People sometimes call me a techie. There was a time where this was true, and is something that I’m getting back into.

See, what I’ve come to realize about the phrase “techie” is that it often means “uses gadgets.” Using an iPad for preaching, or wearing an Apple Watch, knowing my way around social media or the features of my phone, these have garnered the techie designation, but, really, this is just me being a consumer who uses purchased products. Yes, they are “tech,” but my utilization of them was pretty much in accord with standard use. To use a microwave is a “techie” as using a tablet or phone in this case.

But being a proper “techie” is, to me, someone who navigates the concepts around their devices, who seeks to grasp an understanding of their innermost parts, to turn a biblical phrase. In that sense, I was a proper techie in my younger years, when I was learning computing from Mrs. Vincent, my math teacher. This extended into my late teens when I discovered 2600 magazine (which turned me on to the political dimensions of technology) and began to understand hardware integration and decided that I wanted to develop video games. So I convinced my mom that we needed a new PC and that me building one was an important educational opportunity. I acquired the parts (including an ASUS motherboard that I thought was legit but I’m pretty sure turned out to be stolen—I discovered this when I went to boot my machine for the first time and was greeted with an HP logo where there shouldn’t have been one; if not for Mrs. Vincent teaching me about BIOS and DOS, I would have been completely lost) and assembled my machine while watching Hackers, a machine that I would later try to learn C programming on (I wrote a calculator!), even if my ulterior motive was to have a gaming rig that could support the brand new VooDoo 2 graphics card so that EverQuest would play better. I even attempted to use chat rooms as a means to evangelize (which one pastor at the time said was not legit) and I even talked about the possibility of sticking a webcam in the church and streaming the sermon with a chat box underneath the stream (which people didn’t seem to understand then—now every church is doing this!) But my time as a techie began to fizzle out shortly after, the moment my grasp of BASIC vanished during a class at the local community college. After that, I just became a gadget-consumer.

I’ve since gotten back into my techie interests thanks in part to my dropping big-corporate social media in favor of the Fediverse, followed by the installation of Ubuntu Linux on an old mid-2011 Mac that has breathed considerable new life into that machine (as well as me). I’ve since started this blog, where I’ve actually learned a degree of coding through the use of MarkDown and CSS, and I’m now very much into the Free Open Source Software movement that is absolutely suppressed by the big corporations.

All of this is simply a prelude to say that, as a priest, I’ve begun reflecting theologically on technology and our (Christian) relationship to it. If being a proper techie is to seek to understand the conceptual and philosophical underpinnings of technology, then it is inevitable that one will bump up against the theological aspects of technology as well.

God And The Machines

Popularly, the term technology is often applied to gizmos. Things with integrated circuits that utilize electricity. We often fail to remember that things like bread and windows and legal pads and gel pens and roads and chairs and cast iron skillets are all forms of technology. According to Wikipedia technology is “the application of conceptual knowledge to achieve practical goals, especially in a reproducible way.” Technology is, more simply, the practical application of ideas (in addition to also being a term applying to the tools or results of that application). This definition is, to me, an interesting thing to consider in regards to humanity’s relationship with technology in the Bible.

The first piece of technology that humans make, according to the mythological account found in Genesis, is a form of rudimentary clothing. The story goes that Eve and Adam, the first people, were naked and unashamed. But the moment they decided to listen to a talking snake and his advice about whether or not to eat a piece of forbidden fruit, the couple become aware of their nakedness and get to work using fig leaves as means to cover up (there’s a very funny old English translation of the Bible called the “Breeches Bible” because it says that Eve and Adam used the fig leaves to make “breeches” for themselves—leafy britches!). This is technology. Eve and Adam had the conceptual knowledge—the idea—that they were naked and so went about making use of resources to apply that knowledge in a practical way. Then God, once He confronts them over their disobedience (which He figures out because they’re wearing the aforementioned britches), He introduces the technology of hide-based clothing, by killing two lambs and using their skins to cover Eve and Adam.

This story sets up the complicated relationship we have with technology. It is both borne out of our foibles and limitations, as well as being evidence perhaps of divine mercy. Both death and life are intertwined in the advent of human ingenuity.

