Away Point

"I had no need of that hypothesis."

Over the course of the summer I wrote a series of articles about brain science and Christianity, and I promised a final installment that never came.  This is it. The series asked and--within the limits of present knowledge--answered a set of questions that fascinate students at the intersection of religion and psychology. 

How does the structure of human information processing pre-dispose us to religious thinking?  Given how our minds work, what kinds of religious beliefs are possible and what kinds are we immune to?

How do we know what we know? What gives us a feeling of certainty?  What is the relation between reason, evidence, and our sense of knowing?

How do conversion experiences work?  What makes religious conversion transformative?

 How do beliefs get transmitted from one person to another?  How does our social context influence or even control our religious beliefs?  How does religious identity develop in childhood? 

What makes beliefs resistant to change?  What causes people to lose belief?  When are people open to reexamining religious assumptions?

If you followed the series, or better yet the rabbit trails of imbedded references, you would have found that they distilled an exciting set of discoveries.  Brain science is remarkably close to offering a full naturalistic explanation of individual religious experiences, everything from certain belief to moral indignation to mystical rapture to spiritual transformation.

As theists are quick to point out, understanding the psychology of religion doesn’t tell us whether any specific set of beliefs is true.  I might believe in a pantheon of supernatural beings for all the wrong reasons (childhood credulity, hyperactive agency detection, theory of mind, group hypnotic processes, misattributed transcendence hallucination, viral transmission, cognitive dissonance reduction) and they might still might exist. Brain scientists can’t address the truth value of otherworldly assertions, only the mechanisms and patterns through which they occur in this the human mind. 

In a similar way, all scholars of religion are bound by the methods and focus of their respective fields.  Many fields can illuminate some aspect of the religious enterprise, and each has its limits.  Hard scientists are limited to addressing the testable assertions religions make about natural phenomena, such as the origins of species or the causes of epilepsy or the power of intercessory prayer.  Historians, aided by linguists and archeologists, can excavate the history of a set of ideas, but – except where theologians make historical assertions-- they too cannot answer definitively whether these ideas are factually correct.  Sociologists and anthropologists can examine the patterns and impact of belief on a collective.  They are uniquely able to assess claims that religious belief increases love and joy, or decreases crime.   It remains the domain of philosophers and ethicists to examine the rational and moral qualities of religious beliefs—to examine internal coherence or the virtue of a belief system as it relates to a set of universal ethical principles.   All of these are questions that lay outside the domain of brain science which, as I said earlier limits itself to the subjective experience of the individual and the correlates of that experience in neurological phenomena.

Despite its boundaries, cognitive science, does offer what is rapidly becoming a sufficient explanation for the supernaturalism that underlies organized religion.  If we are particularly concerned with Christianity, then we are particularly concerned with belief.  And more and more, we can explain Christian belief with the same set of principles that explain supernaturalism generally.  This is a serious blow to orthodoxy, meaning any religion based on right belief, and that includes most traditional forms of Christianity.

 In the past, one of the arguments put forward by believers was that there simply was no explanation for the born again experience, the healing power of Christianity, the vast agreement among believers, or the joy and wonder of mysticism, save that these came from God himself.  These experiences, they insisted, justified or even demanded belief in the Christian God including a personal, present resurrected Jesus. We now know this not to be the case.   Humans are capable of having transcendent, transformative experiences in the absence of any given dogma.  We are capable of sustaining elaborate systems of false belief and transmitting them to our children.  We are capable of feeling so certain about our false beliefs that we are willing to kill or die for them.

It possible, absolutely, to assert the truth of Christian beliefs even knowing that there are now other explanations for the Christian experience.  Claims about the afterlife or the spiritual realm are, after all, untestable.  They cannot be proven, and they cannot be refuted.  When it comes to beliefs about the “world to come,” literally anything goes. 

It also is quite possible to assert that the Christian experience has unique supernatural causes.  One could say, for example, that Christian joy is somehow different from the joy experienced by other religious people: It alone has both material causes (social/physiological/psychological) and a supernatural cause (e.g the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit).  But this kind of claim puts a defender of faith in an awkward position, one that is at odds with how cause and effect explanations usually work.

