How to use averages

We've had a baby; he's coming up for eight months now & I'm very fond of him. So far he seems to be be doing the things he should. He's nailed rolling over, is pretty good at sitting up and picking things up and while he hasn't quite got round to crawling, he's pretty close. I was apparently pretty retarded at those things, so he's up on me. He's a bit below average weight, and he's well below average for sleeping.

At least, I think he's below average for sleeping - neither standard baby books nor doctors tell you what the average is. I'm a big fan of averages, properly used of course - for example you really need standard deviation to understand cricket averages properly. In other areas, the baby profession is also keen on averages. They have very detailed tables of weight, height, and even head circumference and how it will change over time. It's therefore possible to worry, in detail, about the trajectory of your baby's weight gain, yet it's impossible to worry about his ability to sleep through the night (or rather, to worry about it with data). At the moment, I know which one I am more concerned about.

Depressingly, I think they do it deliberately. Weight is a lead indicator for health, so they have to track it, and they might as well get parents to do it. However, everything else may well be held back to avoid parental panic about how their baby is below average (we're guilty of this too; worrying the doctor about his changing weight position). Of course, just under half of babies are below average so, to put it another way, I have a horrible feeling we limit information to parents because we assume for they will fail to understand statistics properly.

On one level, I suppose this doesn't really matter, but what it means is that those of us who can understand stats don't get some useful information. For example, my boss has a baby about five months younger than JR, who already sleeps better. Good for him, but he needs to know that's better than average to calibrate his expectations of me (and others) who may not have such obliging offspring. On the other hand, A is of the opinion that being able to work out that you're in receipt of a baby that's in the lower deciles for sleeping is mostly depressing - there's not much you can do about it after all.

For me though, if there are numbers to be had, I'd like them. This of course isn't limited to babies, but with babies I think I'm right. It would certainly make conversations with parents on this subject less frustrating.

The eighteenth century

Were you listening to Today on Monday (which you should be every day save the Sabbath) and you'd kept listening to the end, you'd have heard an extraordinary debate about British history between Chris Skidmore MP and Trevor Fisher. Actually, it was a fairly mediocre debate about a suggestion in a report from an all party parliamentary group that we should teach history in a more narrative fashion (written up here, not easy to actually find the report).

I don't know Mr Skidmore, though I should, we were at the same college at the same time doing the same subject, though I was rescuing my degree when he came up not meeting first years - my mistake perhaps. He seems like a good egg, and although I don't agree entirely with his proposals, the opposition was extraordinarily weak. Specifically, his opponent proceeded to argue that narrative history would be 'boring' as if that's something an effective curriculum and effective teaching couldn't stop, and then - amazingly - that he didn't know anything about the eighteenth century despite having taught for thirty-odd years.* And somehow he didn't see any problem with this. 

I'm not surprised he's never needed to know about it; but I'm surprised he thought it was acceptable not to. Personally, I'm not a massive fan of the eighteenth century, but it's pretty important period. Immediately, and in rough order of importance at the time, I'd go for:

• The French Revolution (1789)
• The American revolution (1775)
• Walpole and the formation of the Prime Ministerial office (1721-42)
• The Act of Settlement (1701) & The Hanoverian Succession (1714) 
• Union between England and Scotland (1707)
• Union between England and Ireland (1800)
• Plassey and the entry of Britain into India (1757)
• The '45 (1745)

It's noteworthy that most of these fall outside the 'short' eighteenth century, 1715-1789, usually dated with reference to France and dominated by the dreary ineffective years of Louis XV, but that wasn't being discussed and if I were doing the continent, I'd mention - amongst others - the War of Spanish Succession, Peter the Great's modernisation of Russia and Frederick the Great of Prussia. Nonetheless, this is pretty strong list, and I've probably missed a few off. I rather think this therefore gives weight to the view that we should teach more eighteenth century history and history teachers (and others) should certainly be ashamed of not knowing much about it.

*Oddly enough, this was lie. Mr Fisher does know about the Eighteenth century, or at least enough to write about it. Curious.

Bibliography, November 2012

BOTM: P.G. Wodehouse, Service with a Smile

A. Christie, Sparkling Cyanide
P. Kimmage, Rough Ride
D. Lynskey, 33 Revolutions per minute
A. Trollope, The Three Clerks

I wasn't expecting this. At various stages, I was expecting Lynskey, Trollope and Kimmage to be BOTM. But they tailed off, leaving it open for another Wodehouse, with another starring role for  Uncle Fred. It's really by default though because I've read so little this month and the others were flawed. I've because I am stuck on Clarissa, which goes on for ever (and so far) is pretty tedious. The others were flawed, respectively  because Sparkling Cyanide is silly, Kimmage only really comes to life in the final sections and then meanders, Lynskey can't tell the difference between a protest song and people just being angry, and Trollope, well, it's not one of his better plots, given it hinges on the setting of competitive exams for entry to the civil service. A shame.

War. What is it good for?

As there's no news I can think of that relates to me, so I thought it would be a good time to talk about pacifism, given it's poppy time (though this has started far too early). Specifically, I'd like to talk about why it's rubbish.

Now, it's worth doing some definitional work here. I am, like everyone should be, of the belief that war and death are, in general, bad. Anyone who has studied the Pax Romana and lived in postwar Europe knows the power of peace to deliver prosperity and long life. I am also not advocating hawkish solutions to any number of outstanding issues, because I don't think they work. Nor am I denying the efficacy of some pacific movements. And I am not even arguing with the right of individuals to opt out of a draft as conscientious objectors, though I don't really like it as a position (NB I did read a wonderful letter on this yesterday). I am simply saying as a general position it is wrong, muddleheaded and selfish. In political discourse, it's also quite dangerous because its adherents won't debate real decisions.

