From Space Race to Energy Chase: China Speeds Ahead While the U.S. Stalls

 

A New Nuclear Revolution Is Coming—But Will It Be Made in America?

In the 1950s, the United States and the Soviet Union raced to the moon, each desperate to plant their flag in history. Today, an even bigger race is happening—not for space, but for the future of energy. And this time, America isn’t in the lead.

While the U.S. government debates nuclear regulations and struggles with red tape, China is on track to deploy a revolutionary new reactor by 2030—one that could make nuclear energy safer, cleaner, and more abundant than ever before.

This isn’t just about electricity. Whoever controls this technology will dominate the global energy economy for the next 100 years.

And right now, it looks like China will get there first.

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What’s So Special About This Reactor?

China is investing heavily in Molten Salt Reactors (MSRs), a next-generation nuclear technology that fixes the biggest problems with today’s reactors.

🔹 No Meltdowns: Unlike conventional nuclear plants, MSRs can’t melt down—they’re designed to shut down safely even in extreme scenarios.

🔹 Runs on Thorium, Not Uranium: Thorium is three times more abundant than uranium, meaning we won’t have to rely on expensive, geopolitically sensitive uranium supplies.

🔹 Minimal Nuclear Waste: MSRs produce only a fraction of the long-lived radioactive waste created by today’s reactors.

🔹 Super Efficient: They run at higher temperatures, converting more energy into electricity with less fuel.

China is already operating a small experimental MSR, and it plans to launch a full-scale commercial version by 2030. If successful, this could change the global energy game forever—and leave the U.S. playing catch-up.

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So Why Isn’t the U.S. Leading the Charge?

The U.S. actually pioneered this technology—way back in the 1960s. Scientists at Oak Ridge National Laboratory built a working MSR, proving the concept was viable.

Then the project was shut down.

Why? Politics, uranium industry lobbying, and short-term thinking.

🔹 The U.S. was focused on building nuclear weapons, and traditional uranium reactors were better suited for making bomb material.

🔹 Regulations froze innovation—new reactor designs have to go through years of red tape, making it nearly impossible to bring something new to market.

🔹 Big energy companies saw no reason to change—they were making plenty of money off existing nuclear technology.

The result? The U.S. shelved MSRs, while China picked up the torch.

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Can America Catch Up?

The good news? It’s not too late.

The key to making MSRs commercially viable is solving their last big technical hurdle: material durability.

These reactors run on hot, liquid salt, which corrodes most traditional reactor materials over time. But new advances in Silicon Carbide (SiC) piping and diamond-like reactor materials could be the game-changer we need.

🔹 SiC pipes don’t corrode in molten salt and can even self-heal microcracks under extreme heat—making reactors last longer with less maintenance.

🔹 Diamond-like coatings on reactor walls and fuel containers could resist radiation damage and extreme temperatures, extending reactor lifespan.

These innovations could make MSRs ready for mass deployment—but only if the U.S. commits to building them.

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The Clock Is Ticking

China is moving fast, and if they commercialize MSRs first, they will own the global energy future—just like the U.S. dominated oil production in the 20th century.

This isn’t just about energy independence. It’s about who sets the rules for the next era of nuclear power.

The U.S. has the talent, the technology, and the history to take back the lead. But will we act before it’s too late?

The space race was about getting to the moon. The energy race is about controlling the power that will fuel the next century.

Will America lead? Or will we watch as China takes the prize?

The Importance of Catholic Prayer in the Spiritual Life: A Reflection on the pop song of Cliff Richard's “It’s So Funny We Don’t Talk Anymore”

 In a moment of serendipity this week, I found myself pondering a pop song that played on the radio at work. I couldn't get it out of my head as I drove to my Bible study meeting. The lyrics of Cliff Richard's “It’s So Funny We Don’t Talk Anymore” stuck with me—not just as a nostalgic melody, but as a surprising metaphor for the spiritual life. It became the seed for a fruitful discussion about prayer and its central role in our relationship with God.