One general principle that has worked well for humans seeking to advance or refine knowledge is called “parsimony,” also known as Occam’s Razor.  It can be paraphrased thus:  “Usually the simplest explanation is the best one.” or “Don’t multiply entities unnecessarily.”  If we can predict storms by looking at barometric pressure and cloud formations, then there is no need to posit the existence of storm spirits or angry ancestors causing us trouble.  If we can predict that an electric light will come on when a circuit is completed, we don’t talk about the additional but undetectable flow of magic that makes the whole thing function.  When a scholar adheres to the principle of parsimony, explanatory factors get added only when they allow us to control or predict with greater accuracy.

In every field of human knowledge except theology, if we can find a sufficient explanation within nature’s matrix, we don’t look outside. We no longer, for example, posit that demons are involved in seizures or bubonic plague.  It’s not that we know for sure that the demon explanation is wrong, simply that it is unnecessary for predicting or treating seizures. 

What does all of this imply for the future of religious studies?  Simply that supernatural explanations for religious experience are becoming unnecessary.  Eighteenth Century French mathematician and astronomer, Pierre Simone Laplace, wrote a volume on the movements of the heavenly bodies.  When asked by Emperor Napoleon I why he had not mentioned God in his treatise, he replied, “je n'ai pas eu besoin de cette hypothèse.”  I had no need of that hypothesis.  Modern scholars of religion, more and more, find themselves echoing the words of Laplace.   We have no need of that hypothesis.

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If you would like to receive this series as a single Word doc or PDF, or if you would like to subscribe to weekly articles by Valerie Tarico, send your request to vt at valerietarico dot com. 

As the Right Wing base sinks to new levels of insanity taking the Republican brand with it, “going stealth”  has become the campaign strategy of choice in districts where an all-out, Teabagger Town Hall, Palin-Beck, froth-mouthed feeding frenzy would just turn stomachs.  The Right’s agenda isn’t evolving, just its tactics.  You have to give it to those frackers.  They are smart. 

They still want to drown government in a bathtub.  Never mind that we need our safety net and education system more than ever.  They still think that some hubba hubba god made women “separate but equal"—men with brains and biceps, women with vaginas.   (It’s called complementarianism).  They still think we can teach creationism in schools and expect to be competitive internationally. (Bing “Academic Freedom Bills”). They still value life until birth. They still think we can end drug use by jailing addicts. They still think that guns don’t kill people.  They still think the problem with their marriage is my brother.  And they still think that you can give the free market absolute power without it corrupting absolutely.

But in some of the best run Republican and Religious Right (Rebiblican) campaigns in the country, you’d never know it.  Here in King County, Washington, the Right even funded a charter amendment making county races nonpartisan before running a “moderate, nonpartisan” Rebiblican named Susan Hutchison.  In Virginia and New Jersey, to quote Frank Rich,

"The very conservative Republican contenders in the two big gubernatorial contests this week have frantically tried to disguise their own convictions. The candidate in Virginia, Bob McDonnell, is a graduate of Pat Robertson’s university whose career has been devoted to curbing abortion rights, gay civil rights and even birth control. But in this campaign he ditched those issues, disinvited Palin for a campaign appearance, praised Obama’s Nobel Prize, and ran a closing campaign ad trumpeting “Hope.” Chris Christie, McDonnell’s counterpart in New Jersey, posted a campaign video celebrating “Change” in which Obama’s face and most stirring campaign sound bites so dominate you’d think the president had endorsed the Republican over his Democratic opponent, Jon Corzine."

As several bloggers have warned (here, here, here), we should expect to see more of this over the next few years, especially since it worked beautifully for both McDonnell and Christie. The crowing about these two Rebiblican wins has spanned the country, in contrast to the dead silence about the Palin-Beck chow fest in upstate New York that the voters barfed up. 

What’s interesting is that the same stealth strategy failed miserably in Washington State.  Palin-wannabe Susan Hutchison was defeated by fourteen points after being ahead in the polls just weeks ago. 

