Recently Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama both offered their vision of the role of the President. In an interview with the Reno Gazette-Journal Obama said that he isn’t running to be the “operating officer” of the U. S. Rather, his vision of the President’s role is “to set a vision of ‘here’s where the bureaucracy needs to go.’” Clinton, for her part, has criticized Obama’s understanding of the role of the chief executive. A Bloomberg story reported her as responding, “’It’s important that we have a president who understands that you have to run the government,’ Clinton, a senator from New York, said. Americans want a president ‘who is hands-on’ and does more than set goals.”

I think this is a fascinating debate. Sadly, due to the rapid pace of the primary season, it won’t receive that much discussion beyond some back and forth between the candidates. I believe positions on specific issues matter, but I’m beginning to think that a candidate’s philosophy and style of governing are even more important, especially within the Executive Branch. One of the most interesting and frustrating things about the government of the United States is its fluidity—both between the branches and within the branches themselves. Some of the matters are set in stone: the legislature writes laws, the executive executes and enforces those laws, and the judicial branch offers interpretation when the constitutionality of laws are in question. Because of the balance of powers, however, all the branches veer into each other’s territory from time to time, for better or for worse. Beyond that, because the Constitution does not explicitly determine every action each branch should or will take, each branch’s role is also open to interpretation.

Take for example, the interpretations of the Executive Branch offered by two of the largest figures of 19th century American politics, Andrew Jackson and Abraham Lincoln. Jackson believed deeply in a powerful Executive Branch. Because he was the only official elected by the whole nation (within the suffrage parameters of the time), he saw himself as something as America’s representative. Jackson nearly dictated from his desk, wielding veto power without hesitancy whenever Congress did something that went against his vision for the country. Lincoln, on the other hand, believed that the president ought to submit to the will of Congress more often than not given that the legislators were to represent their districts and states. Lincoln rarely used the veto. He bristled at what he saw as Jackson’s hubris as President. The debate concern whose interpretation of the role of the Executive Branch is correct—Jackson’s strong Executive, or Lincoln’s Whiggish interpretation that Congress writes laws and the President signs them—still continues.

Bringing it back home, I wonder what people think about the current Clinton-Obama debate. Or rather, I would like to take the candidates out of the picture for the moment. My question is, without regard to what candidate holds what position, do you think that the role of the U. S. President is to set a vision for the bureaucracy or to run the government? Perhaps you may think this is a false dichotomy, but offer your opinions why.

(By the way, Frontline made an interesting piece on Vice President Dick Cheney’s interpretation of a strong Executive Branch that I think is worth watching.)

For every Horatio Alger-type story of rags to riches upward mobility, it seems that American storytellers have also wanted to remind people of Jesus’ great rhetorical question in Matthew 16.26: “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?” (NASB)

This past weekend my movie club (think of a book club, but without the literacy) and I watched Paul Thomas Anderson’s most recent film, There Will Be Blood. This movie has rightly garnered much praise and attention. I was excited because I knew it was loosely based on Upton Sinclair’s novel, Oil!, which takes place partly near Bakersfield. (Why must early 20th century American pro-worker novels take place near Bakersfield?) The majority of the film occurs in the fictional town of Little Boston and tells the story of Daniel Plainview, an oil prospector who possesses great geological skill and a sharp business acumen. He also has an avarice of the sort that hasn’t been rivaled on screen for decades. But he is no cardboard Scrooge-type character. Some reviews have praised the grand scope of the film, but its scale is not reminiscent of epics like Ben Hur or The Lord of the Rings. Rather, the scope, the breadth of the film lies within Plainview himself, within his psychology. The comparisons that come to mind are Orson Welles’ Charles Foster Kane in Citizen Kane, John Huston’s Noah Cross in Chinatown, or Al Pacino’s Michael Corleone in The Godfather, Part II. These are all men of insatiable appetites. They may be madmen, but their madness is focused, which makes them even more frightening.

