According to all the polling data I'm seeing (Electoral-Vote.com, Pollster.com, and RealClearPolitics.com), not only does Obama have a good lead, both nationally and in the electoral vote race, but the congressional races also are tending Democratic. And, oddly enough, I'm unsure how I feel about this. The bitter, resentful part of me wants a huge Dem majority with a Democratic president as payback for the 2000-2006 GOP travesty. I'm practicing my smirk already.
But at the same time I'm uneasy about such a monolithic possibility. I'm not afraid of some awful policy decision by a Democratic Congress; I believe that if America is strong enough to survive 8 years of W, we can escape just about anything. But I am afraid that, politics being politics, Congressional Democrats will be bitter and resentful and do something horribly stupid (see health care reform, circa 1993).
So, I'm thinking that it would be wise to vote for GOP congressional candidates. But both of our races--the Senate seat that Udall will win and the local House race--feature such lousy Republican candidates that I can't do it. Steve Pearce is another slow-talking, unintelligent oil man with a drawl, and Darren White has done a lousy job as sheriff because he's so set on imposing and supporting a conservative ideology in a place where that won't work that he would clearly be a poor congressman.
My plea then is to all my out-of-state readers who live in swing states with close congressional races to vote for the GOP candidate and give us a more balanced Congress (Wait, who reads my blog and doesn't live in ABQ, UT, WY, or NY? Nevermind...).
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
On the Big Sort
One of the purposes of this blog is to find a way to express my views on issues political and religious in a forum that I am comfortable with. Around the time we moved to this ward--a few months before and a few months after May 2003--I had a bit of a personal crisis. The impending and then actual start of the Iraq War was for me the last straw in many ways. I had just finished 6 years at conservative BYU, broken up with 2 years of a mission. I had endured the 2000 election and its attendant frustrations. We had moved to a rather wealthy and very conservative area of town where a large portion of the ward was involved in the military--either at the Air Force base or Sandia Labs. I was 27 and had spent my entire adult life surrounded by people whose political ideologies were, in many ways, repugnant to me.
This was embodied by the sense of isolation I would often feel, both at church and at UNM. In the former, I was the only left-leaning PhD student in the humanities I knew, while in the latter I was the only LDS returned missionary father of (at the time) two children that I knew. I did not really fit in anywhere.
That got better in this ward, in part because it is more diverse than the previous ward, and in part because I was more involved. I served in the Elders Quorum presidency, and service makes you more caring toward others. (In our previous ward I had "calling immunity" because Ryan was just a baby and Summer had a big calling. Plus, I simply wasn't needed as much.) It was still hard at times, but I found myself getting less and less upset at some of the irrational actions and words of others; when a counselor to the bishop based his spiritual thought in PEC on something W did, I winced, but it was less painful than some testimony meetings in April 2003.
Anyhow, I share this (admittedly too soul-baring) experience to make a larger point about how we segregate ourselves according to our beliefs and ideologies. A book on my wish list these days is The Big Sort, by Bill Bishop, who also writes a blog based on his sociological theory at Slate. The basic idea is that over the past 30 years, Americans have formed new group identities based on their politics, both partisan and issue-based, and often both. This results in the sort of homogeneous communities we see in places like Eagle Mountain (on the right) and Albuquerque's North Valley (on the left). We decide to live near and associate with those who share our politics. And the result, according to Bishop, is the extreme polarization we see today.
My intention here is not to discuss the validity of Bishop's ideas here, but rather to apply this idea to my experience and LDS culture more generally. In the Church we often speak of the importance of supporting and sustaining each other's faith--the idea that the coals stay warmer closer together. But we often struggle to differentiate between building up faith and reifying conformity of thought. This is a common critique of the Church, and one that I find weak, but there is a very real risk. It would have been very easy for me to dismiss the importance of my membership in the Church in March of 2003, and it would have been very easy to not go to Church every week. In fact, we lose a lot of people simply because they don't fit the cultural mold and feel unwelcome.
