Month: April 2013

a modicum of solace

Yesterday The Guardian provided the results of an American-based survey on various conspiracy theories. Interestingly, the headline focused only on one of the 26 questions: Obama as the Antichrist. Two things–one about the headline, and one about the survey–and then a third, which is less troubling.

With regard to the headline, it’s a bit misleading. According to the numbers in the results (the full break-down is here), only 13% believe Obama is the Antichrist. That’s hardly “one in four Americans.” The only way you can get close to a “one in four” charge (i.e. 25%) is if you lump the 13% from the “not sure” category, which is what Paul Harris does in the article. He does this on the basis that “not sure” = “possibly so” or “I could be convinced”. A bit shady on the method, but understandable. “One in four” sounds better and (slightly) more widespread than “one in seven(ish)”.

With regard to the survey, it too is a bit misleading. If we went on the title alone, we get the impression that 25% of (all) Americans believe Obama is the Antichrist. Given the population of the US (315,610,625, as of 8.30 this morning), that would mean something around 78,902,656.25. (Who is the .25 of a person!?). But that can’t be right. Outside of Garnier, who would survey that many people? Harris does explain that the survey involved only “a sample of American voters”. Okie dokie. According to this site, last year there were 146,311,000 registered voters in the US (a number that seems too clean for my taste, but no matter). So if we use that number, then, according to Harris’ “one in four” charge, that would mean 36,577,750 people surveyed believe Obama to be the Antichrist. (Thankfully, no fractions of people this time). But that can’t be right either.

Conveniently (or smartly), Harris leaves out the exact size of the sample, and he suspiciously leaves out any links to survey itself. Again, it sounds so much better and more–dare I say–condemning to say “one in four Americans” and let people assume that the number is huge. But what about facts? If you were to take the 12 seconds to do your own search and locate the survey in question (or just use the link I supplied–you’re welcome), you would see that the sample-size is . . . get ready for this . . . 1247. I didn’t leave out any numbers. 1,2,4,7. That’s all. Seriously, Harris: Asda’s got more stuff on sale.

Accordingly, if we use Harris’ bold figure of 25%, that would mean only 311.75 people believe Obama is the Antichrist. That’s not “one in four”. That’s like one in a million (I think; my maths are a little rusty this morning). But no one is going to care if Harris says that figure, so it’s no wonder that his misleadingly says, “one in four”. Things get uglier if we use the solid number of 13%, which would bring the total to a whopping 162.11 people. That’s just under one in every two million (again, I think). Seriously, Harris: you’re going to paint 1/4 of Americans with a brush admittedly used by only 162.11 people? Tsk! Tsk!

The third thing, and this is the modicum of solace: only 162.11 people admit to believing Obama to be the Antichrist. I don’t mean to sound crass, but it’s comforting to know that only 162.11 people have a faulty understanding of the Antichrist. If we follow what the Johannine Epistles say, the “antichrist” (ἀντιχριστος) is anyone who “denies the Father and the Son” (1Jn 2.22) and/or denies “Jesus Christ as coming in the flesh” (2Jn 1.7). While the Johannine Epistle seem to suggest a solitary figure–i.e. the Antichrist–appearing in the last days (cf. 1Jn 2.18; 4.3), nothing definite is said about him (or her–sorry, I have to be PC these days). However, since the language of the Epistles on this matter is apocalyptic, we can safely assume that this solitary figure is understood in apocalyptic terms–i.e. he (or she) ain’t human. And if he (or she) ain’t human, then Obama can’t be the Antichrist. Same goes for the new Pope–contra this guy–or any other person.

Robinson adopting Paul’s style?

I may be completely alone in this, but I find humor in Paul’s remarks in 1 Cor 1.14-16:

I thank God that I baptized none of you except Cripus and Gaius, so that no one would say you were baptized in my name. Now I did baptize also the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized any other.

Every time I read this passage I hear the first bit (“I thank God . . .”) spoken with passion and definiteness. And then I imagine Paul thinking, “Oh crap, that’s not right”, before–under his breath, maybe or in hushed tones–mentioning the first half of the second bit (“Now I did . . .”), and then resuming the original passion and definiteness for the final claim, “beyond that . . .”.  It’s almost as though Paul’s desire to make a point got the better of him and he suddenly realized it, thus requiring some self-correction. (Or maybe Sosthenes chimed in and reminded Paul of what happened).