At the same time, technology becomes a means of mediating God’s own self-revelation to humanity. God gives a law to His people through the use of the technology of writing, in which He also instructs them to build a box that symbolizes His presence among them, to be kept housed in a tent that is designed for portability. Later, that tent is upgraded to a building called a temple, itself situated amidst the technology known as a city, the language of which God also uses to refer to His own home/realm. Once we get to the beginning of the Common Era, we have Jesus (God incarnate) utilizing a whole range of technologies as a means to both communicate things about God, but also to serve as mediators of His presence and grace. The manger, the fishnet, bread, wine, a cross and a tomb are but a few of the technological examples put to use by God Incarnate to reveal His full plan to the world. And in the case of the bread and wine, these are said to become the body and blood of Jesus—and not in some notion of symbol or metaphor, no these are God-ordained technologies of grace, what we today call “sacraments.”

In a sense, these sacramental signs are a kind of machine, things that use power to perform a specific action. In this case, it is both the power of God and the power of the entire creation that is behind these technologies, mediating God’s grace and moving us toward the restoration of the world. As the Orthodox theologian Michael J. Oleska writes:

Eastern Christians believe in sacred materialism. God uses physical objects and visible elements to communicate with His People. The created universe is the means by which we enter into communion with Him. He chose food as the most perfect way to enter our lives. And what is the bread? Flour, yeast and water, baked to a certain temperature? No, it is much more, for to create bread, one needs the whole world. The earth must turn, the rain must fall, the soil must be fertile, the sun must shine, night must come, the wind blow. If all this is in harmony, and humans interact with it appropriately, tending the garden as God originally planned, bread can be baked, communion with God restored [...]

It is all Christ. He chose to make water into wine as his first miracle, but He is always doing that, every vineyard since time began [...] The Word made Flesh only does in His Incarnate Form what the Word, embodied in the whole creation, has always done. (from “The Alaskan Orthodox Mission and Cosmic Christianity,” The Chant of Life: Inculturation and the People of the Land p. 188)

We Are God’s Technology

I have to admit, the idea that technology is “applied conceptual knowledge” sounds a bit like what Saint John the Evangelist writes in his gospel:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God [...] The Word became flesh and made his home among us.

The “Word” there is the English rendering of a Greek concept known as “Logos.” It’s a fairly difficult concept to translate directly into English, to be honest. The best I’ve come up with is that the “Logos” is akin to the “kernel” in a program like Linux, the core element around which everything else is built/based.

Honestly, this image is probably the actual best representation of what “the Logos made his home among us” means. (from the Perry Bible Fellowship)

Basically, the idea is that God looked out at timeless time and decided that He wanted to create a universe where He would come to live, and so He built a universe around the “kernel” of Himself as human. So when Genesis says that humanity is made “in God’s image,” we Christians are saying that we are built to look like what Jesus (that is, God-in-flesh) is. Yes, I understand that this does not make sense when we think of time linearly—but there’s really nothing that says time is linear; plus we Christians affirm that God does not exist within time as we comprehend it.

Anyway, Saint John speaks of this notion as “Everything came into being through the Word, and without the Word nothing came into being.” The “Word” (Logos) is the anchor around which everything exists. One of the Episcopal Church’s Eucharistic prayers puts it as “In your infinite love you made us for yourself.” In other words, we are made by God to do what God intends us to do.

Which means we are God’s technology.

This might sound weird at first. Especially if we still associate technology with machines or gadgets. But when we recall that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made” (as the Psalmist declares) we realize that our “being made” is a confession that to be created means that we fall into the realm of technology. Saint Paul articulates this when he writes that we are “God’s building.” This is overt technological language, applied to us as created beings. We, and the whole universe, are an application of God’s conceptual knowledge—indeed THE conceptual knowledge—reproducible and with particular intention.

And what is that intention? To love God.

I know that sounds selfish on God’s part. Is God so insecure that He felt the need to create an entire universe so that it could foster sapient life on (perhaps) a single planet with the express purpose of giving Him worship and adoration? When we think of God as lacking in love, then yes it does sound like He’s insecure. But when we consider that God is a complete and perfect Being lacking in nothing, then it changes the idea of why God created.