The key, I believe, is to realize that a testimony of the restored gospel does not equal or require political or ideological orthodoxy. In the lead-up to the 2004 election, a priesthood lesson focused on the importance of being involved and informed in the political system; this quickly deteriorated into a discussion of what political issues Latter-day Saints "ought" to hold. Someone (who has since moved from the ward) referred to a commonly-seen bumper sticker that reads, "You can't be Catholic and pro-choice." He then said the same applies to being LDS. I was carrying baby Isaac at the time, so I was able to conveniently slip out and not say what I was thinking, which was certainly for the best, because I wouldn't have said it with much charity.
But here's what I could have (and should have) been able to say. It's entirely possible to be LDS and pro-choice (or anti-war or pro-drug legalization, though that last one is less likely). There is no temple recommend question about any of these issues. We are asked if we are honest and live the commandments, none of which include voting a certain way. (I recognize the fine line related to California's Proposition 8.) And to expect everyone with whom we worship to share our political beliefs--or worse yet, to demand it--is to participate in both the exclusionary group definition of the hypocrite and the religion-as-commodity mindset of the contemporary megachurch, both of which are antithetical to the gospel of Christ.
This was embodied by the sense of isolation I would often feel, both at church and at UNM. In the former, I was the only left-leaning PhD student in the humanities I knew, while in the latter I was the only LDS returned missionary father of (at the time) two children that I knew. I did not really fit in anywhere.
That got better in this ward, in part because it is more diverse than the previous ward, and in part because I was more involved. I served in the Elders Quorum presidency, and service makes you more caring toward others. (In our previous ward I had "calling immunity" because Ryan was just a baby and Summer had a big calling. Plus, I simply wasn't needed as much.) It was still hard at times, but I found myself getting less and less upset at some of the irrational actions and words of others; when a counselor to the bishop based his spiritual thought in PEC on something W did, I winced, but it was less painful than some testimony meetings in April 2003.
Anyhow, I share this (admittedly too soul-baring) experience to make a larger point about how we segregate ourselves according to our beliefs and ideologies. A book on my wish list these days is The Big Sort, by Bill Bishop, who also writes a blog based on his sociological theory at Slate. The basic idea is that over the past 30 years, Americans have formed new group identities based on their politics, both partisan and issue-based, and often both. This results in the sort of homogeneous communities we see in places like Eagle Mountain (on the right) and Albuquerque's North Valley (on the left). We decide to live near and associate with those who share our politics. And the result, according to Bishop, is the extreme polarization we see today.
My intention here is not to discuss the validity of Bishop's ideas here, but rather to apply this idea to my experience and LDS culture more generally. In the Church we often speak of the importance of supporting and sustaining each other's faith--the idea that the coals stay warmer closer together. But we often struggle to differentiate between building up faith and reifying conformity of thought. This is a common critique of the Church, and one that I find weak, but there is a very real risk. It would have been very easy for me to dismiss the importance of my membership in the Church in March of 2003, and it would have been very easy to not go to Church every week. In fact, we lose a lot of people simply because they don't fit the cultural mold and feel unwelcome.
The key, I believe, is to realize that a testimony of the restored gospel does not equal or require political or ideological orthodoxy. In the lead-up to the 2004 election, a priesthood lesson focused on the importance of being involved and informed in the political system; this quickly deteriorated into a discussion of what political issues Latter-day Saints "ought" to hold. Someone (who has since moved from the ward) referred to a commonly-seen bumper sticker that reads, "You can't be Catholic and pro-choice." He then said the same applies to being LDS. I was carrying baby Isaac at the time, so I was able to conveniently slip out and not say what I was thinking, which was certainly for the best, because I wouldn't have said it with much charity.
But here's what I could have (and should have) been able to say. It's entirely possible to be LDS and pro-choice (or anti-war or pro-drug legalization, though that last one is less likely). There is no temple recommend question about any of these issues. We are asked if we are honest and live the commandments, none of which include voting a certain way. (I recognize the fine line related to California's Proposition 8.) And to expect everyone with whom we worship to share our political beliefs--or worse yet, to demand it--is to participate in both the exclusionary group definition of the hypocrite and the religion-as-commodity mindset of the contemporary megachurch, both of which are antithetical to the gospel of Christ.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Simplicity
My next General Conference report is on Elder Perry's message on simplicity. I listened to this on the way to work this morning and found it timely, both because of world events and my own recent thoughts on the need to simplify our lives. I also dig anything that refers to Walden.