The song speaks to the sorrow of silence in a once-vibrant relationship. That absence of communication, once so easy and natural, creates a void that estranges two hearts. It struck me that our spiritual life can falter in much the same way. Just as relationships between people deepen through regular, meaningful communication, so too does our relationship with God thrive when we remain in dialogue with Him.

Prayer as the Language of Love

In Catholic teaching, prayer is not just a routine or a ritual; it is the living, breathing connection to God. It is through prayer that we express our love, gratitude, and dependence on Him. More importantly, it is the means by which we listen to His voice.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us that prayer is a vital necessity. Without it, our spiritual life withers. “He who prays is certainly saved; he who does not pray is certainly damned” (St. Alphonsus Liguori). This may sound stark, but the truth is simple: prayer sustains the soul much as breathing sustains the body. Without it, the relationship with God that we are called to nurture becomes distant and stagnant.

The Deeper the Relationship, the More We Talk

In our Bible meeting this week, I shared my reflection on the song. Together, we discussed how a vibrant relationship requires two things: presence and communication. Just as couples or friends who drift apart lose the habit of sharing their joys, fears, and struggles, so too can we drift from God when we fail to pray. The deeper the love, the more natural it feels to speak and listen to one another.

This is why prayer must be consistent. Structured prayers, like the Rosary or the Liturgy of the Hours, teach us discipline, while spontaneous, personal prayers allow us to express the rawness of our hearts. Together, these create a rhythm of life that keeps us close to God. 

Building Habits of Conversation with God

Like any relationship, our connection with God requires intentionality. Imagine a couple that speaks only on special occasions or out of obligation. Their love risks growing cold. Similarly, a Christian who prays only at Mass or in times of crisis may struggle to feel God’s presence in the ordinary moments of life. 

Daily prayer—whether a simple “thank you” in the morning or a moment of quiet before bed—keeps our hearts attuned to God. But the more we speak to God, the more we make room for Him, the more we come to recognize His voice in all things. We do need the discipline of thanking him every week at least with Mass, but if we want love to grow we need to extend it to constantly lifting our minds and hearts to God. If we neglect the small things we will fail in the larger things.

A Final Reflection

As our Bible group concluded, I marveled at how God can use even the ordinary—like a pop song—to teach me a profound lesson. The song reminded me of the sorrow we cause ourselves when we neglect the most important relationship in our lives. But it also reminded me of the joy and intimacy that await us when we return to God in prayer.

So let us speak to Him today. Let us thank Him, praise Him, and lay our burdens before Him. And let us listen, trusting that even in silence. He is present, but do we ignore him? It’s so funny we don’t talk anymore—but it doesn't have to be that way let's talk to him. 

The Black Legend, Spanish Reforms, and Historical Perceptions

 

The Black Legend has significantly shaped Americans' perceptions of Spanish colonial history, and a correlation can be drawn with critical narratives about the United States. While abuses undoubtedly occurred in Spain’s colonies, the Black Legend often ignores or distorts Spain’s efforts to address these issues—just as critiques of U.S. history frequently overlook its attempts at reform.  

The Black Legend as Propaganda  

The Black Legend was largely a Dutch and English propaganda campaign aimed at discrediting Spain during the height of imperial rivalry. It exploited Spain’s openness to addressing problems within its colonies—such as slavery and the mistreatment of indigenous peoples—weaponizing these discussions to portray Spain as uniquely cruel and morally corrupt.  

Instead of commending Spain for its willingness to reform, rival nations used these self-critical debates to undermine Spanish influence. This narrative has endured, overshadowing Spain’s significant efforts to mitigate abuses, such as the Laws of the Indies and the advocacy of figures like Bartolomé de las Casas.  

Spain’s Commitment to Reform  

From the reign of Queen Isabella I, the Spanish Crown demonstrated a commitment to protecting indigenous peoples. Isabella declared in 1500, “The Indians are free and not subject to servitude,” aligning her policies with papal decrees like Sicut Dudum (1435) and Sublimis Deus (1537), both of which condemned slavery.  