God did not need to create, not in the sense of an obligation (as in filling a lack). Instead God chose to create as an outgrowth of His ever-flowing love. Love demands an object. And if, as Jesus tells us, God is Love, then the only logical conclusion we can reach is that the universe was created to be an object of that Love, borne as a consequence of an eternally radiating love emanating from a complete Being who has love to spare. And if that Being is the originator of all that is, then the love poured into us finds its most worthwhile expression when directed back at the One who graced us with everything that is—out of His love.

But notice what Jesus says about how we apply that love ourselves. He doesn’t tell us to do what all of the other religious practices of His time were doing, which was to direct love at God/the gods in order to win their favor, as though God needed this love. No, Jesus tells us that our love of God is demonstrated best when we love our neighbor—which Jesus defines as everyone and anyone. We are to mediate God’s love among ourselves and in so doing it is directed toward God, who is the One most worthy of receiving love. This is what He designed us to do.

This post is long enough without getting into the programming bug we know as sin (I’ll take that up in a later post). Instead I’ll leave us here to ponder what it all means that we are God’s technology of love, given the gift of technology ourselves that can serve as a mediating factor for receiving God’s love in order to spread it around—by which we show God how much we love Him in return.

—

The Rev. Charles Browning II is the rector of Saint Mary’s Episcopal Church in Honolulu, Hawai’i. He is a husband, father, surfer, and frequent over-thinker. Follow him on Mastodon and Pixelfed.

#Theology #Technology #Linux #Computers #Philosophy #Christianity #Bible #Church #Jesus

We are in the midst of a wave of what is now known as enshittification, which is a term coined by Canadian author Cory Doctorow on his blog, Pluaralistic. It’s a phrase that has taken parts of the internet by storm, a perfect word to describe how seemingly everything has gotten worse. (Apologies to anyone who is bothered by a priest using the word “shit,” by the way. I get that some Christians are offended by swearing, but Saint Paul pretty much uses the word “shit” in Philippians 3:8 when he considers his life before Christ as skybala, so make of that what you will.)

“Enshittification” is marked by four things, according to Doctorow:

first, [platforms] are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die.

Notice that those four markers are not exclusive to technology, where the term “platform” could be used for just about any institution.

Including the Church.

Just think back to the 15th and 16th Centuries. The Church had been good. It managed to change the direction of the Roman Empire and even managed to preserve elements of culture and society after the fall of that empire. It was nimble and adaptive to the needs of people in the agrarian days of the early Medieval period and managed to counterbalance the worst impulses of kings and lords (for the most part) because kings and lords were seen as subservient to the lordship of Christ Jesus and His Church, which wielded the power of excommunication as a way to keep things in check. But then, kings and lords wanted more from the Church, an institution they were largely funding. Further, many of the bishops had been welcomed into the halls of wealth and power and now saw themselves largely in political terms rather than spiritual. So the laity began to be exploited through practices like the selling of indulgences (used to fund wars and, later, the construction of Saint Peter’s at the Vatican). Then, the bishops began to exploit the lords and kings to get what they wanted (just consider the story of Henry IV traveling in the snow to get the pope to reverse an excommunication). Then, we get the Reformation Era (which gave birth to my branch of the Church, known as Anglicanism).

Now, we see the same things happening in regards to Protestant Christianity, particularly the Evangelical side of things. Pro Publica is running an article about one of the several Evangelical pastors that are leveraging their spiritual influence in the service of political power. And the question is why? Why would any organization that calls itself Christian engage in this sort of thing?

Why would the Church ever return, like “a dog to its vomit,” to the well of enshittification?

It’s because Christians seem to forget what their religion is all about, largely because Christianity is a pretty inconvenient thing. We want to change the world, we rightly recognize that Jesus calls us to change the world. But the lure of doing such things quickly and conveniently is very very strong. Which I feel like we’ve heard something similar before...

Oh. Right.