(This was the only illicit book I took on my mission, and while I never read it while I wore the black name tag, I felt better about life just knowing it was nearby.)
I also liked how Elder Perry linked Thoreau's four necessities (food, clothing, shelter, fuel) to gospel principles. Understanding the link between the temporal and the spiritual is at the heart of welfare, which itself means not just well-being, but well-doing. If my needs are simple enough, I can meet those needs and be more able to help someone else. If, on the other hand, I am insatiable in my search for a bigger home, a nicer car, and more toys, I will never be in a place to do good for others.
On a related note, we have decided to keep xmas simple for our family this year (we were a bit extreme with gifts for the kids last year), and with FHE tonight I intend to present this idea to the kids in the context of being grateful for what we have and our responsibility to help others. We will then explain that they will each get only a few gifts and that we as a family will spend more time and energy doing things for others this year.
(This was the only illicit book I took on my mission, and while I never read it while I wore the black name tag, I felt better about life just knowing it was nearby.)
I also liked how Elder Perry linked Thoreau's four necessities (food, clothing, shelter, fuel) to gospel principles. Understanding the link between the temporal and the spiritual is at the heart of welfare, which itself means not just well-being, but well-doing. If my needs are simple enough, I can meet those needs and be more able to help someone else. If, on the other hand, I am insatiable in my search for a bigger home, a nicer car, and more toys, I will never be in a place to do good for others.
On a related note, we have decided to keep xmas simple for our family this year (we were a bit extreme with gifts for the kids last year), and with FHE tonight I intend to present this idea to the kids in the context of being grateful for what we have and our responsibility to help others. We will then explain that they will each get only a few gifts and that we as a family will spend more time and energy doing things for others this year.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Conference Thoughts
I'm beginning a new series here as I listen to messages from this past General Conference. Periodically I will comment on a talk that caught my attention. This likely will be less rant-like than most of my entries, but that may be a good thing...
The first message that stood out from the Saturday morning session was by Elder Oaks. He emphasized the importance of the sacrament and sacrament meeting. As I speak in sacrament meeting once a month, I am more aware than ever of the role this event plays in our spiritual lives. And the more I speak the more I realize that what we say matters less than I might like to admit.
As elder Oaks said, "the ordinance of the sacrament makes the sacrament meeting the most sacred and important meeting in the Church." It is not the preaching, but rather the ordinance, and the sermons are secondary. As such, what we say ought to be simple, heartfelt, and presented in such a way as to not distract from or upstage the most important thing we do each week. That is why we are taught to keep our messages short, simple, and based on the teachings of prophets, both ancient and modern. Testimony counts; charisma less so.
I was also impressed by Elder Oaks' emphasis on how we act as we administer and receive the sacrament. The importance of concentrating our thoughts on the Savior was timely for me as the father of children who are learning to develop a relationship with the Savior; my behavior ought to model for them this kind of spiritual focus.
The first message that stood out from the Saturday morning session was by Elder Oaks. He emphasized the importance of the sacrament and sacrament meeting. As I speak in sacrament meeting once a month, I am more aware than ever of the role this event plays in our spiritual lives. And the more I speak the more I realize that what we say matters less than I might like to admit.
As elder Oaks said, "the ordinance of the sacrament makes the sacrament meeting the most sacred and important meeting in the Church." It is not the preaching, but rather the ordinance, and the sermons are secondary. As such, what we say ought to be simple, heartfelt, and presented in such a way as to not distract from or upstage the most important thing we do each week. That is why we are taught to keep our messages short, simple, and based on the teachings of prophets, both ancient and modern. Testimony counts; charisma less so.