The substantive argument is actually pretty easy: essentially, pacifists don't have an answer to Hitler. Most contemporary pacifists didn't bother and made him an exception. But that won't wash: if your political theory doesn't include the biggest example then it's probably a bad theory. I'd also argue on historical grounds that there shouldn't be a thick line round the Nazis. In an attempt to get round this, modern pacifists then tend to argue that's it's the wrong discussion to start with Hitler, rather we need to go back and posit a pacifist policy earlier (here's an example - he refers to the church, but it could be anything). This is just silly. It rather implies that modern pacifists wouldn't support pacifist policies now because of bellicosity in the past. And we know they do.

To me, that line of argument is indicative of the problem with pacifism, in that it wants the world to be other than it is. It's undoubtedly unpleasant that people seek to resolve things by force, but they do. Sometimes they benefit hugely from doing so; sometimes they have nothing to lose. Pacifism seems to ignore this reality. More irritatingly, it also allows its adherent to avoid thinking about difficult decisions. For example, for right-thinking people in the west, foreign policy decisions around are complex. Militarily, to intervene or not is a vexed question, especially in the light of huge suffering. It is right that we should approach intervention with deep caution, but it may be worthwhile. To the pacifist this agonising never occurs.  The answer is always 'no.' And in the west this is an easy and cheap luxury afforded by our own peace, and the knowledge that foreigners will be doing the dying.

It's right there is a bias against war, but to oppose it on principle is simply wrong. Next time we debate this , don't oppose 'war,' oppose 'this war,' and make sure you know why.

Bibliography, October 2012

BOTM: L. Strachey, Eminent Victorians

J. Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

J.L. Borges, Labyrinths

A. Burgess, Time for a Tiger
A. Burgess, The Enemy in the Blanket
A. Burgess, Beds in the East

B. Chatwin, The viceroy of Ouidah
G. Garcia Marquez, No-one writes to the Colonel
L.P. Hartley, The Go Between
G.M. Fraser, Flash for Freedom
P. Levi, If this is a man*

How have I not read Eminent Victorians before?

The last few years reading have been for me a lesson in the Socratic principle (actually that's slightly different, but you get the point) of greater knowledge simply bringing a greater awareness of your own ignorance. A few years ago, I wrote this slightly pompous blog about all the reading I had done in my 20s and how happy I was about it. I still am, but looking back, I'm astonished by the things I've read since that simply weren't on the horizon. Some of those I already owned (and I noted those here), but many were stunningly obvious ones I'd not even thought about. I started reading Wodehouse on a recommendation only two years ago; I have more books by him than any author save the great Elinor M. Brent Dyer, author of the Chalet School stories (I have them all). 

Strachey's book is clearly in the same category. I've known about it for years: my parents had it; we've had it for a while, and yet I only read it now because I felt I'd read too much fiction these last few months and it looked short. But it's magnificent, albeit eclectic (who now would start their account of the Victorian era with a long section about the second archbishop of Westminster?). It's perceptive, peeling away some of the layers of Victorian legend from its heroes. It's also tart, funny and brilliantly written. The passages on the Oxford movement are probably the most enjoyable ones I've read on the subject. It's a monument to a singular mind and essentially reading for anyone who is even slightly interested in the period. JR will be reading it well before he's 33.

For Shame

I came across this over the weekend. It's a survey of MP's ability to do a (very) simple probability calculation. The results are atrocious: only 40% of them could do it. It's slightly positive that Tories are a lot better than Labour, and I note that the general population is even worse, but it's still depressing.

I got very angry about it; Anna just shrugged a bit. But this really really matters. Modern states are complicated: we spend a lot of money, we write a lot of very long laws, a lot of people are affected by both. I would argue almost everything the government does essentially requires you to think about probability. In some areas it won't be that important or won't have concrete numbers attached, but it will always come down to how many people will benefit and how likely any outcome is. This survey rather suggests that our legislators are unable to understand the implications of even the most basic numerical information. That makes them unfit to legislate. They cannot in fact do their jobs.

Amusingly, from the same survey, MPs rated themselves very confident with numbers. They are in fact  deluded, as well as unfit to legislate. 

Anathema.

Bibliography, September 2012

BOTM: C. McCullers, The Heart is a lonely hunter

A. Christie, Three Act Tragedy
G.M. Fraser, Royal Flash
C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters*
M. Ondaatje, The English Patient
A. Trollope, The Warden*
E.O. Wilson, Anthill
P.G. Wodehouse, Pigs have wings

I was lazy last month. I pondered reading all the Booker, but couldn't really be bothered. And then I went to France and didn't publish this. Some great stuff too. I was disappointed with Anthill, but the rest were great. BOTM was McCullers. Nicely written, sparse, sad, very Faulkner. Economical too, I thought, with a lot left unsaid. Anna has been banging on about it me reading it for a while. I'm glad she did.

Bibliography, August 2012

Read: 6
BOTM: P. Krugman, End this depression now!

G. Garcia Marquez, Leaf Storm
G. Garcia Marquez, Love in the time of Cholera*
M. Frayn, My Father's Fortune
D. Millar, Riding through the Dark

P.G. Wodehouse, Full Moon

Hmmm. I'm not sure what I make of these. I liked all of them, but I'm struggling for an absolute standout (as an aside, I'd not noticed the first time round how unpleasant a lot of Garcia Marquez's heroes are. Yet it's the abiding conclusion to be drawn from his most famous works). Krugman edges it, though I was tempted by Millar's gripping account of his cycling career, especially his doping. It's a strong thesis, well presented, and almost certainly right about the broad causes and solutions to the economic problems. Were you to believe in the value of democracy, the fact that democratic systems have failed to produce leaders who implement something along these lines would be profoundly depressing.