I’m beginning to think more and more that “inconvenience” is a Christian virtue, a thing we need to embrace, cultivate, and value (I’ve plans to write more on this in the future). When we consider that the ancient rabbinical interpretation of the Fall was the result of the serpent telling Eve and Adam that they could short-cut their way to god-like-ness that the Holy One was moving them toward by eating that piece of fruit, we see that “convenience” or “expedience” becomes a very alluring temptation. Further, in a prophecy about Jesus found in the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Book of Wisdom (frequently called The Wisdom of Solomon) we read:

Let us lie in wait for the righteous man, because he is inconvenient to us and opposes our actions; he reproaches us for sins against the law, and accuses us of sins against our training. He professes to have knowledge of God, and calls himself a child of the Lord. He became to us a reproof of our thoughts; the very sight of him is a burden to us, because his manner of life is unlike that of others, and his ways are strange. (Wisdom 2:12-15, NRSV)

So, even the Bible itself acknowledges that the ways of Jesus are inconvenient, while also exposing the short-comings and even wickedness that come from a life of convenience. And those things result in Jesus being crucified. Which is all to say that convenience is powerful and can come with a dark side if we’re not attentive to it.

Christians, as with anyone else, are sinners. We know this, we confess this, we (are supposed to) try and overcome this. But, nevertheless, we live in a sinful world and it is very hard to successfully resist every day. (But this is why we also believe in grace—which is another topic for another time!) The allure of a short-cut to what we think we want is too strong. And so we make a concession here, another there, and then in time we have Rube-Goldberg-machined our way into abandoning our faith and/or calling a heresy or idolatry “Christian.”

Christians have an uneasy relationship with the so-called “separation of church and state.” Our faith demands that we be public and call on the public to repent and follow Jesus. This fact was not lost on some of our most ancient thinkers, most notable being Saint Augustine of Hippo, the great sage of Western (scholastic) Christianity. His mountainous masterpiece, The City of God, deals with the questions of Christians in political leadership. What he effectively argues is that Christians are baptized into a world affected by sin and so all things we humans develop are going to be marked by that fact in some way. But because we confess that sin and confess that Jesus has freed us from sin having lasting, defining power over us, we are able to see past the marks of sin and into a new way of being. So Augustine argues that the Church must make use of the systems of this world, but in such a way to move past the sin-defined flaws of those systems. Judicial punishment, for instance, is supposed to be understood by Christians as a tool that leads to people being restored into the community and not a means of punishment for the sake of punishment. Augustine understood that the guilt of the knowledge of the sin itself is more punishment than the law could ever apply, and so mechanisms of “punishment” are only to help an offender realize the sinfulness of their actions, so that they could come to a place of confession—which is the catalyst for repentance and restoration to the community.

In short, Saint Augustine argues that the Church make use of governmental systems in order to persuade people of what they ought to do, rather than coerce them. In effect, this subverts the systems of government, sinful as they are, in the aims of hopefully working them out of a job.

But, as we all know, persuasion is inconvenient. It takes time. Think of how hard it is to convince people to leave Facebook or Instagram in favor of the far superior experience of decentralized social media like Mastodon and Pixelfed. Wouldn’t it be easier, more convenient, to just force people to leave?

Wouldn’t it be easier if we could just vote the right people into office and get them to make people behave the way we think they should?

Such a view is deeply heretical, from a Christian perspective, because it attempts to supplant the work of God and put it into the hands of us people. Like the Marvel villain, The High Evolutionary, we convince ourselves that we can do it all faster and better because God is not behaving the way we think He ought.

The only way out of the cycle of enshittification is to properly repent and then continue to resist the lure of convenience.

The Rev. Charles Browning II is the rector of Saint Mary’s Episcopal Church in Honolulu, Hawai’i. He is a husband, father, surfer, and frequent over-thinker. Follow him on Mastodon and Pixelfed.

header image by J Dean, via unsplash.com. The image of the Temptation of Christ is courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and is in the public domain

#christianity #church #enshittification #technology #culture #politics

I’m probably going to be “that guy” to some of you. That guy who discovers something new to him and then integrates it into his personality and won’t shut up about it until something else comes along to take it’s place. I’ve been that guy kind of all my life, to be honest (ask my friends). My current “that guy” thing is the Linux distribution (I restrained myself from saying “distro”) known as Ubuntu and it has, in a small way, changed my life.