I was also impressed by Elder Oaks' emphasis on how we act as we administer and receive the sacrament. The importance of concentrating our thoughts on the Savior was timely for me as the father of children who are learning to develop a relationship with the Savior; my behavior ought to model for them this kind of spiritual focus.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Debate Part II
I'm halfheartedly watching pieces of tonight's debate while halfheartedly grading essays and wholeheartedly eating a bag of chips. And here are some random thoughts:
- John McCain strikes me as a genuinely good human being. You can't say that about most politicians, and this may be the first time in my life that a GOP presidential candidate has met the human decency test. I disagree with a lot of his policies, but if he wins, I won't want to move to Canada like I did in 2000.
- The town hall format seems to have run its course, no? Isn't it time for a new debate format? Town hall setups seem very 1992.
- I just read this at Slate.com: "Even before the credit crisis, the next president stood to inherit more problems from George Bush than he could hope to solve all at once. Now the next administration's burden will include a global financial crisis beyond what any one president, party, or country alone can address." Besides being a severe condemnation of the Bush administration, it also reinforces what I like about Obama--he seems more able to build broad consensus, especially on the international scale, to address not only the issue of terrorism, but also the financial catastrophe.
- One last thought from last week's VP debate--I solemnly vow to never vote for anyone who says "nucular." Ever.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A Weekend Rant
Wasn’t the VP debate fun? A colleague and I spent all day Friday riffing on the “not answering the question you were asked” theme. Me: “John, what is your family doing this weekend?” John: “I’m really concerned that unchecked climate change will be disastrous.”
But my main topic here is the bailout bill. I am very unhappy that the bad bill defeated in the House earlier in the weak was made worse and then passed. Every nice thing I said about principled GOP representatives is out the window (as is any nice thing I may have ever thought about Pelosi). The congressional mindset of accepting a distasteful piece of legislation only because it includes some “bridge to nowhere”-style pet project is obscene.
(As an aside, this is one of the things I hate about incumbent Senators seeking re-election; my freshman year at BYU I attended a debate between Orrin Hatch and his hapless Democratic rival. Hatch made it clear that his seniority in the Senate made it a terrible idea to vote for the other guy, simply because Utah, as a small state, would get a lot less money without his weight. And he then accused his rival of being a “tax and spend” liberal.)
I know I sound a lot like a Ron Paul supporter, but the only way out of this financial crisis and the ridiculous debt we have as a nation is, as President Monson taught last night (I skipped Conference, but I read up on it here), to live and spend prudently. Here’s how it goes—we need higher taxes, especially on the wealthy, but also on gas and other nonessentials; we need to cut spending, especially on defense, which can happen with troop drawdowns in Iraq; we need to encourage job creation by taxing corporations at a responsible rate, especially the unregulated financial markets and the oil companies that are still making record profits; and, above all, we need to rethink our culture of consumerism.
It is this last idea that interests me the most. We live in a smallish home in a working-class part of town. We have one car, no cell phones, no cable or satellite TV (and a 10-year-old, small TV at that). We send the kids to public school and try to do homemade or inexpensive gifts for birthdays and Xmas. But we still have too much stuff. We eat out too often and make too many unplanned trips to the grocery store (“Oops, I forgot the butter; I may as well pick up some ice cream while I’m out”). My point is that we could do a lot more good—increase our fast offerings, donate to the Church’s Humanitarian fund, give back to those in need in our community—if we were less selfish with what we have.
The topic for my speaking assignment this month is consecration, particularly as it pertains to temple worship. I will be reflecting on this idea for the next week or two, especially in terms of how my ample leisure time and less ample expendable income could both be spent more wisely for the blessing of others.
But my main topic here is the bailout bill. I am very unhappy that the bad bill defeated in the House earlier in the weak was made worse and then passed. Every nice thing I said about principled GOP representatives is out the window (as is any nice thing I may have ever thought about Pelosi). The congressional mindset of accepting a distasteful piece of legislation only because it includes some “bridge to nowhere”-style pet project is obscene.
(As an aside, this is one of the things I hate about incumbent Senators seeking re-election; my freshman year at BYU I attended a debate between Orrin Hatch and his hapless Democratic rival. Hatch made it clear that his seniority in the Senate made it a terrible idea to vote for the other guy, simply because Utah, as a small state, would get a lot less money without his weight. And he then accused his rival of being a “tax and spend” liberal.)
