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Economics

Hinduism

Monastic life

16 May 2024

6 min read

The Merc, the monks, and the pursuit of excellence

Exploring the roots of the work ethic.

Rahil Patel

Rahil is a former Hindu monk, and author of Found By Love. He is a Tutor and Speaker at the Oxford Centre for Christian Apologetics.

A large sculpture of the Mercedes Benz three-point star stands in front of a large, low glass fronted showroom.

Mercedes Benz visitor centre, Sindelfingen.

I visited the Mercedes Benz factory in Sindelfingen, Germany, back in 1999. It’s an event that etched a profound impression on my mind. I would even go as far as to say one of the most overpowering “Godly moments” of my life. Hold on! Before you shun me as a “materialist” or silently mutter “of course you love a Mercedes…you’re Indian!” Let me crawl out of your assumptions and rescue myself with an explanation.

Entering the grounds of the Benz factory that cold October afternoon, my guide said that the car park alone was eight square miles of brand-new Benz’. “A robot takes each car from the factory to the car park” I was proudly told. “Germans usually don’t like any mileage on their new cars before they come to collect them, so we’ve made this arrangement to suit their needs.”

“Of course you have,” I muttered cheekily whilst fumbling to hide my astonishment. “Is that a railway station?” I sounded like an eight-year-old who had just entered Disney World.

“Yes, the cars are placed on the train by robots too! We send 1,860 cars via train to the river port city of Hamburg every day. From there they are then shipped to the rest of the world.”

“Ah…,” I nodded pretentiously, as if this was something I frequently witnessed. I was in my late 20s and so trying to hide my feverish temperament was failing as each minute ticked by.

Inside the factory the technology (even in those days) was out of a sci-fi film. A human-like robot calmly held the windscreen of an E-Class Mercedes whilst another robot released a gluey paste around the edges with precision and fluidity. It was like watching a heart surgeon operate on a human but only smoother.

“The dashboard you see arriving on the belt above will be fitted into the main body here below within 30 seconds.”

For a moment I thought my guide was joking with me, as back then I was a monk, dressed in orange robes and looking as if I might be resident in a cave somewhere in the Himalayas. But then I saw the robot in front of me pick up the dashboard at hand and fit it into the mainframe in 20 odd seconds! It was like a quiet day of strawberry picking on a farm for these machines.

After being guided around the gargantuan and astounding array of technology, efficiency and elegance my guide introduced me to the General Manager. I shared my impressions with him with a tad of excitement after which he said, “thank you, yes…we tend to gather together every day for 30 minutes or so, after we close, to see where we can improve on all of this!” After that calm and casual response, I wasn’t sure whether I ought to be impressed with the staggering sophistication surrounding me…or his statement!

Something significant happens in you when you are in the presence of excellence and those who are insistent to pursue it.

There’s something annoyingly attractive about those who are persistent in their pursuit for excellence. It’s as if they are resiliently refining something at hand in the hope of fulfilling another deeper search in the human heart. For these enthusiasts for excellence, a beautiful Mercedes Benz is but a by-product. I’d like to say that it's the outworking of a deeper search.

We are drawn to the beauty of detail. This impalpable gravitation can be attributed to the Divine, as many around the world do. With the precision and detail of that world around them making it possible.

I once heard that a Book of wisdom in the Bible called Proverbs could be categorised into three parts: integrity, creativity and excellence. Although I wasn’t a follower of Jesus back in 1999, I can go back to that factory experience and call it a ‘Godly’ moment because something significant happens in you when you are in the presence of excellence and those who are insistent to pursue it.

Luther’s understanding of the Bible and its implications on work ethic should not be underestimated.

Nearly 350 miles north of the Mercedes factory lies the university city of Wittenberg. The home of another monk, Martin Luther, and Katherine Vona Bora, his wife – and an unexpected champion of excellence.

After running away from her nunnery Katherine married Martin Luther and changed the work style and living standards of their lives almost immediately. Katherine had learned how to grow fruits and vegetables in the nunnery and applied this skill to the small piece of land surrounding their residence and turned it into a profit-making farm. The local Prince in Wittenberg witnessed her innovative skills and gave a small monastery for Luther and his wife to live in. Katherine used the profits of the first investment to invest in another farmland and produced profits once again- and this continued. By 1542 the Luther’s owned more land in Wittenberg than any other citizen! She had initiated such a change that sociologist Max Weber discussed it in his classic, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.

When Luther published Table Talks (based around the discussions in their home when students came to stay or visit), scholars understood clearly how his Biblical exposition (and the indirect defence of his wife’s economic model) created Europe’s spirit of free enterprise.

Katherine’s work ethic was influenced by St. Benedict’s monastic biblical tradition which St Paul had also taught (whoever does not work, shall not eat). A bit like the General Manager at Mercedes Benz who felt that there was still room for improvement in work.

Luther’s understanding of the Bible and its implications on work ethic should not be underestimated. He states that a skilled mechanic “steals' ' when he underperforms at his work for which he is being paid! Not giving your best at something is also called “stealing.” Luther also writes that those who are lazy at work or unfaithful with their work are “worse than sneak- thieves.”

One can argue that Katherine and Luther’s understanding of work ethics from the Bible gave rise to the enthusiasm for excellence across many spheres of western culture and industry.

For me, it’s still a chuckling moment to see the often but obvious impression upon the face of a fellow Indian when they read a label marked, ‘Made in Germany.' It says something… let me just say, with all due respect that it doesn't say the same as “Made in India.” At this point in world history my fellow friends in India would agree.