What happened?  It’s very simple:  Word got out about who she is, and it made King County’s voters a bit queasy.  Reproductive rights activists took to the streets with homemade signs that made evening news. An anti-dominionist did research and then rallied colleagues at other blogs (e.g.God’s Own Party).  A public access TV host recruited guests to talk about Hutchison’s brand of politicized creationism.  A lefty blogger (Horsesass.org) defied copy-right claims to show footage Hutchison speaking to her base.  So did her opponent’s campaign.  So did local students.   A Seattle comic made his own funny low budget cartoon ad exposing Hutchison’s puppet masters.  

It is also true that the usual suspects—campaign professionals and volunteers, unions, advocacy groups and donors--played their roles and played them well.  And Susan Hutchison's opponent Dow Constantine, now King County's executive, is solid and experienced.  In the long run, that might have been enough.  But it wasn't until Hutchison got exposed relentlessly and repeatedly from all sides that the tide of voter opinion turned.  By November 3, the voting public knew who Susan Palin Hutchison is, and for a stealth campaign, that’s lethal.  Several years ago, George Lakoff said that when the Right uses our language to cover their agenda they are showing us where they are weak, where the public actually disagrees with them.  When Rebiblicans pose as moderates and change agents, they have just exposed soft tissue. 

The right has the advantage in mainstream media, in hierarchy, authority, and message discipline.  But the left has the advantage when it comes to distributed information networks, outspoken renegades, and innovation.  If we want that East Coast crowing to stop, we need to start engaging these networks and cutting them loose (with funds as needed) to do what they do best.

The most controversial check I write each year is the one that goes to a small nonprofit called Project Prevention. Project Prevention pays drug addicts and chronic alcoholics to get permanent or long term birth control. Director Barbara Harris founded the program after adopting not one or two but four drug addicted babies from the same mother. She watched them scream and writhe inconsolably, backs arched and hands clenched, and she said, "Enough."

Reproductive rights organizations that I support like Planned Parenthood and NARAL don't approve of Barbara's work. It operates in a bioethical gray zone that makes them uncomfortable, and should. Here is their reasoning: Payment has the power to manipulate people into decisions they will regret. An addict may be desperate enough for a fix that she'd sell her soul, let alone her ability to reproduce.

I think they are right. Addiction does make people that desperate, and a decision born of desperation is a decision coerced. Consequently, addiction pits two things I cherish against each other. One of them is reproductive freedom. I believe passionately that parenthood is one of the richest, most spiritual dimensions of life, and that we collectively should neither obligate nor restrict it without overwhelming cause.

I also believe is that childhood is a precious trust, and we should bring children into this world only if we are prepared to honor that trust--to give them a decent shot at flourishing. Under the wrong circumstances childhood can be a living hell. And that is far more likely to be the case when children are the unintended product of unprotected sex, with the judgment of involved parties clouded by addiction.

When our ancestors had no control over fertility, childbearing wasn't a moral decision. But now it is. I tell my children that we are responsible for what we have control over; power and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. Contraception is one of humanity's newfound powers. So it is that contraceptives bring a new dimension of moral decision making to the human race. And as someone who has influence over another person's reproductive decisions through my charitable giving, I end up having to weigh moral questions.

In my experience, we encounter moral dilemmas most often when two good things or two bad things are pitted against each other. It's easy to say that childhood health is a good thing or to say that personal freedom is a good thing. But which matters more-- the freedom of women to reproduce as they choose, or the right of children to have a healthy start in life?

As a woman, I am utterly grateful that my culture, U.S. Laws, scientific advances and financial privilege gave me a high level of reproductive freedom. I had the freedom to defer childbearing-- to go to school, travel, and heal my childhood wounds first. I had the freedom to abort an unhealthy fetus. I had the freedom, finally, to bring two chosen daughters into a solid marriage with a bounty of love and life experiences to share. When I think of my own life, I value reproductive freedom a lot: for people I love like my daughters, but also for people I've never met.

But is it the needs of women or children that go most to the core for me? Mercifully, they often are aligned. Still, how do I weigh them when they come into conflict?

One way I get insight into my own hierarchy of values is by looking at what I do. Throughout my adult life, my most compelling efforts (grad school, work, volunteering, giving, writing) have been about making room for a little more delight and a little less pain in this world. To me, more reproductive freedom and fewer addicted babies both matter because they serve this end. But if I look closely at my own history, one of these values trumps the other. The lettering I painstakingly stuck on my car as a young therapist said, "Children deserve to be planned for and chosen." Years later, I was instantly smitten with a quirky warm political co-conspirator, Patricia, who declared that she was pro-choice because, "All babies deserve to have their toes kissed."