I know I sound a lot like a Ron Paul supporter, but the only way out of this financial crisis and the ridiculous debt we have as a nation is, as President Monson taught last night (I skipped Conference, but I read up on it here), to live and spend prudently. Here’s how it goes—we need higher taxes, especially on the wealthy, but also on gas and other nonessentials; we need to cut spending, especially on defense, which can happen with troop drawdowns in Iraq; we need to encourage job creation by taxing corporations at a responsible rate, especially the unregulated financial markets and the oil companies that are still making record profits; and, above all, we need to rethink our culture of consumerism.
It is this last idea that interests me the most. We live in a smallish home in a working-class part of town. We have one car, no cell phones, no cable or satellite TV (and a 10-year-old, small TV at that). We send the kids to public school and try to do homemade or inexpensive gifts for birthdays and Xmas. But we still have too much stuff. We eat out too often and make too many unplanned trips to the grocery store (“Oops, I forgot the butter; I may as well pick up some ice cream while I’m out”). My point is that we could do a lot more good—increase our fast offerings, donate to the Church’s Humanitarian fund, give back to those in need in our community—if we were less selfish with what we have.
The topic for my speaking assignment this month is consecration, particularly as it pertains to temple worship. I will be reflecting on this idea for the next week or two, especially in terms of how my ample leisure time and less ample expendable income could both be spent more wisely for the blessing of others.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Some Quick Thoughts on History
As with last week's presidential debate, I caught about half of tonight's debate, so I don't know if I missed any big stuff. What I saw was pretty smooth and unexciting. But one thing caught my attention.
At one point, after Biden had accused the current administration of fouling up national security, the economy, education, etc., Palin jumped in with a point that was very interesting. She claimed that the Democratic ticket focuses too heavily on the past, railing against Bush/Cheney instead of talking about the future. I caught myself nodding in agreement.
Then I thought about a piece I have my students read by David McCullough, who argues that as a nation, we are historically illiterate. He goes on to contend that not knowing history--failing to learn from the past--is not only foolish, but arrogant, a declaration that nothing matters but ourselves.
I see a gospel truth in this, that the most important things we do as Latter-Day Saints deal only obliquely with ourselves. We focus much of our attention (or, at least, we ought to) on the future via our children and posterity and the past through family history and temple work. I think much of the current financial mess comes from a lack of this sort of perspective, that wealth is not a result of our efforts alone, nor is it for us alone.
So I find Palin's (and McCain's, and Bush's, for that matter) unwillingness to reflect on the past and learn from--or even admit--mistakes in Iraq in particular to be very dangerous. If we cannot see where the past 8 years have gone wrong, we are all too likely to make the same mistakes--or greater ones--in Iran or Pakistan or North Korea. So I think this election must be about the past, not just the old "are you better off now than you were 8 years ago" question, but a deeper one of will we be a better people if we continue to follow the current administration's policies.
At one point, after Biden had accused the current administration of fouling up national security, the economy, education, etc., Palin jumped in with a point that was very interesting. She claimed that the Democratic ticket focuses too heavily on the past, railing against Bush/Cheney instead of talking about the future. I caught myself nodding in agreement.
Then I thought about a piece I have my students read by David McCullough, who argues that as a nation, we are historically illiterate. He goes on to contend that not knowing history--failing to learn from the past--is not only foolish, but arrogant, a declaration that nothing matters but ourselves.
I see a gospel truth in this, that the most important things we do as Latter-Day Saints deal only obliquely with ourselves. We focus much of our attention (or, at least, we ought to) on the future via our children and posterity and the past through family history and temple work. I think much of the current financial mess comes from a lack of this sort of perspective, that wealth is not a result of our efforts alone, nor is it for us alone.
So I find Palin's (and McCain's, and Bush's, for that matter) unwillingness to reflect on the past and learn from--or even admit--mistakes in Iraq in particular to be very dangerous. If we cannot see where the past 8 years have gone wrong, we are all too likely to make the same mistakes--or greater ones--in Iran or Pakistan or North Korea. So I think this election must be about the past, not just the old "are you better off now than you were 8 years ago" question, but a deeper one of will we be a better people if we continue to follow the current administration's policies.
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