NB. That's not to say Krugman is devoid of fault. It is simplistic about the politics. There's a really annoying bit toward the end where he just goes 'oh, and we should stop China manipulating its exchange rate,' the likelihood of which I am sceptical of. And it doesn't dig down to the country level enough for the UK context. Specifically, the UK is bound more than the US to consider co-ordination with what others are doing - you don't want to be the only person spending in a crash. As an aside, it also steps over the inconvenient truth that while the point about output is true at the global level, it's not true for individual countries. The pre-crash level of output may be quickly restored under this model. The West's share of consumption will not.

A short note on dying

Apropos Euthanasia, I was initially surprised to see them pulling in protagonists from the religion debate  (Here's Andrew Copson, putting it all pretty well) as I'd never really thought about it as a religious thing. I am of course wrong, as I remembered pretty quickly once I spoke to A about it; and even more so one I read the Church of England on it. 

I'm sad that I'm wrong. I'm sad that we (that's the church) seem once again to put ourselves on the wrong side of this debate, and once again in a fairly rubbish way (see end). I'm no expert on this, but I think - and I'll use Andrew's phrase here - we, like the law as it stands - 'fail the test of compassion.' Suicide may be a sin against hope; prolonging a life of pain and misery is a sin against love. 

I think we should note a few things though:

1. It is complicated. I haven't spent any time on the argument because it's tricky. The detail is really going to matter and it's going to get hard: 'we know it when we see it' won't work
2. It is going to be difficult. It requires getting people to kill other people. And they won't be able to refuse to do the killing based on their beliefs. That's going to hurt.
3. It's going to go wrong (I) because it won't be enough. Wherever the line is drawn, there will be some very emotive cases of people who will still be banned. That's going to be depressing.
4. It's also going to go wrong (II) because there are bound to be edge cases where people die who shouldn't, either because they've been pressured (perhaps subtly) into it, or because they make a poor decision. 

None of that means we shouldn't change the law. On the contrary, I think hard, complex things where medical advance has changed the landscape out of all recognition probably could do with some legal revision. I just think that we should acknowledge that some people are going to lose out. But it's a price worth paying for the liberation from misery of others.

As an aside, I really wish the Church would stop making objections based on areas that aren't its competence and make more arguments based on its competence. In this case, its main objections seem to be a concern about human rights legislation and NHS overload - let lawyers and doctors (they have) make those points. Instead, the church's position should be compassionate, pastoral and theological. It might for example want to talk about God, or the church fathers. Instead, their key statement to the latest enquiry doesn't even mention Jesus. Anathema

Bibliography, July 2012

Read: 8
BOTM: P.G. Wodehouse, Uncle Fred in the Springtime 

P. Hamilton, Hangover Square
G.Garcia Marquez, In Evil Hour*
G.Garcia Marquez, One hundred years of solitude*
G.Garcia Marquez, Autumn of the Patriarch*
G.R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
M. Smith, Not in my day, Sir
K. Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

In honour of the fact that Garcia Marquez cannot write any more, I'm rereading his novels. Love in a Time of Cholera coming next month. They are wonderful, though I suspect you get more out of them if you have any kind of passing acquaintance with Colombian history. I don't, and I really felt that lack this time. No such  issue with Wodehouse, not least because there's little history required, but also because I'd know it. I've been waiting to give BOTM to him for over a year now, and I think this one merits it, chiefly because of the disreputable figure of Uncle Fred, who may just be my favourite Wodehousian creation yet, not least because of the terror he induces in the younger generation. The plot - as ever - absurd; the writing - as ever -  perfect.

Principle, pragmatics and honesty (I): cutting bits off babies

I meant to post this last week, but I got distracted, so some of the relevance has gone. Anyway:

I've been sucked into the circumcision debate, despite not really caring. On one side, it's said we can't do this kind of thing without consent, and babies can't give it (put, sensitively and with a title I have stolen, here). On the other, tradition weighs in, with some sidelines about Jews (though really this is about Muslims). Instinctively, I'd side with the latter.

However, apart from alerting me to the fact that Princes Charles, Andrew and Edward are circumcised (who knew?), it's not been a very well argued debate and there are red herrings aplenty. Here are a few:

• Bodily integrity. This won't do: we stab infants with needles, cut off cords and generally do a variety of things for medical benefit. Later in life, we pierce the ears of children too, sometimes not much later, and certainly not for medical benefit. Clearly, benefits need only be trivial or imagined for bodily integrity to be violated (and a jolly good thing too).
• Medical necessity (a). Necessity won't bear the weight its given here - immunisation is not necessary, merely beneficial. Not a reason not to do it, but let's not pretend we can point to medical necessity. Circumcision is necessary in the eyes of Jews and Muslims.
• Medical necessity (b). Did we ask some doctors? Did they put this up the top of child harm? Do we listen when they do raise things? No, no and no. On booze for example, the law explicitly rejects the medical advice about children.
• Racism. Some have claimed that a ban of circumcision is the worst attack on Jewish life since the holocaust. This is obviously not true, but it probably would have been better if it hadn't be a German court.
• Harm. This is a bit of a battleground, with the practitioners claiming it doesn't do any, and others claiming it does. I think the former are being a bit weak here. Clearly, it's not very dangerous, but it's a big deal - it's Abraham's covenant with God. I think reducing the argument to harmlessness rather weakens it.
• Irreversibility. I hesitate to put this down as a red herring, as I think it's the strongest argument for the ban - though of course, it's meant to be irreversible. That's the point. However, although I am open to persuasion, I do think it is a red herring. Firstly, it's a conditional criticism: in the argument irreversibly good is clearly OK, e.g., inoculations. So this is just a subset of the harm discussion. Secondly, I don't think it's unique: some very negative, legal, things are irreversible, for example, damage done by parents smoking in the home. 