A papal bull is a formal proclamation or decree issued by the pope. Named after the lead seal (or bulla) that authenticates it, papal bulls historically addressed significant matters of faith, governance, or social issues. In Sicut Dudum, Pope Eugene IV explicitly forbade the enslavement of indigenous peoples in the Canary Islands, calling for their liberation and threatening excommunication for those who violated the decree. Similarly, in Sublimis Deus, Pope Paul III reaffirmed the inherent dignity of all humans, declaring that indigenous peoples are rational beings with the right to freedom and property, attaching the same severe penalty for disobedience.  

These threats of excommunication were not taken lightly, especially by devout Catholic rulers like Isabella I, Charles V, and Philip II of Spain. As monarchs who saw themselves as protectors of the faith, ignoring such decrees could have jeopardized their spiritual standing and legitimacy in the eyes of their subjects and the Church. This strong moral and religious obligation influenced their policies and reforms, such as Isabella’s early declaration that “The Indians are free and not subject to servitude,” Charles V’s implementation of the New Laws of 1542 to curb abuses in the colonies, and Philip II’s enactment of the comprehensive Laws of the Indies in 1573, which integrated Christian principles into colonial governance and mandated the humane treatment of indigenous peoples.  

The Role of Bartolomé de las Casas  

Bartolomé de las Casas was instrumental in highlighting abuses in the colonies. His A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies (1542) vividly depicted the suffering of indigenous peoples, using hypnotic and emotionally charged language to capture the attention of the Spanish Crown and the broader public. While some of his claims were exaggerated, this rhetorical approach was effective in spurring debates within Spain about colonial practices. However, it also became food for propaganda used by Spain's enemies, who weaponized his accounts to support the Black Legend narrative and portray Spain as uniquely cruel and oppressive.  

A Correlation with U.S. History  

The Black Legend serves as a historical precursor to what might be termed a "new Black Legend" directed at the United States. Just as Spain’s openness to self-critique was weaponized against it, the U.S. often sees its shortcomings emphasized in critical narratives while its reforms and efforts to address these failings are downplayed or ignored.  

For both Spain and the U.S., openness to discussing and correcting problems is a sign of moral courage and accountability, not weakness. In contrast, authoritarian regimes conceal abuses, avoiding external critique while failing to address internal issues. Ironically, the very openness to reform—a hallmark of free societies—becomes a vulnerability in the hands of propagandists.  

Balancing the Narrative  

Approaching history with nuance is essential. Acknowledging abuses is necessary, but so is recognizing the efforts to reform and the cultural and moral frameworks that enabled those reforms. In Spain’s case, the Laws of the Indies, the advocacy of figures like Bartolomé de las Casas, and the leadership of monarchs like Isabella, Charles V, and Philip II reflect a consistent intent to align colonial practices with justice, and Christian virtue, even if enforcement sometimes fell short.  

Similarly, critiques of U.S. history should not overlook the country’s ongoing commitment to addressing its failings. Both Spain and the U.S. illustrate that societies willing to grapple with their flaws are ultimately stronger and more just than those that deny or conceal them.  

If you’d like to explore these parallels or specific examples further, I’d be happy to continue the conversation. Balancing critique with acknowledgment of progress and reform is vital to understanding history and fostering a just society.

Gratitude, Mass, and Happiness

Throughout my life, I’ve encountered many different kinds of people, each bringing their own set of strengths, challenges, and insights. There are those who, in their quiet dedication to responsibility, seem to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, never missing a beat in their work and obligations. I’ve met individuals who, with an effortless warmth, care more for the well-being of others than for their own, often to the point of self-neglect. There are others still, who are sensitive to the winds of their emotions, their thoughts constantly moving in waves of uncertainty. I’ve seen those who thrive in the world of social interactions, their energy flowing outward like a constant stream, and I’ve met those whose drive for power and self-preservation runs deep, shaping their every action with sharp precision.

As I reflect on these encounters, I realize how much the rhythm of gratitude, particularly through worship, speaks to each of these different personalities, offering peace in a world full of noise and demands.