My checks to Project Prevention fit a pattern. They tell me that over all these years, my values--in this area, at least--haven't changed. All babies do deserve to have their toes kissed, and their knees and elbows and unclenched hands. It is a bonus that, from the sound of things, most of Project Prevention's efforts--inspired by Barbara's babies--are giving women healthy (new) beginnings in life too.

Advice for candidates from a former fundie.

One thing I learned not long after finishing my Spanish degree was -- never volunteer to translate anything into a language you don't dream in. I was visiting Flores, Guatemala, and offered to help a small art collective. In response, they handed me some fliers to translate from English to Spanish. I had that four year degree, you know, so I did -- with embarrassing results. My sentences were grammatically correct, and the words even meant what I thought they meant. But no native speaker ever would have said things quite that way, and someone had to tactfully tell me so. I still wince at the memory, at my own naiveté and hubris.

Takeaway for political candidates: If you're not a Christian, don't even try to speak Evangelese. There are subtleties of sequence and jargon that are invisible to outsiders, but violating them even slightly is a dead giveaway that you are a sham. Refer to someone as "a good person," for example, and it's all over. You might as well be that poor American spy who shifted his fork to his right hand after cutting the meat.

Not convinced? Listen to a real Evangelical for a few moments. Susan Hutchison is a Religious Right candidate in King County, Washington. Shortly before beginning her run, she gave the keynote at a prayer breakfast for elected officials. In it, she recounts a conversation with Oxford biologist Richard Dawkins and talks about her own faith. Any five minute segment of the talk would say convincingly to other Evangelicals, Susan isn't one of those lukewarm (aka modernist mainline) Christians. She is one of us. Take a few minutes to watch, and then ask yourself:

1. Would I have thought to invoke the frightening words "age of the activist atheists," knowing that atheists are more reviled than gays and Muslims?
2. Would I have described sharing my religious beliefs as "giving a little testimony?"
3. Would I have said Richard Dawkins reacted to "the name of Jesus" (At the Name of Jesus ever knee shall bow . . . ) rather than the whole dismaying event?
4. Would it have occurred to me that one could be a confirmed Lutheran but not be a Christian until a specific born again experience?
5. Would I have known to tell a story about God telling me or another person to do something -- with wonderful results?
6. Would I have mentioned that I was praying for my opponents like the author of Matthew recommends? "Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you . . ." Matthew 5:44
7. Would I have honed in on belief as the center of Christianity, with doubt as something to be prayed away? "I believe, help me in my unbelief."
8. Would I have called the Bible "the Word of God"?
9. Would I have conveyed with confidence that the highest purpose of public service is as platform for winning the world to Jesus (Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel.)
10. Would I have avoided the word religion throughout my talk?

If you didn't know these were insider language and narrative templates , you're not an insider.

Susan Hutchison is the Real Deal, which is virtually impossible to fake. All the same, if you want the Evangelical/born again forty-ish percent of the public to find you appealing, there are a few turns of phrase that are worth incorporating into your campaign vocabulary. Don't try using these to establish your spiritual bona fides. (Unless you are born again, you have none. See good person, above. There is no such thing. All we like sheep have gone astray.) Instead, use evangelical or biblical turns of phrase in a secular context. They will sound appealingly familiar to a born again audience--without you pretending to be something you aren't. For example, here are a few sample phrases you might borrow from Hutchison.

1. Refer to "my heart":
a. Evangelical examples: asking Jesus into your heart, God is speaking to your heart.
b. Secular use: I feel in my heart, I know in my heart no matter how hard it may be, we need to provide basic medical care for every child in this country.
2. Say you felt "called" or were led to do something.
a. Evangelical examples: God called me to move to Seattle, to take up the ministry, to put John 3:16 on my eyeblacks. Richard Dawkins and I have been brought together.
b. Secular use: I felt called to take up the cause of health care for all.
3. Use the word "personal" liberally.
a. Evangelical example: I needed a personal faith. You aren't really a Christian until you have a personal relationship with Jesus.
b. Secular use: I have a personal relationship to the people in that nursing home.
4. Use the phrase "all the world."
a. Evangelical example: Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature.
b. Secular use: Whether we treat health care as a basic human right will have ripple effects flow into all the world.
5. Talk about events that "changed your life forever."
a. Evangelical example: Accepting Jesus as my personal savior changed my life forever.
b. Secular use: Sitting with that dying child changed my life forever.