So far, so good. But knocking down some messy logic doesn't win arguments. The critical thing for me is that people seem to be arguing about the wrong thing: specifically, they're arguing about whether people should circumcise, whereas they should be arguing about whether there should be a law stopping them. This distinction is important.  The test of a good law is the impact it has: we should be asking if passing a law against circumcision would make the people as a whole better off, and I suspect it won't. Most importantly,  some people will get it done clandestinely, which could be much more dangerous; secondly, it will rip some people away from their roots, which I don't like very much and I think is undesirable socially. One the other hands I think the gains are pretty minimal. That equation may change, but at present I think that's how it stacks up.

I'd also like a bit of honesty about this. The rejection of circumcision is - at essence - one of some people essentially wanting other people to think like them. This is perfectly reasonable, I'd like people to think like me. However, people don't think like them, and they want to do this. In many cases, they really, really want to do it. And this tension is about how genuinely plural we want society to be. I'm not sure I want a very plural society, so I'd force a lot of things down some fairly narrow paths. In principle, this might be one of them (see practical caveat above). I think that would be good for people; I don't think it would be very plural. Those seeking a ban should admit that too.

That was longer than I intended. As an aside, I think the same issues attend Lords reform through a different angle. I'll do that tomorrow.

Bibliography, June 2012

Read: 6
BOTM: T.Penn, Winter King

A. Christie, At Bertram's Hotel
G.R.R. Martin, Game of Thrones
G.R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
M. Robinson, Housekeeping
P. Roth, Goodbye Columbus


That's better, though I feel the glory days of twenty books a month are gone forever. No surprises for BOTM either, though I am going to write about Game of Thrones another time. Henry VII has long been my favourite Henry, even if not the best (I divide the Henrys into good - I,II,V,VII - and bad - III, IV,VI, VIII). Thomas Penn's book is a classic. It's not, as I and others have thought, a biography of the Henry VII, but a meticulous and engrossing documenting of the last 8-9 years of the reign, chronicling his descent into ruthless, grasping paranoia, set against the rise of his son. It's magnificent, and bringing into sharp focus the ever-present spectre of civil war that - but for Henry VII - we would have fought for a lot longer.

The wrong argument, made in the wrong way

Aside from the obvious, there are two things I'm depressed by about the Church's formal statement against gay marriage:

• Firstly, I think I agree with Giles Fraser (only the second time this has happened) - and never usually a good thing)
• Secondly, whoever wrote the statement simply cannot write. It's just terribly argued, terribly written and poorly constructed

And of course it's wrong. 

Now, I'm frustrated by the language and the structure, because it makes it even harder to figure out what it is they're even trying to say. It's slippery and evasive, hyperbolic, inconsistent, inaccurate and pettily legalistic.  The summary first page will be meaningless to people who come looking for why the church thinks this. The rest is mostly worse. I think if you're going to say why you object to these things, you have to be clear and focused. This is neither

But I'm angry about the argument. If they get past the meandering summary, a reader would read a second page with a definition of marriage that we'd be hard-pressed to see why it is so exclusive. The argument pretends to antiquity, but then defends this with a definition that dates back only to 2000. This immediately tells us two things - that the church does change its definitions, and that these words could quite obviously and easily accommodate same-sex unions. Marriage isn't a Christian invention, but it's one we embrace. Look at that definition: love, mutual comfort, bodily union and the foundation of family life. We've already embraced a modern conception of marriage.


We shouldn't embrace conceptions of it unquestioningly - we opposed the straightforward divorces of the Roman world. By all means, fight the fight against calling polygamy marriage, against the irresponsibility of impermanence of some unions, and against the lack of seriousness in some parents. Marriage is valuable, but it's wide, and to defend it on semantics and poor history is to cheapen its value, and weaken an argument worth having.

Marilynne Robinson, interviewed in the Spectator a few weeks ago, had a nice turn of phrase, commenting on the 'tendency of religion to discredit itself by finding small opportunities to be mean when there are large opportunities to be generous.' The Church of England, on the ground so often an antidote to this accusation, now looks like a textbook example. It should look askance at its leaders who submitted this, perhaps not to anathematise (except for the quality of the writing), but to ask why on earth we ended up here.

Bibliography, May 2012

Read (3)
BOTM: A. Banerjee and E. Duflo, Poor Economics


D.L. Sayers, Strong Poison
P.G. Wodehouse, Heavy Weather


You'll forgive the lack of reading - I'm amazed I managed three, though they were back loaded. I won't spend much time on them either. Everyone should read Poor Economics though. It's a great book on the choices and the options for intervention about poverty. Of course, I suspect there are a several books like it, so any one of them will do too. But it was fascinating and important. I learnt a lot, and - more importantly - thought about things a bit differently.

Explain, briefly, why some people are prejudiced against Jews

When I sat GCSEs, a perspective-distorting 17 years ago, I don't remember any questions like this:

Explain, briefly, why some people are prejudiced against Jews (AQA Religious Studies 2012)

And it's got everyone very irate. I'm disappointed in the Secretary of State who has claimed that it shouldn't have been set because it 'suggest[s] that antisemitism can ever be explained, rather than condemned.' I've always had time for Mr Gove's pursuit of academic rigour, if not in agreement of this methods, but I'm now thinking I have overestimated him. There is transparently no tension between explanation and condemnation and that kind of reaction makes me think he is thick. In fact, I think that kind of reaction makes me want to have them set the question. Understanding why hideous things happen helps us stop them. I'll return to whether it belongs in a GCSE below.