Here is the paragraph that I will give some of the plot, with as few spoilers as possible, but if you don’t want to know anything, skip it. The film opens with Plainview mining alone for silver. This sequence of silence reminded me of the “Dawn of Man” scenes in 2001: A Space Odyssey. We watch the beginnings of a man as he discovers his true passions. Plainview’s greed is for money and victory, or rather, the destruction of his opponents. As you have probably heard in the trailer, he coldly admits in the film, “I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.” Those people he doesn’t want to succeed include competing oil companies, other prospectors, and even the people upon whose land he relies to do his drilling. Plainview’s main antagonist in the film comes in the form of Eli Sunday (Paul Dano), a young holy-roller preacher whose father owns much of the original land Plainview buys in Little Boston. Eli’s brother Paul (also played by Dano, in an initially confusing, but rewarding dual role) turns Plainview onto the prospects of oil out in California. Plainview sees Eli as a fraud, perhaps just as he understands that he himself is a fake when he casts to the townsfolk his insatiable drive as loyalty and an industrious nature. Both men at different points feign confessions that belie their stated convictions, or so we initially believe. Anderson’s genius is in that we as the audience cannot tell how much of their confessions are true. Day-Lewis and Dano play their scenes with a tension that is at once both vulnerable and guarded. Mixed in with this is Plainview’s adopted son, H. W. In a terrifying accident we see Plainview make his decision about what he wants more in life. Is H. W. truly an object of Plainview’s love and care, or is he merely a marketing ploy? We, like Plainview himself, may never know. The film drips with religious imagery such as a “baptism” of the infant H. W. using crude oil. Plot discussion is over.

The pacing of the film is deliberate. Some in the movie club found certain sections overly slow, but I thought the pace worked given the bleak landscape. I couldn’t tell where the movie was going, but as the credits rolled, it was obvious that the film ended in only the way it could. With the title of There Will Be Blood, one would expect a very violent film, but it isn’t necessarily. There are a few graphic, but quick scenes of violence. The blood of the title works on many other levels than just violence.

Like the other Anderson films I’ve seen (Magnolia and Punch Drunk Love), There Will Be Blood is not necessarily an enjoyable film. It is, however, especially remarkable and moving. Anderson doesn’t make films that make me feel good. He makes films that make me feel like I went nine rounds in a boxing ring with a heavyweight champion and somehow emerge thankful for the experience. Unlike the other films I mentioned, There Will Be Blood is perhaps his most conventional use of plot and cinematography. We don’t deal with multiple narratives or MTV style slam zooms and editing. Also gone is Anderson’s trademark use of pop music. In its place is Radiohead guitarist Johnny Greenwood’s perfect and disconcerting score.

Daniel Day-Lewis’ portrayal of Plainview is the type of performance that evokes great praise and superlatives. Our movie club scores each film on a five-star rating. People were giving the film four and a half stars on Day-Lewis’ performance alone. We all agreed that he should win this year’s Oscar for best actor. I joked that his performance was so big and terrific and terrifying that one Oscar may not be enough—the Academy should give him other Oscars, maybe for sound design, short documentary, or some of the technical awards given out before the show. Put quite simply, Day-Lewis’ portrayal of Plainview goes into the pantheon of great performances alongside Robert Duvall’s Sonny Dewey in The Apostle, Francis McDormand’s Marge Gunderson in Fargo, and Marlon Brando’s Terry Malloy in On the Waterfront.

I recently failed to complete two novels: James Michener’s The Source and Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. I didn’t finish The Source because I was reading it at the time of my father’s death. Afterward I couldn’t concentrate on it. As of now I don’t think I’d be able to read certain sections of it without hearing in my head the phone ring and my mother’s voice telling me that she was driving to the hospital. There were large sections of Gravity’s Rainbow that I loved, but there were also sections I found horribly impenetrable and frankly overwritten and obscene. Even Freud didn’t call everything a phallus. I was sad to put it down because the parts that worked did so at a level few novels can reach. I just wish Pynchon did some more editing. Perhaps I’ll return to both of these novels one day.

I did recently finish J. R. R. Tolkien’s posthumous Middle Earth narrative, The Children of Húrin. His son, Christopher Tolkien, edited the work as he has done to all Tolkien publications since his J. R. R. Tolkien’s death in 1973. The basic story of The Children of Húrin has been published before and I read one version in The Silmarillion. But knowledge of The Silmarillion is not necessary as Tolkien had planned on fully elaborating this narrative along with a few others before he died.

The Children of Húrin tells the story briefly of Húrin, and focuses more on his children. For the fans of The Lord of the Rings, the characters here are far different. The races are the same: elves, men, dwarves, orcs, etc. The geography is different for the story takes place in Middle Earth before the great flood that destroyed much of the land and shaped the Middle Earth with which most people are familiar. Christopher Tolkien has written an excellent introduction, guiding fans of the trilogy into the larger history of Middle Earth, but the beginning of the novel feels like one is entering entirely new ground. All the names are different and readers cannot initially anchor themselves onto familiar characters or places such as Bilbo or the Shire (Hobbits don’t even appear in this tale). It is worth it, however, to make it through these initial difficulties for the story of Túrin and his sister Niënor is grand and tragic. Tolkien shows us again how indebted we are to his vast imagination. The story sits well with our ancient myths: it feels both old and extremely immediate at the same time. The Children of Húrin revisits important themes of Tolkien’s works: the worth of valor and loyalty, the evil of pride.

I wanted to draft an open letter of thanks to various Christian traditions. The traditions nor the things I am thankful for are exhaustive.

