666

From its earliest days as a combination chop-shop and Buddhist escort service, the Ministry of Linus has always strived to bring you the finest in iconoclastic heretical blasphemy, served up in a waffle cone of self-deprecating hypocrisy. For those who are keeping score, today is the 666th attempt to do just that, and we are in luck - today's post coincides with the 4th of July, a national holiday absolutely full to the brim with hypocrisy! That this post bears the number of the beast is fitting - the beast would be proud of the mockery of clear thinking this day entails.

Yes children, today is the day we celebrate our freedom and independence from our oppressive overlord and now BFF, Great Britain. Naturally, we do this by searing dead flesh and then firing small rockets into the night sky. Clearly, I could make an entire post from simply ridiculing each of these activities, but really, it's just too easy. Certainly, the irony of celebrating our freedom by eating the flesh of our slaves (animals) and commemorating our national independence by launching fireworks made largely in Mexico or overseas is quite apparent to all Flockers worthy of that title. No, this post will be about the true hypocrisy of today, and the muddled thinking of nationalists the world over - the idea that there is such a thing as independence.

We have declared for 232 years now that we are an independent state. Well, actually, a bunch of little independent states that are united, but that distinction has long been obscured by patriotic fervor. Ok - so how independent are we?

Do we grow all of our own food?
Do we mine/drill all of our own fuel?
Do we make all of our own goods?
Do we do all of our own labor?

Do we, in fact, stand on our own in any way?

Of course not. We are deeply intertwined with other peoples and other nations all over the world, and always have been. In fact, no nation, no state, no organization, no faction, no party, no clan, no family and no man is truly independent. We rely on others from the day we are born until the day we die - and actually, we rely on others even outside the narrow window known as life. Long before we're born we're counting on another for nutrition and safety, and we hope that after we die someone takes care of our corpse in some way.

The simple act of living entails connection and interaction with others. Even when we try to stand on our own, we consume resources in ways that affect others. Consider the gun nut who builds his own compound in Idaho - even his walled enclosure was made with cinder blocks manufactured by others, and his septic tank enriches the land that will some day be another man's garden. No man is an island, as the saying goes, but even if he was, he'd be polluting the water around him some how.

No, we are all in this together, and today is no exception. By all means, enjoy the pretty lights in the sky tonight, and be thankful for the liberties that we enjoy, but don't kid yourself - America, and everyone in it, is about as independent as one leg of a tripod. Perhaps some day, we'll celebrate a holiday that commemorates the day we all recognized our unity as members of this globe - we can call it "We Pulled Our Heads out of Our Asses Day".

Ok, you're right - "Unity Day" will fit better on the sale flyers...

...in a Handbasket

Over on her blog, WNG has posted a link to a story about a pastor who lost his congregation by preaching that no one goes to hell. Naturally, I leapt to respond - my calling as an internet spiritual leader does have its responsibilities. Unfortunately, my pontificating quickly filled up WNG's comment box (please, no comments about filling WNG's box...) so I decided to turn it into an actual post.

When I was taking religion classes as an undergrad, they encouraged us to adopt a "religious studies persona." An alternate, completely neutral personality, through which we could examine religions other than our own, without the interference of our own beliefs and convictions. As you might guess, this was quite difficult, but with effort I was able to develop some detachment over the course of a few semesters worth of classes. Eventually I was able to read about the tenets and rituals of religions that I found at best, illogical, and at worst, outright harmful to the sanity of the practitioner, with a dispassionate eye. I took in the information and digested it without making value judgments on it, then stored it in neat packets in my head for easy retrieval during testing. Despite this concerted attempt to be neutral and even-handed in my treatment of all religious concepts, I was, and still am, baffled by anyone who believes in the concept of hell in the Christian faiths.

The position of the Abrahamic faiths on the existence of this fiery realm is not unique - many religions share this belief - but their insistence on it being an eternal condition is fairly uncommon. Most religions envision a way out for the transgressor after having served a certain period of time - I call it the "hockey paradigm." In these faiths, this place of punishment serves as a "penalty box" of sorts, giving those who have failed to behave properly in this life a chance to learn from their mistakes.

To the majority of Christians (that is, the primary denominations), however, this life is a one-shot proposition. You have only one lifetime in which to get this right, and failure leads to an eternity of torment. These folks hold to what I like to call the "skydiving" paradigm - "If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you."

Now, consider for a moment the two paradigms. Which is more compassionate, hockey or skydiving? It seems clear to me that hockey is far more gentle than skydiving, as it allows a person to grow from their mistakes. Nevertheless, most Christians not only hold to the skydiving paradigm, but insist that their god is loving, benevolent, and compassionate. Throw in the idea that he is all-knowing as well, and you have a real logical dilemma. Observe:

If god is truly omniscient, then he must know where you will end up after death. He knows the good and bad choices you will make, and how your soul will be weighed when the end has come. In fact, he must know all of this before you are even born, in order for him to be truly omniscient. So, in my case, long before my grandparents were even born, god knew that I would come along and fail to believe. He knew that I would question, and find lacking, the Christian faith, thus ending up in an eternity of torture. w00t for me.