So here’s the deal. I’ve been an Apple guy since at least 2006, after an obsession with Sony products (and the building of a PC just after high school). My first ever Apple product was an iPod, the one with the touch wheel. I was so enamored with the design (as I was with the late-90s clear Macs) that I decided to finally purchase a Mac computer for myself. After my beloved Sony Vaio laptop was stolen from my apartment in college, I went almost a year without a computer (living fearfully and carefully with my entire life on a thumb drive that traveled with me everywhere—this was well before cloud storage). With money bequeathed to me from my grandmother after her funeral, I purchased that ubiquitous white plastic Apple iMac laptop that everyone had (except for the kids who had the black pro model). And I used it all through the rest of college and my seminary education. It was chipped and scratched by the time I got a good deal on a 27-inch iMac with an Intel processor, thanks to a friend who worked at the Apple Store. This was during my first year of marriage, before kids and when my wife had a very well-paying accounting job for a major firm (while I worked as the lowest-paid priest in my diocese). In addition to that, I was fully integrated into the Apple ecosystem: iPhones, iPads, Apple Watches. I read Steve Jobs’ biography (which still sits on my shelf and I pick up to read on occasion even nowadays). I was maybe “that guy” about Apple for a time.

What I love(d) about Apple is the seriousness they took with regards to design. They aimed to make beautiful products. And not only were they beautiful, they simply worked.

I hate Windows. I pretty much hate everything Microsoft. But I really hate Windows. I especially hated that Windows lied to me. Like when I went to delete software, just sending it to the recycle bin was not enough. You had to track down stuff in the registry after running an uninstaller, just to make sure it was all gone. What blew my mind with my first Mac was that deleting software was as simple as moving it to “trash.” Then emptying that trash. Then there was the refinement. Pages offered crisp-looking documents with a range of beautiful fonts. The icons for minimizing and closing windows in MacOS looked like candied jewels. The physical hardware of the machines were minimalist works of art. No company aside from Braun or Dyson seemed to be focused on the connection between function and form quite like Apple. And that philosophy carried over into the software side as well. Jobs was correct in recognizing that personal computing was only going to take off if things were designed with an eye toward intuition. He hung around with guys like Steve Wozniak and Bill Gates, guys who viewed computers in a vein similar to HAM radios. But Jobs knew that he’d have to remove personal computers from the realm of hobbyists and offer a product that seemed “finished” if people were going to shell out loads of money in order to use that product. And the proof is right in front of us: the Macintosh played an instrumental role in the adoption of personal computers and Apple sits as the most valuable company in the world.

Reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs reveals something many many people have noted: Apple struggles without Steve Jobs. When Apple fired Jobs, they floundered as a company and got too spread-out, offering products that no one seemed interested in purchasing. Jobs’ return brought with it the foundation of success that the company rides today, but looking at Apple these days and you can see that they’ve not really been able to overcome Jobs’ death (compounded by the losing of Jony Ive from the design side of things as well). Jobs’ philosophy of ensuring that these consumer products simply “work” has morphed instead into an approach of spoon-feeding applications and gradually locking people into the Apple ecosystem, seemingly more to keep them from leaving than any real benefit to remaining.

Take my beloved Pages, for instance. Every time I’ve updated that program (which has gradually become more and more like a mobile app than a proper word processor) I’ve lost fonts that I used and certain settings are gone or buried for reasons that don’t make a whole lot of sense to anyone but the engineers at Apple. Then there’s the planned obsolescence. Which, I get. Maintaining old hardware and software requires people and thus incurs costs on diminishing returns and all of that. But Apple continues to have their hardware and software locked up, which results in these beautiful products becoming seen as disposable, discardable, and furthering an ugly and environmentally catastrophic sense of consumerism.

Jobs seemed to hold the view that a computer should not insist upon itself. The computer, for him, is a tool toward a different end, not an end in itself. Increasingly, Apple feels like they’re making products for the sake of the product, and making changes to those products that feel insistent and not like the catalyst for liberation that Jobs envisioned in his dad’s garage all those years ago.

Which brings me, finally, to Ubuntu.

So that mid-2011 Mac I spoke about? I still have it and use it as my “home” computer. When I was called to be the priest of Saint Mary’s in Honolulu, the private school I had been chaplain to gave Saint Mary’s two refurbished Macs as a gift. Both of them the same year and model of my home computer. That was in March of 2020. One of the machines I appropriated for use as my office computer (because I didn’t have one at the church when I arrived). Shortly after the move, I started noticing that my home machine was running slow. I had a ton of stuff on there, so it wasn’t that unexpected. Then the office machine started chugging and I kept getting notices that my OS was no longer able to receive security updates, etc. It was becoming clear that I needed to buy a new computer—or two.

