Christian Nation

The more I think about it, the more I really do wish that the Blue Team would concede the terms of the game and actually wage an election on the question "which party is more Christian?" I know we couldn't actually change anyone's votes, but I think it would be valuable to have that discussion out in the open. It would rehabilitate Christianity in the minds of those who, like me, have come to see religion as just another bludgeon used to beat the Other into submission.

There are many arguments I would mobilize were I the chair of the DNC. I'm sure you can imagine most of them. But, like Felix, I like the sight of my own words, so I'm going to explicitly state one upon which I recently stumbled. Feel free to be bored.

At the end of my third year at Whitman College, I took a seminar course in the religion department entitled "Religion and Science." It remains one of the most exciting intellectual experiences of my life. I have recently (well, not recently, but I'm slow, so I'm still not done) re-reading the central texts we read over the course of that semester. I am currently 85% through Ian Barbour's "Religion and Science: Historical and Contemporary Issues." In one of the many paragraphs on the Christian view of human nature, Barbour writes:

"Paul Tillich identifies sin with three dimensions of estrangement. Sin is estrangement from other persons in self-centeredness and lovelessness. It is estrangement from our true selves in pursuing fragmented and inauthentic goals. It is estrangement from God, the ground of our being, in attempted self-sufficiency. For Tillich, estrangement, brokenness, and division can be overcome only in reconciliation, healing, and wholeness. To Tillich's three forms of sin I would add a fourth: estrangement from nonhuman nature by denying its intrinsic value and violating our interdependence. I suggest that sin, in all its forms, is a violation of relatedness."

This idea of sin (focusing on the four types of estrangement) calls into question the assertion that the United States is a "Christian nation." Usually, that assertion is countered with the argument: "no; the First Amendment and 222 years of legal interpretation establish ours as a secular government." In my Fantasy Election, I would counter it with "no; we are not a Christian nation; we in no way act like one."

I do not think I misspeak when I say that most interpretations of Christianity hold that humans are wholly dependent on Jesus for their spiritual salvation. You cannot earn your way into heaven. Nothing you do can ever be good enough. You are wholly dependent on God's forgiveness. Hence Tillich's idea of sin as "estrangement from God....in attempted self-sufficiency." Contrast that with the American mythology of the self-made person, succeeding exclusively by the sweat of his or her own brow without relying on anyone else. These self-made people are the ideal to which we must all aspire, and if you find yourself dependent on social institutions like Welfare or Medicare/aid, it is because you have failed and are in some way inferior. There are, of course, secular reasons that this myth is a falsehood. Elizabeth Warren does a particularly good job of laying one out (in my mind, she does a particularly good job of most things...). Religiously, I would ask: why the cognitive dissonance? Why is it a sign of inferiority (or even sin?) to be dependent in our Earthly lives but a definitional aspect of humanity that we are dependent spiritually? Are we fallen, or not? Are we broken, or not? Maybe you can have it both ways, but not without first having the discussion. Politicians like Rick Santorum make their bread and butter talking about "equality of outcome" versus "equality of opportunity," but there's a lot of distance between true "equality of outcome" and making sure poverty and unemployment are not death sentences*. We can achieve the latter. All we have to do is act like Christians (or Jews, or Muslims, or Buddhists...really, anyone who believes there is something more important than self).

*Don't get me started on how a nation that claims to follow the teachings of an innocent victim of capital punishment routinely fights tooth-and-claw to defend its right to execute people.

I suspect things like this are going to become the new gist of this blog. Be forewarned.

It's not a principle if you're willing to compromise on it...

...which must mean that "this blog is no longer about how Scott is an angry Democrat" isn't a principle. Quelle dommage.

Perry's running a "War on Christmas" ad in Iowa.



The way religion gets wielded in elections has always bothered me. Democrats put their butts on the line to pass healthcare reform because we think poor people should have some kind of access to medicine, and yet, for some reason, we roll over and take it whenever anyone tells us we are the less Christian of the two major political parties.

That's all I'm going to say about that.

What I am going to continue talking about is this: I'm still trying to figure out what I believe writ large, but I am quite certain that if I am a Christian, Easter is by far more important than Christmas, doctrinally speaking. Christmas celebrates Jesus' birth. Easter celebrates Jesus' willing sacrifice as an example to God (who is also him... like I said: not yet sure what I actually believe) that humans are a worthy creation and shouldn't just be tossed into the cosmic trash bin. If the claim truly is that we are a Christian nation and should remain a Christian nation, it seems to me there should be an outcry that "our kids aren't allowed to openly celebrate Easter... in schools" (by the way, did you notice how Perry inserted other words between "Christmas" and "in schools" so that it sounds like kids aren't able to openly celebrate Christmas anywhere?). My feeble mind can only come up with two possible explanations that I have never heard anyone bemoan the "War on Easter":

1) Easter's secular component is much weaker than (to quote my hometown pastor) the Santa Claus festival. Even Republicans can't make a claim that everyone should have to celebrate the resurrection of a man/God whom they don't necessarily believe was resurrected. In other words, they know this is a fight that they cannot and should not win. This, to me, means that they don't actually believe in or care about the "War on Christmas" and are just using it as a wedge issue (which they obviously are, so why am I wasting your time on this....)

2) The people who whine about the "War on Christmas" actually believe Christmas is the central holiday in the Christian tradition. Christmas emphasizes Jesus' Superman-like qualities (birth heralded by angels, turned water into wine, that sort of thing). Easter forces us to remember that, in the end, he still died the most miserable death humans have figured out how to inflict on one another. It's the difference between the Prosperity Gospel and the actual Gospel. Is God concerned about showering his followers with wealth? or is He concerned about the fact that somewhere, right now, someone is suffering from hunger, or a curable disease, or civil war, or.....