But there is something else about this passage that I appreciate, and that is Paul’s decision to leave the self-correction in the text for everyone to see. Sure, since this comment was early on the in letter, Paul could have said, “Scrap that and let’s start again.” But he doesn’t. It’s almost as though he’s saying: “See, I’m not perfect; I screw up from time to time. But I’m willing to own up to it.” Could this be a part (or an illustration) of the wider argument he is making to the Corinthians? Maybe.

However, answering that question is not the point of this post. This post is about something I noticed this morning while reading a little handbook on Romans. I found what looks to be John Robinson adopting Paul’s style:

Perhaps the easiest way to picture the progress of the epistle is as though you were making a journey by canal across an isthmus. You could imagine the epistle going from Corinth to Rome across the isthmus of Corinth, though the first canal was not in fact begun until about ten years after Paul was writing. It was started by the emperor Nero in 66-67 with a work-force largely composed of indentured Jewish slaves, and then abandoned unfinished. Until that time, smaller vessels were apparently dragged over bodily on some sort of slipway. But imagine, for the sake of the exercise . . .

–J.A.T. Robinson, Wrestling with Romans (1979), 9

It’s as though Robinson realizes, as soon as he writes it, that his analogy is crap–or at least historically inappropriate–and has to correct himself. Hence the over-qualification. As with Paul, what’s interesting in this case is that Robinson retains the analogy for the sake of his argument (which is quite good, by the way) and we get to see it–despite its inappropriateness. Any other writer today would rework the argument or come up with a different analogy for the final manuscript so as to avoid embarrassment. Not Robinson. And that’s commendable.

some self-disclosure

Every single day I have the wonderful opportunity to experience and endure all of the joys, challenges, and frustrations that come with A.D.D. This condition has been my partner-in-crime since 1989–officially, speaking; because that’s when we figured out what was making me drive my teachers mad. If you know what it’s like to have this opportunity, you’ll know what I mean. If you have no idea what it’s like, it’s something like this:

Now, imagine trying to sort through that world of weird all day long while at the same time keeping up with real life stuff, or trying to perform a task that requires focused attention. Like listening to a lecture. Or having a conversation. Or spending time with friends. Or reading. Or writing. The difficulties with paying attention are magnified when I’m in a crowded room, especially when there are multiple conversations going on in that room. Without wanting to, I wind up hearing anywhere between two and four conversations at once on top of the one I’m having with someone else. It is struggle to tune out all of the other noise so that I can focus my attention on the conversation that matters. Suffice it to say: it can be exhausting.

But the exhaustion is not always the difficult part. One of the hardest challenges, at least for me, is trying not to let on to someone else that this is happening and/or that I’m having difficulty focusing. More specifically, it’s extremely challenging for me not to send the wrong “non-verbal” message(s) or have them interpreted in a way that I would never intend. I say that because my non-verbal communication breaks all the rules–if one were to apply the rules to me on the assumption that I have no underlying condition.

For example: I have trouble standing still or even sitting still. To help prevent this from becoming visibly obvious, I will often cross my arms or put my hands in my pockets (if standing) or cross my arms and/or legs (if sitting), and will usually be touching or gently rubbing a part of my face. If I’m not touching or gently rubbing my face, I will have something in my hand (e.g. a pen, chapstick, a coin) and will fidget with it. None of this is a sign of boredom or disengagement; it is simply the way in which I can distract the part of my brain that produces the world of weird so that I can focus on what matters.

Probably the most annoying–at least for the other person, I’m sure–is that I have trouble maintaining eye-contact. This trouble is never personal, nor is it meant to signal a lack of conversational connectivity. It is simply, at least for me, a result of my A.D.D. recognizing new things in the room or immediate environment and processing that newness. It is not that the newness is more interesting or appealing than the conversation I’m in; it is simply something new. That newness hardly ever trumps my desire to talk with you or hear what you have to say.¹ Thus, I can assure you (if/whenever we ever meet) that while I might be seeing other things, I am listening to everything you say. And as strange as it may sound: my taking in the things I see is a way for me to focus on what I hear.

¹ The only trump card in this case is if someone is having a serious problem or what I see is about to turn ugly.