My parish is not big. I do not make a ton of money. So the idea of asking the parish to purchase me a new computer felt selfish. I was not about to keep apologizing to folks about the leaky roof while logging onto a brand new iMac (I really liked the mint green one). Plus there was the added element of what I’d said above about Apple, that the newer Macs were harder to repair and treated as more “disposable” (they glued the motherboard to the screen!). Conventional wisdom (that I picked up when I was working at EB Games in 2000 and part of the “PC Master Race”) was that a Windows machine should last about five years and a Mac between seven and ten, depending on use-level. These machines were hitting fourteen years of age, so old that I could not AirDrop from my iOS devices on them. So, it was time.

Then, Trump happened. Again. And suddenly all the big tech stuff changed in my eyes. Beating big tech felt like both a Christian responsibility and a patriotic need. I thought back to the early chapters of Steve Jobs’ biography and how he articulated the role tech can play in personal liberation. So I decided that I needed to learn Linux. I actually checked out Linux For Dummies from the library. In the course of my reading I learned that not only does Linux run really great on older Macs, but Ubuntu in particular.

This all means that I found myself in a position to try something new, something that would maybe inject new life into my computers—as well as me and my relationship with technology. I dug out an old external drive and got to work on creating a bootable USB drive for experimenting with Ubuntu on Mac. It was a bit more complicated than I expected. One computer basically forgot that it was able to access a WiFi network and so I had to create the drive on a separate same model Mac. I couldn’t use Etcher to get things going (the Mac was too old), so I had to learn to use the Terminal on Mac (which I’ve ever only used extremely sparingly; reminded me of DOS back in the day, which helped when I built my own PC, or when I had to do stuff with BIOS). I had two machines going, plus my iPad for instructions. I felt like I was hacking the Gibson. Once I got the bootable drive set up, I plugged it into the relevant machine, restarted it in order to boot from the drive, and was blown away at how refined and pretty Ubuntu looked—while feeling a deep sense of satisfaction that I got it to work at all. I fell in love almost immediately and so I wiped the memory of the machine and installed Ubuntu as the operating system, running it like it was a fresh computer.

I’m writing this on that machine, using LibreOffice. I love it so much that I get excited to come to work just to use this computer.

Running Ubuntu on this Mac has had an immense impact on my relationship with computers in just the few weeks I’ve had it. Not only does it feel like I’m using a completely brand new computer, it feels rebellious, like I’m in some sort of special club. When I check out apps online and I see that it has Linux support, I feel like I’m part of an inside joke that only cool people get.

Linux feels rebellious to me. I’m sure there are folks who run servers that do not feel this way. But for someone that lives among the normies, to whom it’s either Windows or MacOS, Android or iPhone, this feels counter-cultural. And it feels empowering, like I get to decide when my technology is out of date. I mean, I’m writing this on a nearly fifteen year old machine (which still looks beautiful), using a twenty-five year old Pro Keyboard (the one with the midnight blue clear plastic buttons—the peak of personal computing design—I got it for like ten bucks at a thrift store). There’s plenty of life left in these things and they do not deserve to be relegated to trash heaps. Indeed, the aesthetic beauty of these products is enduring and Linux ensures that they are still functionally useful.

There’s also a spiritual dimension to this as well. In not letting a mega-corporation or three make my technology decisions for me, I am asserting my own self-worth. I am also experiencing a sort of revival, what Saint Paul refers to as the transforming of one’s mind, in opposition to being “conformed to the ways of this world.” The tools and the knowledge to use them is out there. It just takes a little time and effort to acquire it. It doesn’t need to be doled out to me from on high. Rather, it’s all around us and among us, even within us. And this fact is utterly liberating to know.

It’s weird to say, I guess, but this little operating system has had a huge impact on me. Linux changes lives.

The Rev. Charles Browning II is the rector of Saint Mary’s Episcopal Church in Honolulu, Hawai’i. He is a husband, father, surfer, and frequent over-thinker. Follow him on Mastodon and Pixelfed.

#linux #christianity #spirituality #technology #computers #ubuntu #resistance