I have known many Indians who would buy a Mercedes Benz however old or broken down it may be. On the other hand, in 2023 the German manufacturer broke all its sales records in India, growing 10 per cent year on year. (Mind you, some Benz models in India are twice the cost as those in the USA or UK)!

So, is it just status? Or Class? No. There may be an element of wealth display, but the deeper desire is the association with excellence, hard work and efficiency. All of which Luther drew from his own Biblical comprehension as well as his creative wife Katherine Von Bora.

Hindu Monks are not drawn into a far-off corner of Germany to see a luxury car being made. They are drawn (unknowingly) by those of us who are pursuing excellence, elegance and efficiency all of which are tied richly in the wisdom of the Bible.

Yes, I know what you might be thinking and yes, I have visited other luxury car factories. Aston Martin is a case in point. But on returning to my fellow folk thereafter in 1999 I was surrounded by monks whose faces were struck with awe and wonder and they asked,” did you really go? How was it?” That’s the exclusive magic of Mercedes Benz. Or should I say, Martin Luther and Katherine. And how they understood the Bible.

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Conspiracy theory

Death & life

29 August 2024

4 min read

A Bayesian theory of death

The sinking of the superyacht displays the probability, and banality, of death.

George Pitcher

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

Rescue workers look at the plan of a yacht.

The search for the Bayesian.

Vigili del Fuoco.

On any statistical calculation, the probability of dying by drowning when your luxury yacht suddenly and inexplicably sinks at anchor in the Mediterranean has to be extremely low.

So it’s the cruellest of ironies that tech tycoon Mike Lynch should so die, along with his daughter and five others, having devoted his commercial life to the application of such statistical probabilities. He had named his yacht Bayesian after the 18th-century theorem that introduced the idea that probability expresses a degree of belief in an event.

That doesn’t expressly mean religious belief. But, intriguingly, it doesn’t exclude it either. According to Thomas Bayes, who published his theorem in 1763, the calculable degree of belief may be based on prior knowledge about an event, such as the results of previous experiments, or on personal beliefs about it.

In essence, you don’t believe your yacht will capsize in the night and sink in seconds, because your experience tells you so. That belief can mathematically be included in the probability of it happening.

We can transfer the method into religious praxis. Christian belief in the event of resurrection, for instance, can be calculated in the probability that the deaths of the Lynches and others aboard the Bayesian are not the end of their existence.

It’s an intriguing legacy of Lynch’s work for theologians. But it’s the sheer lack of probability of the lethal event occurring at all that lends it its random banality. It’s that death visited those asleep on a yacht in the small hours that lends this news story such tireless legs, not just that these were super-rich masters and mistresses of the universe.

There have been bitter observations on social media that the Bayesian’s victims have commanded limitlessly greater attention than the many thousands of refugees who die in small-boat crossings of the Mediterranean every year.

This is a category mistake. And again, Bayesian theory can be deployed. Experience supports our belief that crossing the sea in overcrowded and unseaworthy vessels can all too often lead to tragically terminal events. The probability of death is plain. Again, it’s the sheer randomness of the Bayesian yacht event that sets it apart.

If death can visit at any time, there can be no difference in the valuation of long or short lives.

That randomness brings us back to the banality of sudden death among us, almost its ordinariness, something that just happens, often entirely out of the blue. The prayer book has the funeral words “in the midst of life we are in death”, meaning that death is our constant living companion. But that doesn’t quite cut it for me, because it tells us it’s there, but nothing of its true significance.

The tenets of Christian faith are regularly said to be those of a death cult; that it’s a deep-seated fear of death that leads us to avoid it with assurances of eternal life. But it’s the sheer banality of death, as displayed in the randomness of the Bayesian event, that seems to knock down that idea. In its randomness, death looks ridiculous rather than evil.

Conspiracy theories around the sinking of the Bayesian are a kind of denial of the reality of death too. We want there to be more to it than the utterly banal.

Author Hannah Arendt coined the phrase “the banality of evil” when covering the trial of Nazi holocaust architect Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem. I’d want to suggest that it’s that same banality, that basic human ordinariness, that is the real nature of the supposed grim reaper, rather than his evil.

None of this can comfort the Lynch family, who mourn the loss of a much-loved father and his young daughter, or the families of the others who lost their lives on the Bayesian. But it is meant to go some way towards an explanation of what we mean in Christian theology when we bandy about phrases such as “the defeat of death”. Because it’s not a wicked serpent that’s been defeated, more of a pointless clown.

There is something especially painful about the death of the young, such as that of 18-year-old Hannah Lynch on the Bayesian that night, a young woman on the threshold of life. And – God knows – the even younger lives we’ve read about being taken lately.

But the concept of banality may lead us to another tenet of faith: The completeness of every life. If death can visit at any time, there can be no difference in the valuation of long or short lives.

A poem, often ascribed to a former dean of St Paul’s cathedral, begins with the line: “Death is nothing at all.” That’s wrong, as an idea. Death is as significant an event as birth. But its defeat is in keeping it in its place.

The dignity in simplicity with which football manager Sven-Göran Eriksson greeted his final illness is a masterclass in this tactic for life. Death isn’t to be negotiated, it’s just there.

In the end, death isn’t a Bayesian probability, it’s a certainty, for all of us. The difference, in Bayesian theory, must be the belief we bring to our personal calculations of the probability of the event.