Hutchison herself makes a mistake or two about insider/outsider language in her story about Richard Dawkins at Windsor Castle. In her version, he asks a question and she gives a little testimony about God revealing himself through Jesus. (Tangentially, Dawkins recalls the conversation being about GW, not Jesus.) In the story, Dawkins says that his books give people permission to "deny their faith." This is a very Evangelical turn of phrase. Also, Hutchison quotes Dawkins as saying she became "tawdry and base" when she said "the word Jesus". Unlikely. An atheist scientist is more likely to react negatively to her whole plug for special (biblical) revelation rather than the "name of Jesus," but in fundamentalist theology it is "the name of Jesus" that demons can't bear. Most likely, Hutchison projected an Evangelical phrase into Dawkins' mouth. Like my attempt to translate into Spanish, her attempt at translation probably was shaped by her native tongue.

It's easy go awry when you're trying to speak someone else's language, and secular folks frequently make mistakes when trying to build bridges with Evangelical believers. Here are a few examples of seemingly insider words that instead are actually negative triggers for many Evangelicals.

1. Calling Christianity a religion. It isn't. It's a relationship.
2. Referring to Jesus as a good man. He wasn't. He was God.
3. Using the word "tolerance." It's a bad word that means you are a moral relativist.
4. Mentioning priests or bishops. Way too Catholic. Evangelicals call them ministers or pastors or preachers.
5. Using the words interfaith, or spirituality. Those are words for wusses and imply spiritual weakness.

If you want to get serious about understanding Evangelical language and the role it plays in politics, I recommend David Domke's book, The God Strategy. You also can find funny or serious lists of insider language online.

But I want to make a more important point. For those of you who watched the video, take a cue from Hutchison's grace, poise, and relentless equanimity. Mean spirited jabs, visible frustration or righteous indignation rarely rallies people to your side. Susan Hutchison talks about the enemies of her God--Dan Barker, activist atheists, and Richard Dawkins-- with zero verbal edge, all the while maintaining the same smile that is there when she talks about God answering prayers. It's what made her well loved as an anchor woman, and it may very well win her an election among people who actually disagree with her core values. In the end, the biggest part of people feeling connected with you is whether you come across as likeable. That is what all of the insider/outsider language analysis really is about. If people identify with you and find you trustworthy--if thinking about you makes them feel warm and happy--they're going to put their own best spin on whatever you may say.

(Huffington Post - October 13, 2009)

Next week in King County, Washington, "nonpartisan" Susan Hutchison will be vying with Democrat Dow Constantine for the role of County Executive. The seat controls significant resources in a region that often plays a leadership role in future oriented public policy. If King County were a state, its budget size would be 13th in the country. Economically, the county lives on cutting edge science, engineering and technology: Microsoft, Boeing, Amgen, Nintendo and a host of tech/biotech startups.

What national precedents is King County likely to be setting in the next go around? That depends in part on who sits in the executive seat. Constantine has track records in brokering anti-sprawl, sustainable development and historic preservation. He's a proponent of strong, innovative carbon policies. But who is the elusive Hutchison? Seattle Times reporter Danny Westneat called Susan Hutchison a sort-of-Republican. Erica Barnett at the Stranger called her a Republican Religious Wingnut. A member of her own party called her "our Sarah Palin." Is Susan Hutchison a Palin in the making? You be the judge.

In this post, Bill Alford at Moral Politics Television, Seattle, interviewed Dr. Valerie Tarico, author, activist and former evangelical about what she perceives behind the nonpartisan veil.