For the record, and off the top of my head, I'd suggest the following answer:

1. Let's assume by prejudice we mean irrational hostility, not a response to genuine enemies. For example, I would suggest the Philistines were not 'prejudiced' against the Jews, but rather fighting a war (see 1 Samuel 17)
2. Said prejudice is probably borne out of 'problems at home', perhaps fear or poverty, i.e., they're lashing out at a target (I simplify, but we brevity has been stipulated). As GCSE students won't have studied any history, they'll all talk about the depression and the Holocaust, but they could also point to other examples, perhaps the Great Persecution in an insecure Empire Galerius 
3. At which point you might ask, why the Jews. And there are two ways of tracing this: said prejudice is old, and modern antisemitism draws directly on historical hostility to Jews. There's lots of this, but I think it can squarely be rooted in the Jewish nations resolute non-identification with the establishment in antiquity. The Jews rejected the Emperor-cult in Pagan Rome and obviously the Christian identity that followed. That's bound to make you unpopular. Of course, you could suggest that the modern Islamic antisemitism also owes something to the position of Israel and have a useful discussion over which came first, drawing in the career of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem
4. The second point to trace is extraordinary tenaciousness of the non-geographic national identity of the Jews. many groups draw hostility but national hostility tends not to last if they don't. I don't have views on the undesirability of Goths as neighbours (OK, I do, but that's rare - they'd be fine). The Jews don't, and they're exceptional in that respect. Unfortunately this functions as a multiplier effect for prejudice for much of their history, which is unfortunate. 

Of course, it's actually much more complex than that, but I think it's pretty interesting, and important. I'm not sure how useful it is to ask 16-year-olds as they don't have the breadth of knowledge and understanding to say anything meaningful. I don't think they should be taught the Nazis and the Holocaust in history either, so I would be very happy if they objection was that this stuff is hard and complex, so we should delay it. However, it's not. The objection seems to be that the world is unpleasant, so we shouldn't examine it. And that's pathetic.

Why are we still talking about the marriage thing?

I didn't watch QT last night, but everyone (well, everyone on twitter) seems to think Mary Beard was excellent. I'm not surprised, though of course I've not actually seen any of her programmes, but I do enjoy her blog.

MB and I disagree politically though, so it was nice to see her in complete accord with me (or v.v.) on her latest. Fittingly, this was based on what was prepared for last night, not what was said. Expecting a question of gay marriage, she'd worked out her answer. Here it is:

First, get some bright civil servant to ... get the rules tidied up and simplified. Second, give everyone gay or straight a civil partnership, and make that the gold-standard and leave "marriage" as the optional extra, the religious ceremony, on whatever terms the religions concerned manage to hammer out (and no business of the state at all). 

I had started to write a longer version of this two months ago when the consultation kicked off, but I think that's a succinct as it needs to be. It also stops the quite frankly bizarre spectacle of heterosexuals saying they are discriminated against because they don't have access to the lesser form (supported by Peter Tatchell).

So, abolish all civil marriage. I really don't see how this is complicated, and I really don't see why we need a consultation. Even Britain's Got Talent montages refered to civil partnerships as marriages this week, and that's on ITV.

As an aside, I note that for all the rhetoric about change and equality and different lifestyles, there is never a campaign to recognise polygamy (or I suppose polyandry), yet by the same logic the State should allow those kind of partnerships too. I suspect quite a few people are squeamish about that, but that's just bad logic.

Bibliography, April 2012

Read: 6


BOTM: M. Lewis, Moneyball


C.E. Hill, Who chose the gospels?
G. Redmonds et al. Surnames, DNA and family history
D.L. Sayers, Have his carcase
D.L. Sayers, Busman's honeymoon
E. St Aubyn, Mother's Milk

Last decent month for a while I feel. I've noted this parenthood thing doesn't give you a lot of time for novels. Best was probably Moneyball, though St Aubyn had his moments (ultimately let down by a slightly flat ending, whereas the start was great). Moneyball has been slightly overhyped, but its fascinating, even if it does have a breathless admiration for 'stats' as if they've done some more complex analysis than they in fact have. In reality the triumph isn't one of statistical method, but one of data. Nonetheless, it's great.

James Robert Garrood

b. 00:45, 28.iv.2012, London, 8lb 15oz (4.05kg)

James for:
the I&VI, the II&VII, and the III&VIII
The Greater and I suppose the Less
Anna's grandfather, James Beale

Robert for:
Guiscard
Artois (as imagined by Druon)
Oppenheimer
And of course Zimmerman

Though Anna is claiming she just likes the sound of the names.

Bibliography, March 2012

Read: 5
BOTM: D.L. Sayers, Gaudy Night

A.C. Clarke, Tales of ten worlds
A. Hollinghurst, The Swimming Pool Library
D. Meyer, Twenty thousand roads: the ballad of Gram Parsons
O. Pamuk, My name is Red*

I really feel like I have wasted my last free month. I certainly didn't read much, and so I have very little to say -  I'm not sure I was that impressed with  any of them. Pamuk in particular was disappointing - I'd forgotten how slow the beginning is, though it does pick up. BOTM was Gaudy Night, it's held to be her best, and that's deserved. It had some hugely fun writing in it, and even some insight. Plus, it's set in an Oxford college. I doubt it will contend for book of the year though.

We're keeping Easter

The Prime Minister has put out a short, bland, Easter message. It's here: it says some nice things about Jesus, and chooses to avoid some of the trickier elements of the gospel in favour of emphasising the being nice bits. I this that's fairly understandable, and it's quite nice, if a little dull.

Some people don't think it's dull though. On the contrary, they're very annoyed, because apparently he said 'we Christians' and because 'Easter is NOT historically a Christian festival'. There's more sniping on this, but I can't really be bothered to document it all. The Guardian is running a poll on whether Prime Ministers should do God in public, which broadly agrees he shouldn't - though it's not clear how many people have voted (presumably this is a minority interest topic).

