, the shared affirmations, the structure. Every-member ministry with extempore prayer can be uplifting but can be ... dire. Words that have been considered and weighed by many, over the centuries, carry nuance and force all of their own.
I blogged before about College Chapel: I loved the way that the creed always followed the sermon. No matter how weird, woolly, or distracting the sermon might be (or so I judged it at the time), everyone would afterward stand and declaim together some of the truths of the faith.
Likewise, when I belonged to an Anglican church, I really valued the unifying, normative effect of the liturgy: if there was an element in the service (perhaps the sermon, again) that I didn't value, I was brought to my senses again by the introduction to the Peace, right before Communion:
That was tremendously normalizing, uplifting, resetting, unifying. On the other hand, we held onto the liturgy very lightly in that church. Sections would be omitted on a whim, the vicar would have the whole congregation say parts supposed to be reserved to the priest, he let me lead much of the service, despite not being authorized by the Bishop, and so on. The liturgy was shared and subordinate to the people - not the other way around.
Moving away, and joining a Baptist church I missed much of this. I missed the structure, the meditative elements, the space to pause, the shape of the whole thing. When the church was due to celebrate a major anniversary, my new-found Anglican sensibilities expected that the main service would incorporate sharing communion - what could be more appropriate? Not a chance!
In that church and my current one, has been my privilage to lead worship from time to time. I value the opportunity to introduce liturgical prayers, shared affirmations and other elements. Everyone can participate in these, even those who cannot sing, or do not enjoy music. I'd hate to be hide-bound by these things, but as tools for us to use, they can be superb.
Growing up in a decidedly non-liturgical fellowship, occasional tastes of liturgical worship seemed rather wonderful. Not particularly the theatrical aspects: costume, processions, colours, and the rest, but the prayers, the shared affirmations, the structure. Every-member ministry with extempore prayer can be uplifting but can be ... dire. Words that have been considered and weighed by many, over the centuries, carry nuance and force all of their own.
I blogged before about College Chapel: I loved the way that the creed always followed the sermon. No matter how weird, woolly, or distracting the sermon might be (or so I judged it at the time), everyone would afterward stand and declaim together some of the truths of the faith.
Likewise, when I belonged to an Anglican church, I really valued the unifying, normative effect of the liturgy: if there was an element in the service (perhaps the sermon, again) that I didn't value, I was brought to my senses again by the introduction to the Peace, right before Communion:
| Christ is our peace He has reconciled us to God | |
| in one body by the cross. | |
| We meet in his name and share his peace. |
That was tremendously normalizing, uplifting, resetting, unifying. On the other hand, we held onto the liturgy very lightly in that church. Sections would be omitted on a whim, the vicar would have the whole congregation say parts supposed to be reserved to the priest, he let me lead much of the service, despite not being authorized by the Bishop, and so on. The liturgy was shared and subordinate to the people - not the other way around.
Moving away, and joining a Baptist church I missed much of this. I missed the structure, the meditative elements, the space to pause, the shape of the whole thing. When the church was due to celebrate a major anniversary, my new-found Anglican sensibilities expected that the main service would incorporate sharing communion - what could be more appropriate? Not a chance!
In that church and my current one, has been my privilage to lead worship from time to time. I value the opportunity to introduce liturgical prayers, shared affirmations and other elements. Everyone can participate in these, even those who cannot sing, or do not enjoy music. I'd hate to be hide-bound by these things, but as tools for us to use, they can be superb.
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