This brings me back to that thing I wasn't going to talk about ("Rule number 1: [this] doctor lies"). The left should stop cowering in the face of accusations that they are "unChristian" and instead employ more of an "I'm rubber and you're glue" defense. I think we could actually win that argument (something about rich men and camels and the eye of a needle comes to mind). I suppose the fear is that we would lose most of our principles and some of our heroes (I'm going to miss you, Barney Frank).

I just wanted to point this out (to people who probably already noticed it...)

If anyone wants to have a discussion about it, though: so do I.

What about you? Do you have any hobbies?

I was recently told that my last post was too disturbing to watch. I found this amusing because the woman telling me this had recently posted a video to her blog. It was 30 seconds of her 8-month-pregnant belly undulating as her unborn child did whatever it is that unborn children do. I guess that makes the score

Chthulhu: 1

fetus: 0

Don't mess with Chthulhu. Like water, he always wins. [Apologies to those who get that joke. As the title of this blog implies, I should know better.]

Two weeks ago, I used half a block of tofu in a stir fry. The other half languored in my fridge until tonight. In that time, it turned from white to orange.



I actually managed to convince myself (through poking rather than anything you could call research) that this was a sign of drying out rather than any malicious growth and was about to cut it into tonight's meal, when I noticed this.





I'm not sure I've seen that color in nature before. I think it's pretty (though not in a way that food should be). I opened a new pack of tofu.

In lost R'lyeh, dead Chthulhu waits, dreaming

Who knew that dead Chthulhu was a plant? Or that R'lyeh was a small suburb of Seattle whose principal form of municipal income was speeding tickets?

[The music, in case you were wondering, is "Mars: Bringer of War" from Holst's "The Planets" performed by the LA Philharmonic under the direction of Zubin Mehta]

What a dame!

Seoul. Five thousand miles west of anywhere called 'home'; thirty-one miles south of hell. The last time I was here, this city almost broke me. I swore I'd never give it another chance. The Universe had other plans [takes a drag from his cigarette].

Yes: I have been working on that paragraph since I decided on this trip two months ago.

Yes: I am back in Seoul, though only for two weeks (really, two more days, but I've been here for eleven).

The last time I was here, Eric (my boss) was eager that we should all experience "Doctor Fish." The year before, he and a few other Berkeleyans had gone to a cafe where, for a nominal fee, you could soak your feet in a fish tank while you drank your coffee. The fish -- known to biologists as Garra Rufa (does one capitalize species names?) -- feed off of dead and diseased skin. Your feet are not ignored during the experience. According to the wikipedia page on the species, the Turks use this as a treatment for psoriasis and other skin diseases (giving us something to ask after we've sorted out why Constantinople got the works). Incidentally, I saw something similar going on in a mall in Bombay when I was there for a friend's wedding this past January. (Un)fortunately, by the time I arrived in Seoul in September 2009, the cafe in question had closed and no replacement could be found.

Until now.

Two days ago, an intrepid expedition made up almost entirely of foreigners (the one Korean who joined us opted not to partake; I guess, maybe, that should have been a warning) traveled to the Gangnam district where we had rumors of active "Doctor Fish." The rumors were not hollow. There were two tanks of fish. One tank contained fish that were about as long as the last two knuckles on your little finger and, volumetrically, a little smaller than that. Anyone who was ever five years old with a sibling who enjoyed tickling the bottoms of your feet knows what it felt like when these fish fed. The other tank contained fish that were fifty percent larger than an adult thumb. I repeat: these fish were larger than your thumb. When they swam to the surface to beg for food, you could clearly see their mouths opening and closing. Feeding these fish was significantly less nerving. Imagine lowering your feet (or any part of your body) into what you thought was an empty pool only to find a human hand there, waiting and eager to take hold of whatever you had to offer. I stayed in that pool about thirty seconds before deciding I was done.

It is unclear that the experience had any effect other than to provide substance for this post. When I returned to my room and took off my shoes, I thought I could see red pockmarks on the bottom of one of my feet, but I only saw five of them and there were significantly more than five fish. At the very least, I have completed the final stage of my vegetarian certification: I have allowed animals to feed on me. I'm told that's what it's like in Soviet Russia.

I, for one, welcome our new overlords

My parents have this plant. It's called a gunnera. Every spring, it emerges from something that looks like it was grown in the marsupial pouch of a Vorlon encounter suit. I think it's here to assume guardianship of the planet and shepherd our species towards a new way of life. I'm not convinced that this new way of life will be better than the one we are living now.

To test this hypothesis, my parents purchased a timelapse camera from a company called Wingscapes (shameless advert here). We set it up to take a picture every half an hour starting at 6am and ending at 7pm. This is the result of the first week of operation.

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Obviously, there are some issues with the mounting (and we started too late in the season to instill in you the proper fear of this malevolent force of nature; look for something far more terrifying this time next year). I will try to stabilize the camera and post something longer and smoother in the coming months.

I also owe you something with a monster made out of a soda can and hot glue...

Probably not a new car

There is a door in the basement of the University of Washington physics building labeled "Liquid Nitrogen and Lactation Stations." The door is locked. My key does not open it. I like to think that working in the academy means that you are forever safe in the assumption that your place of employ is a bastion of liberal sensibility, however, it is impossible for me to escape the obvious, somewhat regressive explanation for what goes on behind this door.

Please, help me escape. What do you think happens behind this door? Points will be awarded based on awesomeness.