So the question becomes, why did he make me? If he knows that he is creating me just so I can live an all too brief life of confusion and suffering here on earth and then go to the fiery pit for eternity, why would he do that? If he were truly compassionate, why wouldn't he simply NOT create me, or anyone else who would fail to believe?

This is just the tip of the iceberg here, but I'm sure you can see the problem. Belief in an eternal hell leads to some difficult rationalizations about god that most Christians aren't really prepared to make. The pastor referenced above who preached that there is no hell knew this to be true, and it cost him his congregation - and let's not beat around the bush here; what it really cost him was his livelihood. His church was a huge one (6000 members on a Sunday!) and his lifestyle was certainly a fairly plush one because of it. Some fundies might claim that he is being punished by god for heresy, but I think he should be applauded for refusing to kowtow to doctrine which he couldn't reconcile. He may only have a congregation of 300 now, but at least those 300 are hearing a message that has some kind of internal logical consistency.

I sincerely believe that the modern Christian concept of hell has been perpetuated as a means of social control. It is believed to be a deterrent to deviant behavior - but that is another topic, requiring me to remove my papal mitre and put on my, um... sociologist's sombrero. Maybe some other time, if you are interested...

Sunday Sermon

Rules Lawyering

Several times recently, I have been accused of being a "rules lawyer." For those of you who are not RPGers, a rules lawyer is a player who memorizes every tiny rule and debates with the ref and/or other players over the correct interpretation of them. It's sometimes used interchangeably with the terms "munchkin" and "powergamer" (players who try to work the game system to their benefit).

Now, before you all decide that I'm unpleasant to play a game with, let me assure you, I'm no munchkin. I've been known to play the lamest imaginable characters, and play them just for the excitement of trying to survive. I frequently argue rules to my own detriment. It's not that I want to win, but rather, IF I win, I want it to be a clean win, accomplished completely within the rules.

To clarify further, let me say that I don't force everyone to play strictly by the rules as they are written - house rules are fine. I do, however, insist that the house rules be; 1) clearly explained beforehand, and 2) applied evenly to everyone. It would also be nice if they didn't change from game to game, or at least not without meeting 1 and 2 above, and giving some explanation as to why they are changing. Provided the person running the game does those things, I can play any game quite happily, regardless of winning or losing. However, when the person running the game changes rules arbitrarily, or demonstrates that they are more concerned with aggrandizing their ego than creating a good gaming experience, I am the first person to get pissed off. I am not the type to be pissed off quietly.

Which brings me to my rant for today...

I play dodgeball in the local recreation center's adult coed league. I believe it's designed to allow one to exercise and exorcise. The game works up a good sweat if you put some effort into it, and the demons of playground bullies past are conjured almost immediately when you step on the court. The balls are softer today, and there is so much less at stake that it's easy to put your childhood traumas behind you. For example, you can stink up the court, getting eliminated early in every game, and no one will shun you at the lunch table later...



At least, it should be that. Unfortunately, the Dumb Cunt (I think her official title is "League Supervisor" but "Dumb Cunt" really sums it up better) who runs the game is ruining that for all of us.

We are supposed to play on our honor - calling ourselves out when we are hit. To facilitate that, the league sent out the "official rules" by email to all of us. Perhaps it is too much for me to assume that everyone would read those rules, but I think that at least the DC (I'm planning on telling her that DC stands for "Dodgeball Coordinator") would have done so. Instead, we have played by different rules every week - some of them diametrically opposed to the written rules, and almost all of them are different from the rules we learned as children. Worse yet, there is a clause in the printed rules that says that only team captains can approach the DC for rules clarifications.

Examples:
-Remember the "twofer" rule from the playground? You know - you throw the ball and it bounces off of one opponent and it hits another before hitting the ground; both are out, right? Not when the DC is in charge.

-Remember the "save" rule? When the ball bounces off you and one of your teammates catches it before it hits the ground; you're not out, right? Nope - DC overruled this as well.

-Remember how hitting someone in the head put you out, not them? DC ruled that no one is out, and you just have to be more careful next time...

All of the examples above are covered explicitly in the rules - this is not a question of interpretation. Even more irritating than this, however, is her way of "officiating" the game. Last week, she told us that the "save" rule no longer applied. Of course, a few minutes later, a guy on the other team caught a ball off of one of his teammates, and they all celebrated the save. I pointed out to them that the DC had changed that rule, and they disagreed. When we asked her if the man hit was out or not she replied, "I don't know, I wasn't watching." My rage at this kind of incompetence knows no bounds - she is, presumably, getting paid to do this. The least she could do is watch the fucking game.

In short, aside from showing up with the balls every week, she has failed in the basic tasks of being the "league supervisor" but she has succeeded incredibly well at being the DC.

For this week's game, I have a new strategy. I am going to play by the printed rules, even if no one else does. I will take my hits by the rules, and not worry about those around me. If she calls me out at some point, I will ask my team captain to ask her to show him exactly what rule she is applying, so he can show it to me, so I can play the game properly...