Is Susan Hutchison a stealth right-winger and closet fundamentalist, as some folks are saying?
Let's start with her political leanings. Hutchison is a solid triple R: Religious Right Republican. Since 2003, her political giving supported Mike Huckabee (over John McCain), George W. Bush and Dino Rossi. She spent $3000 trying to get Rossi into office. All of her political/religious affiliations are with what I would call effective, conservative or evangelical organizations with good PR. Calling herself "nonpartisan" is a smart posture, because King County majorities probably wouldn't vote for Susan Hutchison if they were clear on her political identity. And it works. In an early interview with Seattlepi.com reporter Neil Modie, Hutchison herself said, "Our polls showed that 10 percent of the people responding thought I was extremely liberal." Her team is working to sustain that confusion.

Solidly Repubican. How about fundamentalist?
Well that depends on what you mean by fundamentalist? If you use fundamentalist to mean strident, cut-off-from- the-world and fringe, then no. Hutchison is gracious and charming and obviously right in the swirl of the Seattle's fine arts community. If you mean a fundamentalist from a theological standpoint: the Bible is literally the perfect word of god, Jesus was born to a literal virgin, Jesus was a human sacrifice, people who don't believe that are going to be tortured forever. Yes. It would appear from Susan Hutchison's own words that she's a born-again fundamentalist who thinks that politicians should use their status to promote their religious beliefs. Hutchison gave the keynote at a prayer breakfast this spring. Here is a reading she chose, which was followed by her own born again testimony and exhortation for politicians to use their bully pulpit to promote their (Christian) religion.

"It was through what his son did that God cleared a path for everything to come to him all things in heaven and in hearth . . . for Christ's death on the Cross has made peace with God for all by his blood . . . He has done this through the death on the cross of his own human body . . . The only condition is that you fully believe the truth, believe the truth, standing in it and never shifting from trusting him to save you. This is the wonderful news that came to each of you and is now spreading throughout the world. Prayer Breakfast 1:02:35 to 1:04:40

Note the emphasis on blood sacrifice, belief and spreading the good news. This is a very evangelical choice, and she follows it with stories that reinforce the message. You can hear Hutchison's message at WTV, linked above through Barnett's article. Hutchison begins around 47 minutes into the breakfast.

What exactly is the part you quoted?
Well, what she was actually reading from is something called the Living Bible. It's not a translation, so you won't find it even at Evangelical sites like www.biblegateway.com that allow you to compare Bible translations side by side. Back in the 1970's a fundamentalist preacher and writer named Kenneth Taylor decided he wanted the Bible to be more accessible, so he wrote his own version, an admitted "paraphrase." That means he put in his own words what he thought God was trying to say. I can't resist quoting George Bernard Shaw here: No man ever believes that the Bible means what it says; he is always convinced that it says what he means.

Actually, it's not unusual for Biblical literalists to pick and choose what translations or paraphrases they use to make a point, as Hutchison has done. In The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren uses over 15 different translations, if I remember correctly. He chooses whichever translation best suits his point for different verses he cites.

Hutchison chose not only her Bible but her text fragments carefully. She left out some parts that might have been a bit jarring. For example, early in her message she emphasized that Jesus made: "the earthly world with its rulers and authorities, its Washington State government . . . " The words "Washington State government" replaced the words, "all were made by Christ for his own use and glory". His own use? His own glory? It sounds kind of ugly. So she put in something benign that doesn't jar listeners out of the narrative flow and in fact brings it closer to home. She is a wonderful evangelical speaker. Her message quality is on par with that of Joel Olsteen or Rick Warren. In a denomination that allowed women in the pulpit, she could draw a large congregation.

But wouldn't any real Christian be comfortable with those words she wrote? Wouldn't they agree with them?
Not necessarily. Many, many Christians would chose other words to represent their faith. Remember that for Susan Hutchison to read these words -- there are layers of filtering here. As more is known about the Bible through linguistic analysis and archeological discoveries, more and more Christian theologians don't think of the Bible as the literally perfect word of God. We know that some parts were copied from Akkadian and Sumerian texts, some parts were handed down through oral traditions. The Catholic councils that decided what got into the Bible and what didn't -- they didn't have access to the same quality of information we have now, and they were responding to a specific political context. Hutchison's reading is her edited selection of a paraphrase by Ken Taylor of The Book of Colossians. But who wrote Colossians? Scholars aren't so sure any more. You can get a glimpse of the dispute even on Wikipedia.