This is just silly. It's Easter. Our Prime Minister is a Christian so he puts out a message. He's excited about some other things too, like the Olympics. He used 'we' last week about that too. Precisely no-one complained. He used 'we' in an Easter context because it refers to people who share his views - it's the first person plural. He's not limited to things that everyone believes in because then he couldn't use it for anything. By the way, he put out a passover message as well. He didn't use 'we' then, because - obviously - he's not Jewish. This is entirely unmerited opposition and it's the kind of pontificating that gets secularism a bad name. 

And this is because Easter is so obviously and unambiguously Christian. It's the big one; it's the point of the faith, the apex of the Christian year. I'm not even going to dignify the nonsense that Easter is not historically a Christian festival, which is just flat out wrong. There is no general cultural resonance of Easter; it's not Christmas, where most people worship at the branding triumph of Coca-Cola. You certainly wouldn't have the holiday then otherwise. It's a nightmare: movable, further crowding days off into one section of the year, and to state the obvious again, it's a double bank holiday where people don't have anything special to do unless they go to Church. We're keeping it.

So, if there is something to object to in the public realm, it's Easter bank holidays. Rail against them, and ask for them to be transferred to October. Don't sulk about a Christian marking the Christian festival. That's silly; it's not even worth the anathema.

Against Abelard

Preached Lent 5 (25th March 2012), St Michael's, Camden Town

Jeremiah 31.27-34
Hebrews 5.7-9
John 12.20-33

I’m not sure how many of you get Fr Philip’s emails about the weekly news. Those who did will know this sermon was written up as there being ‘nothing plain’ about my preaching. I think he meant it as a compliment, but I’m not sure. I have a feeling he thinks I will make it all too complicated, too long and too far from the gospel. Like the clergy often do.

If nothing else, today’s gospel should give you reassurance that they and I are not the only ones. John is the latest of the gospels to be written, but we’re still talking pretty early. And he’s doing it too. Right at the end of today’s gospel, just to make sure we get the message, he adds - ‘He said this to show the kind of death he was going to die.’ Even the gospel writers needed to put in the odd hint in to make sure we draw the right conclusions.

Of course, that doesn’t mean every interpretation is right. The pre-eminent master of biblical scholarship in the first millennium was an Egyptian priest called Origen, whose great work the Hexapla presented the bible in six parallel versions, in order to better understand it. Unfortunately, due to an overly literal interpretation of Matthew 19.12 he castrated himself, and was clearly of the view that this was what all good priests should do. Perhaps that’s something our clergy should consider; I can hear the intake of breath behind me. Luckily for them, this practise was banned relatively soon afterwards as mainstream opinion decided this was undesirable. Tragically for Origen, not soon enough.

I tell this, not just because it’s mildly amusing, though it is – it’s my wife’s favourite early church story - but because textual study of the bible is as old as Christianity, it’s necessary and we’re going to need to do some to make sense of the gospel we have here, even with John’s hint.

For a start, that’s because John’s hint is rubbish. If you read the passage carefully, and look for the account of how Jesus will die, it isn’t there. This passage is doing a number of things, but not one of them tells us how Christ is going to die.

• The first thing Jesus talks about is his glorification
• He does then speak about his death, but only to say what happens next 
• Thirdly, he gives an order to his followers – if any one serves me, he must follow me 
• Then he does glorification again, though in more depth and with more nuance 
• Finally, he speaks about judgement of God, his decision

And it’s at that point, when Christ speaks of glorification and judgement, that the evangelist is keen to point out that Christ is speaking about the kind of death he will face. When we preach on this passage, we focus on the death - because John does. When Philip asked me to preach in fact, he called it preaching the cross. We look at this passage and believe the death is the important thing.

And the death of Christ is obviously important. But what I want to say today is that it’s all important. This kernel of the gospel may well be cobbled together from a variety of sources. In my view you can see the joins; note the unconnected opening section about some Greeks, note some of the message don’t seem to run on from other. But, it’s a passage that contains in a few short lines a recap of most of the Christian confession, and certainly the core message of Easter.

Death plays a central role, but only because it is death followed by life, a better, greater life. A life in glory, with God.

Jeremiah makes the same point, though at considerably greater length. Jeremiah is known as the weeping prophet, because he is so unrelentingly depressing. Fifty two chapters of doom and gloom. Here’s an example from earlier in the book [Jer 5.1], where God speaks to Jeremiah:

Run to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem, look around and take note! Search its squares and see if you can find one person who acts justly and seeks truth-- so that I may pardon Jerusalem’

No one is found. Jerusalem falls.

What we have today is the only positive bit: though the Babylonians are literally at the gates of the city, though it will end badly, God will redeem Israel. Though Christ will die, it will be followed by the resurrection and the raising up of all the people. God’s judgement will overcome the world, including the ruler of the world, but there is a glorious future.

As we prepare for Easter, we should ask how.

The mystery of salvation is just that – a mystery. There is no creed that defines it. But there are some clues:

In the epistle to the Hebrews, we hear that Jesus offered up prayers to the one who could save him from death - He asks that it not be so. Jesus does not wish to die. And Jesus was heard - he could have chosen not to die. He is obedient, he is not compelled. This is a choice, and a dreadful one.

Peter Abelard, who may be obscure to many of you, is mostly famous for his illicit love affair with Heloise, for which he was castrated (though unlike Origen, not voluntarily), but was also one of the great medieval theologians. He preached that the death of Christ could (perhaps should) be understood subjectively.And what he means is that, crudely, the death and resurrection of the Lord are examples. By dying, he shows how to live. There is some truth in this. And it certainly has become increasingly fashionable in more modern times as a corrective to what is seen as a vengeful God. Moral exemplars seem, well, nicer, better.

But it isn’t. Picture the alternative. If it’s an example, it’s just an example. It doesn’t need to happen. And that’s monstrous - it would make the Father ask his own Son to die for nothing; it would mean Christ dies as a trick to con humanity into behaving better. This is not what John says today. I have already glorified my name says the voice from heaven, but I will also glorify it again. That’s the divine judgement, the single decision - there is only one Christ in all of history. One death, one cross, one resurrection, one Lord – and the hour has come.