Thanks to Roman Catholicism for reminding me that the Christian faith is big and full of people I can look to for inspiration. And for the art.
Thanks to Eastern Orthodoxy for showing me that God is a community and a mystery and that community and mystery permeates everything.
Thanks to Messianic Judaism for reminding me that my faith is deeply Jewish and I need to read the First (Old) Testament.
Thanks to Calvinism/Reformed theology for reminding me that I am not God, but that God is wonderful and not completely unknowable.
Thanks to Anabaptism for reminding me that faith is to be embodied and Jesus is an example of how to live.
Thanks to Lutheranism for showing me that grace is a gift, but it’s more about the generosity of the giver than the worth of the receiver.
Thanks to Wesleyanism/Methodism for reminding me that God is interested in shaping character and that it can be hard, but worth it.
Thanks to Liberation Theologies for showing me that God is for the poor and the outcast and if the gospel we live and proclaim don’t reach out to the downtrodden, it isn’t a very Christian gospel at all.
Thanks to Evangelicalism for reminding me to read my Bible.
Thanks to Anglicanism for showing me that at the end of the day, Jesus ate a meal with others and we need to keep eating meals with others.
Thanks to Baptism for reminding me that I need to make deep choices to follow Jesus.
Thanks to Charismatic/Pentecostalism for showing me that the Holy Spirit is still active in rather miraculous works and empowers all believers for ministry.
Thanks to the Emerging Church for showing me that the message of the gospel is rooted in people and where they live.
Thanks to Neo-Orthodoxy for reminding me that the fullness of revelation is found in Jesus.

I should note that many of the things I am thankful for can be found in many of the other traditions.

Sir Edmund Hillary, a New Zealander who, with Tenzing Norgay of Nepal, first summited Mount Everest on May 29, 1953, died today at the age of 88. (His death will be recorded as January 11, 2008 due to the International Date Line.) For anyone who has enjoyed a panoramic view and thrill of accomplishment after ascending a mountain, a hill, or even a flight of stairs, Hillary and Norgay were the heroes.

Rest in Peace, Sir Ed.

Becky Garrison writes a percipient post on Bill Maher’s recent appearance on Late Night with Conan O’Brien over on the God’s Politics blog (her post contains a link to a YouTube video of the interview). I don’t like Maher’s gall or vitriol, which I think he’s trying to pass off as sarcasm, wit, or satire. Maher seems to have made an a priori judgment that any faith in anything supernatural is irrational, or even schizophrenic—his representation of Christian beliefs is a caricature at best. Can we put he and Ann Coulter in a jar and shake it?

Given that we’re in full swing of the election season (I think Bill is just two inches from falling over the edge), I thought I’d stir the waters with a post on a study released today regarding health care. Since my wife is a doctor whose patient population is generally underserved, stories about national health care catch our household’s attention rather easily. Will Dunham of Reuters reports on a study by Ellen Nolte and Martin McKee of the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine that found,

France, Japan and Australia rated best and the United States worst in new rankings focusing on preventable deaths due to treatable conditions in 19 leading industrialized nations, researchers said on Tuesday.

If the U.S. health care system performed as well as those of those top three countries, there would be 101,000 fewer deaths in the United States per year, according to researchers writing in the journal Health Affairs….

“I wouldn’t say it (the last-place ranking) is a condemnation, because I think health care in the U.S. is pretty good if you have access. But if you don’t, I think that’s the main problem, isn’t it?” Nolte said in a telephone interview.

Senior Vice President Cathy Schoen of the Commonwealth Fund (who backed the study) said in a statement,

“The fact that other countries are reducing these preventable deaths more rapidly, yet spending far less, indicates that policy, goals and efforts to improve health systems make a difference.”

WebMD has the countries’ rankings.

I don’t think I’m alone in my view that our health care system is not the best it could be. While I value and would not want to lose the innovation that the competition our system encourages, I am concerned that we are paying more per capita on health care than any other nation and yet we are lagging behind in stopping preventable deaths, due at least partly to the growing inability to have adequate access to health care given that our insurance system is becoming more expensive. I’m not one to back single payer medicine outright, but I wonder if there is something that we can learn from those systems as they appear to be doing better than we are in preventing unnecessary deaths.

For Christmas, my family (in-laws included) all chipped and bought me a new camera, the Nikon D40x. It’s the first SLR I’ve ever used and I feel like I’m learning to take pictures all over again—not only do I have to learn how to use the specific camera, but I’m also learning about utilizing so many more controls as I previously only used point and shoots. I am having a blast.

I’ve created a set on my Flickr site where people can look at some of the first pictures I’ve processed. You can view a slideshow of the pictures if you would like.