Hutchison chose this fragment of writing by a contested author paraphrased by a fundamentalist to fit her own beliefs about blood atonement and salvation -- and her evangelistic message to electeds. This is a fundamentalist evangelical choice. People hear that Hutchison attends a Presbyterian church and they assume that she is mainstream in her community and beliefs. What they don't know is that fundamentalism as a movement actually emerged out of the Presbyterian seminaries in the early Twentieth Century, and Presbyterian churches vary widely in terms of where they fall on the continuum. Hutchison's church is not middle of the road for Presbyterians in this region. It is fairly middle of the road for evangelical churches. During the prayer breakfast message, Hutchison made another move that reflects both fundamentalist theology and her personality: She very graciously but clearly used evangelical language to dismiss other forms of Christianity.

What do you mean?
Well, part of the talk is a classic evangelical "testimony." This is a stock form of proselytizing in which the speaker shares their own born again experience. She talks about how she was raised in Christianity, knew the Bible but she wasn't a real Christian until she realized she needed a "more personal faith" and had this "thing happen to her." The word personal -- personal relationship with Jesus, personal salvation and so on -- it's a big word in Evangelical circles. She emphasizes salvation by belief in blood atonement. She repeats it several times. This is a way that Protestants, particularly Evangelicals differentiate themselves from Catholics, who believe that salvation comes through both faith and works. The message is that you are not really a Christian until you have this personal relationship, and salvation is about belief.

The real question here is: What are the implications for her likely priorities in public office?
What is the old saying? We are known by the company we keep. That is actually reasonable folk wisdom. James Wellman, University of Washington sociologist likes to say that, "Our sense of reality is socially constructed." It makes sense to assume that Hutchison's priorities are shaped by her expressed values and her associations, just like the rest of us. So, independent of her work for the Simonyi Foundation, who does Hutchison hang out with?

Her prayer breakfast talk was hosted by an organization called Washington Leadership. Their tag line is: A place where state and community leaders can come together with emerging leaders around the person of Jesus. I might expect Hutchison to be a bit fuzzy on church/state separation issues, because the evangelical mandate as I know it, and as she manifested it in her prayer breakfast talk, trumps separation. Hutchison appears to place a strong value on leveraging public exposure to spread her version of Christianity. Hutchison is on the board of Young Life international, which fits perfectly. It is a fun, smart evangelical organization that seeks to convert teenagers and get teenagers to convert each other to this fundamentalist theology we heard her reading.

Until she began her run for office, she also was on the board of the Discovery Institute, which gets evangelical funding to undermine secular "materialist" science education and replace it with a sophisticated version of creationism called Intelligent Design. They claim ID is science, but even the Templeton Foundation, an organization that funds the intersection between faith and science disagrees and won't give them money. I find it dismaying that Hutchison has been around the caliber of scientists she claims to have encountered through her work at Simonyi without developing a deeper understanding of the scientific method and why it works so well.

Hutchison spoke this month at a conservative think tank, the Washington Policy Institute that espouses free market fundamentalism and right now is promoting a film trying to deny climate science and dissuade climate action. So again you see this inclination toward undermining the scientific enterprise -- in the WPI case with an eye toward economic policy. In my mind the connection between free market fundamentalism and Christian fundamentalism is an orientation toward ideology (ie. strong narrative filters that screen out contradictory information) and perhaps consequently a weakened ability to run a recalculation on early assumptions and decisions.

Any final thoughts?
I look at Susan Hutchison, and as a former evangelical I see a woman on a mission, in that sense much like Sarah Palin, but without the weird exorcism of witches stuff. Hutchison's evangelical associations have steered her in a very specific political direction: She gave money to evangelical Republican Mike Huckabee over John McCain. She refuses to answer questions about reproductive rights. Heck, she even refuses to tell people that she's a Republican. While working for Charles Simonyi and giving away his money, she has had plenty of opportunity to become more sophisticated about the scientific method and data based decisions -- but instead I worry that she has become better at clinging to an ideology in the face of evidence to the contrary. I personally prefer having someone in the King County Exec office who bases their policy decisions on data and who is on a mission to serve the people of King County.