And it changes the world. We do the death of Christ a disservice if we see it simply as a condemnation. Christ chooses to die, to confront death, he brings life forever.

The Greeks in our gospel ask to see Jesus. Instead they have the whole cosmic drama explained to them. Their job was simply to follow. So is ours.

Bibliography, February 2012

Read: 8
J. Le Carre, The Honourable Schoolboy


J. Baggini, Welcome to Everytown
P. Bowles, The Sheltering Sky
N. Davies, Vanished Kingdoms
S. Larsson, The Girl who played with fire
S. Larsson, The Girl who stirred the hornet's nest
J. Le Carre, Smiley's People
P.G. Wodehouse, Summer Lightning

I've only a couple of months before this record is going to become a lot more slender. I appear not to be using it to work through the great canon of literature, but some outstanding genre fiction. I've only recently picked up Le Carre, but he is excellent. Either of the two would have done, but a choice had to be made - Smiley's People was a bit too obviously structured at the end, while this was a self contained gem, packed tightly with detail, well drawn character and a great (and complex) plot. It had a good end too, though my favourite bits were elsewhere. An honourable mention too for Baggini's book about ordinary Britain, which is a useful corrective to the metropolitan view - did you know that, on average, households spend more on their cars than on their mortgages (and this was before interest rates tumbled)?

A human rights sceptic

On the radio this morning, there was some debate over whether Dominic Raab was a human rights sceptic. Everyone was very clear that to be one was a very bad thing, though they couldn't agree on whether he was (he said he wasn't). I think it's a bad thing too, but quite the reverse reason to everyone there: we shouldn't be sceptical about human rights, we should reject them - they are obviously nonsense.

This causes some controversy when I say this at parties (what fun I must be at parties, you imagine), but this is because people don't think properly. It is not that I think the things enshrined in human rights acts are bad things. Most of them are very good: I am glad we have them. However, they can in no meaningful sense be described as rights that apply to all humanity and are instead simply a set of legal principles for part of the world. Rights have to be enforced for the people to whom they apply. And it is obvious that we don't enforce those rights for all humanity. We wouldn't consider it appropriate to go to war to advance even one of them for anyone. So, far from supporting the full (61 pages) of 'human rights' under debate here, in fact we don't support any - and I'm not sure we should. We may have policy objectives to make the world better (though most people in Britain don't care), but we don't believe these rights are universal, or as we could say, human.

I'm also pretty sure that most people don't actually agree with the rights themselves. Certainly globally and nationally, there is no support for the abolition of the death penalty (Protocol 6, Article 1). I disagree, I'm broadly in favour of the rights themselves, with a few quibbles. I'm also in favour of the ECHR, I just wish it wasn't called that, because it's not. It's a court all right, but it's not administering human rights, rather some core (western) European principles of justice. Long may it continue to do so.

The two swords

As I am sure all of you will know, it was one of the early popes (Gelasius I) that formulated the theory of two (metaphorical) swords. One of temporal power, wielded by the Emperor; the other of spiritual power, wielded by the bishop of Rome. The popes were, of course, emphatic that the spiritual power could direct the temporal. This went down less well in imperial circles, sometimes with disastrous results. Now, this is obviously relevant in a lot of ways, but it came to mind when the teacup-like storm broke over council prayers and the associated debate: it very much  feels to me that we're having a debate about the wrong sword.

On the face of it, this should be easy: after all, it has prayers in it, it must be a religious issue. Perhaps not - one could argue that public statements at a state occasion, sanctioned by the state church and with hundreds of years of state-sponsored tradition behind them might just be temporal. But neither of these is right - this is about tradition, and it's about politics. Personally, I find prayer boring. If I were at a council, I suspect I'd prefer it if we didn't have them, because then we could get the meeting over with quicker. However, we're not debating my convenience (would that we could make all decisions on that basis), but whether we should change a long standing tradition. And I don't think we should, because I'm a big Tory: I believe that, by and large, things that don't do major harm should be left alone; and that 'because we've done this for a long time' is a perfectly reasonable justification for something.

Aha, the opposition will cry - that won't do, for this is discrimination. Toss, I would answer, because this is fake outrage, shown by the fact that quite a lot of things are discriminatory. Elections for example are inherently discriminatory against the unpopular (as, sadly, I found out to my cost). This whole complaint about removing all discriminatory elements really frames it in a way I disagree with - twice. Firstly, on significance. This is not a major issue. I find it extraordinary that occasionally having to say something you disagree with is something we now feel is a barrier to people's participation. I do this all the time. And I think we'd all be a lot better if we worried about important things: if you think the church has too big a role in the state, spend your time arguing for disestablishment, this just doesn't matter. Secondly, and most seriously, I wonder if the opponents of formal prayer imagine that their position is value free. Because it isn't. Stupid people (yes, Baroness Warsi, I mean you) have been talking about militant secularism. That is nonsense. But it's disingenuous to suggest that the modern liberal secular position is the absence of the imposition of values. In reality, it's full of values, pretty much all of which I share. But they are not axiomatic or the product of inexorable logic. There's nothing self-evident about individual 'rights' or about freedom of speech. Nor are they not discriminatory: as currently stated, they penalise - for example - the polygamist. They are also  certainly not consistent: ask a believer in democracy what to do about the death penalty. I am not claiming one needs to be religious to have the right answers here, merely that this is an agenda, and it is disingenuous to pretend otherwise.