For those who are conscientious, who carry the burden of responsibility with a stoic resolve, it’s easy to see how a life driven by the need to do things perfectly can lead to exhaustion and burnout. The constant striving for order can sometimes feel like a never-ending battle. And yet, when I think of the rhythm of Mass—the weekly commitment to pause and reflect—I realize how that very ritual serves as a grounding point. In the liturgical silence, there is an opportunity to lay down the weight of perfectionism at the feet of something higher, to simply be in the presence of God, free from the pressure of achievement. It is in that sacred moment of gratitude where the need to control and perfect can be replaced with a humble offering, a peace that doesn’t come from accomplishment but from surrender.

For those who are agreeable, whose hearts are so attuned to the needs of others that they often forget their own, the rhythm of worship offers a much-needed reminder. In the act of communal worship, I see how this regular practice allows for a deeper sense of belonging—not just to those around us, but to something transcendent. The Mass becomes a time to receive, to acknowledge that while giving to others is important, we too need the nourishment of gratitude and reflection. Through worship, these individuals can find a sense of balance—learning that to serve others effectively, they must first acknowledge their own worth and the goodness of God in their lives. In this sacred space, gratitude becomes not just a feeling but a commitment—a commitment to take care of the soul in order to serve others with a fuller heart.

Then there are those who, driven by the tides of emotion, find themselves caught in storms of anxiety or sorrow. For them, life often feels like an unpredictable sea. Yet, in the peaceful rhythm of Mass, they can find an anchor. The act of worship, with its deliberate pauses, prayers, and chants, becomes a sanctuary of stillness in the midst of turmoil. It’s in the act of gratitude, when the soul can give thanks for all that is good despite the chaotic winds of the world, that peace begins to settle in. Through worship, those with a more neurotic temperament can find a place to process, to reflect, and to surrender their anxieties to God. Gratitude becomes their refuge, a practice that invites them to step outside the emotional tides and trust in something greater than themselves.For the extraverted, who live in a world of constant interaction and social expectation, the act of worship offers a place to direct their energy inward. Mass becomes a space where their desire for external connection is met by a deeper, more intimate connection with the divine. The liturgical rhythm provides a structure in which their social energy can be channeled into something sacred. There is a moment of collective gratitude where the individual is not seeking approval or validation from others but is instead participating in the communal act of giving thanks. Here, the energy that typically flows outward is turned inward and upward, toward God. In this space, their need for external recognition is replaced by the peace of being known by God, loved for who they are, not for what they do.

And then, I think of those who have a more driven, perhaps self-serving nature—individuals whose ambitions are sharp and unyielding, whose pursuit of success or power is a constant force in their lives. For them, the rhythm of Mass offers an unexpected gift. The liturgy, with its focus on surrender, humility, and gratitude, is a direct challenge to their self-sufficiency. In the act of worship, there is an invitation to step away from the ego, to give thanks not for what they’ve achieved on their own, but for the grace that allows them to succeed in the first place. Gratitude in worship becomes an opportunity to acknowledge that life’s greatest gifts—love, strength, wisdom—are not self-made but given by God. It is in that act of recognizing God's provision that the drive for power can be tempered, leading to a more balanced life, one where success is no longer solely defined by personal achievement but by divine grace.

What strikes me most in all of these reflections is how the act of worship, particularly in the liturgical rhythm of Mass, ties these various personality types together. Each type, with its own strengths and vulnerabilities, can find peace in the commitment to gratitude. This regular act of thanksgiving, not just in thought but in action, reshapes the soul. It teaches us to focus on what is good, to acknowledge what is beyond ourselves, and to surrender to a rhythm that leads to deeper peace. For all of us—no matter our personality—it is in the worship of God, an act of gratitude, that we find a path to a healthier, more meaningful life. It is here that the noise of the world quiets, the soul rests, and the truth of divine love and grace give balance.