Inevitably therefore it clashes with other agendas, in this case the Church of England. I'd like everyone to stop polluting this dialogue with 'religious'. I share much more with western liberal atheists than with the Buddhists; I suspect I have more in common with the Caliphate of Cordoba than modern Iran (historical out of period alert here). Modern western secularists have more in common with the Church of England than with Pol Pot, so I venture that the specific cause espoused is important in definition. This argument is about the Church of England, not 'religion'.

And this makes me even more sure it's a question for the temporal authority. It is not important - I certainly doubt God is concerned about whether he appears on the order paper of the council meeting - but it is change for no benefit. The people involved do not want it; those opposing it do not actually suffer. And if we wish to remake everything as without differentiation and without value judgements, we will inevitably fail. I don't care about prayers at the start of council meetings, but I don't see why we need to go around changing things all the time.

Anathema.

NB. My friend Marcus argues in roughly the same way though with slightly different historical references, and with considerably fewer words.

Bibliography, January 2012

Read: 11

BOTM: A. Burgess, Earthly Powers*

A. Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

A. Conan Doyle, The Sign of the Four
A. Conan Doyle, The memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
A. Conan Doyle, The Valley of Fear
A. Conan Doyle, The Return of Sherlock Holmes

G. Greene, Monsignor Quixote*

S. Larsson, The girl with the Dragon Tattoo

D.H. Lawrence, Apocalypse
A. Trollope, La Vendee (K)

P.G. Wodehouse, Very Good, Jeeves


It wasn't really a contest. I'd forgotten just how good Earthy Powers is. I wonder if I think it is better now as I'm not sure I got all the jokes before - it does reward having read a lot. But actually, I think I'd just forgotten. It is, admittedly, like they'd designed a book for me, full of church and literary history, what one reviewer called 'omnilingual' puns and a great story. He does religion and the church particularly well in it, in a way that most writers don't do, but which is actually closer to how it is done in reality. I can't really comment similarly on how well he does the homosexuality. Regardless, much of the writing is simply brilliant. The opening few hundred pages in particular are whip-crackingly smart, and the bar is kept very high throughout. It's famous for its opening line (which is good), but deserves to be famous for more than that. A masterpiece, though -  unlike last time I read it - I'm not going to be tricked into reading too much more of Burgess' output, which generally hasn't held up, though the Enderby novels are worth it - and not just because of the quadruple onion incident, in which everyone should find pleasure.

Note also a methodological change. I've bought a few ecclesiastical history books for the doctorate. I'm not going to list these any more. So, if it's about the fourth and fifth century eastern church (as A.Schor, Theodoret's people), even if I own it, then I won't be including it - you'll have to wait for the PhD bibliography, which I am sure many of you are. (Schor was very good though)

Demagoguery

I was going to write this about Stephen Hester. Actually, there's not much to say because literally everyone on left and right I have spoken to thinks we should pay the bonus to get / keep the right man. £2m is a lot of money, but it's broadly lower than comparable CEO pay. The average pay of the CEOs of the top ten of the FTSE 100 is about £3.5m. RBS isn't one of the top ten (it's lower down) but the size and complexity of the task I think makes them the right comparator. In banking we know rewards are high (the head of HSBC had £5m for 2010). Given that, if you want someone to do the work, they you pay them the rate. You may not like it and wish they would do it for the public good, but they won't - they're bankers. Not spending the money is stupid and wasteful and the £900m share price fall is the obvious consequence (outlined well here). This is posturing with a hefty price.

There have been a few red herrings in the debate. Firstly, there's been a bit of bleating about the share price performance (i.e. Mr Hester has presided over a fall in value). But we know explicit share price links are dubious because it is so hugely affected by environmental factors (i.e. everyone gets a fortune in a boom), so why are we revisiting this now? Secondly, it's been compared to the public sector settlements. Again, this is nonsense. RBS is not a public service, we happen to own it because of a crisis. We don't want to own banks, we want to sell it. We really don't want civil servant to run; we need it to act like a (successful)  company and make some money. If this is the best counter-argument to the bonus, I despair; even more so now it seems to have worked.

There is, by the way, a real issue here. But it's hard and complex. And that's the prominence of the financial industry in high reward jobs. Over the weekend, I read Momigliano on the decline of the Roman Empire, where he espoused the now unfashionable view that the conversion of the Empire hastened its downfall, thusly:

The Church attracted the most creative minds ... attracted many men who in the past would have become excellent generals, governors of provinces, advisers to the emperors.

I think Momigliano simplifies about Rome, but the point is valid for financial services today. The vast rewards made in banking must suck the most brilliant minds of the modern world into finance. Forget CEOs, it's thousands of people right across the banking industry who earn vast amounts in a away that no other career can offer. There are good reasons for this in part (very competitive, high stress, high workload etc), and hard realities to unpick, but I'm pretty sure it's not desirable.

It's important to be specific here: I'm not saying our best minds shouldn't make a fortune (though I am open to the argument that high levels of inequality carries social cost), but rather that I would like our best minds not to all be bankers. This is a tough emotional call, because it means those of us who are not bankers have to accept we have been working in less competitive industries, but that's what it means, and that's what we need to unpick. I have no idea how to do that, but I think someone should. That would be a good issue for our political class to address.

What they shouldn't do is strip Sir Fred Goodwin of his K. He has no committed a crime: he simply took (some quite stupid) risks that did not come off. He is also, by all accounts, a horrible man. These are not reasons to take away an honour. Honours are awarded for what you did; they are not conditional on future conduct - criminals sit in the Lords, a thousand misdemeanours have been committed by recipients of honours in every country.  This is spiteful where we should be measured, inconsistent where government should be above such things and simplistic when the issues are complex. And it is shameful. Like the outcry over Stephen Hester's bonus, the incident is a sideshow, but these issues are real. Aristotle warned of the slide into mob rule that accompanies democracy. This will doubtless be popular, but it is demagoguery of the most blatant kind, and those who practise it deserve out contempt.