Rethinking Mexico City: A Vision for Resilience, Renewal, and Revolutionary Technology

Mexico City, a marvel of human achievement, stands as both a symbol of resilience and a reminder of the cost of thriving in a challenging environment. Built atop the ancient city of Tenochtitlán, it has weathered centuries of earthquakes, floods, and the relentless pressure of expansion. Yet, the city that has been called the "Heart of Mexico" now faces challenges that threaten its very survival. 

As its aquifers dry up, its buildings sink, and its residents struggle to breathe clean air, one question grows louder: How can we ensure a future worthy of this city’s rich past? New technologies like Liquid Fluoride Thorium Reactors (LFTR) could help write the next chapter of Mexico City's story—a chapter of renewal, sustainability, and innovation.

But solutions as bold as these demand vision, courage, and a willingness to let go of old ways in favor of what could be.

A PROTESTANT HISTORIAN CONVERTS TO THE CATHOLIC CHURCH

 

A. David Anders, PhD

Protestant Historian

I grew up an Evangelical Protestant in Birmingham, Alabama. My parents were loving and devoted, sincere in their faith, and deeply involved in our church. They instilled in me a respect for the Bible as the Word of God, and a desire for a living faith in Christ. Missionaries frequented our home and brought their enthusiasm for their work. Bookshelves in our house were filled with theology and apologetics. From an early age, I absorbed the notion that the highest possible calling was to teach the Christian faith. I suppose it is no surprise that I became a Church historian, but becoming a Catholic was the last thing I expected.

My family’s church was nominally Presbyterian, but denominational differences meant very little to us. I frequently heard that disagreements over Baptism, the Lord’s Supper, or church government were unimportant as long as one believed the Gospel. By this, we meant that one should be “born again,” that salvation is by faith alone, and that the Bible is the sole authority for Christian faith. Our church supported the ministries of many different Protestant denominations, but the one group we certainly opposed was the Catholic Church.

The myth of a Protestant “recovery” of the Gospel was strong in our church. I learned very early to idolize the Protestant Reformers Martin Luther and John Calvin, because they supposedly had rescued Christianity from the darkness of medieval Catholicism. Catholics were those who trusted in “good works” to get them to heaven, who yielded to tradition instead of Scripture, and who worshipped Mary and the saints instead of God. Their obsession with the sacraments also created an enormous impediment to true faith and a personal relationship with Jesus. There was no doubt. Catholics were not real Christians.

Our church was characterized by a kind of confident intellectualism. Presbyterians tend to be quite theologically minded, and seminary professors, apologists, scientists, and philosophers were frequent speakers at our conferences. It was this intellectual atmosphere that had attracted my father to the church, and his bookshelves were lined with the works of the Reformer John Calvin, and the Puritan Jonathan Edwards, as well as more recent authors like B. B. Warfield, A. A. Hodge, C. S. Lewis, and Francis Schaeffer. As a part of this academic culture, we took it for granted that honest inquiry would lead anyone to our version of Christian faith.

All of these influences left definite impressions on me as a child. I came to see Christianity as somewhat akin to Newtonian physics. The Christian faith consisted in certain eminently reasonable and immutable laws, and you were guaranteed eternal life provided you constructed your life according to these principles. I also thought this was the message clearly spelled out in the official textbook of Christian theology: the Bible. Only mindless trust in human tradition or depraved indifference could possibly explain anyone’s failure to grasp these simple truths.

There was one strange irony in this highly religious and theological atmosphere. We stressed that it was faith and not works that saves. We also confessed the classic Protestant belief that all people are “totally depraved,” meaning that even their best moral efforts are intrinsically hateful to God and can merit nothing. By the time I reached high school, I put these pieces together and concluded that religious practice and moral striving were more or less irrelevant to my life. It was not that I lost my faith. On the contrary, I absorbed it thoroughly. I had accepted Christ as my Savior and been “born again.” I believed that the Bible was the Word of God. I also believed none of my religious or moral works had any value. So I quit practicing them.

Origin of Life ?

 Are we getting closer to discovering how life first emerged?

Will scientists be able to create life in a lab in our lifetimes?

Dr. James Tour is a chemist and nanotechnologist who has been following origin-of-life research closely for years. Discusses these questions and more.