While
it might seem strange to discuss baseball in January, consider this. If a
rookie ended his season with a .325 batting average, fans would say the kid can
hit. If he ended his second year above .330 and walloped a few dozen home runs
in the process, again, most would say, “Wow. That guy is going places.”
Imagine this same ball player went another five
years hitting above .300 and belted out forty or so home runs on average per
season.
This player would be sought after as a slugger and
opposing pitchers would fear him. They would study his performance and try to
develop a strategy to at least contain his success. Depending on the game and
the spot in the season, some might even just pitch around him and move on with
their day.
Let’s say this batter ended his hall of fame career
with a .318 batting average. He’s in the upper echelon in total home runs and
R.B.I.’s. Without question, he’s one of the best hitters to ever play the game.
Right?
Stats don’t lie. The guy was a champion, and so now
it’s time to write a book about him. Continuing with this hypothetical
scenario, imagine you’re the sports writer for the job, and you decide, “Hey,
let’s talk to the people who knew him best: former teammates, old coaches, and,
for a particularly interesting chapter, opposing pitchers.”
You secure interviews with 250 of the top pitchers
in the game and sit down and ask them the same question. (Yeah, that’s a lot of
interviews, but you like to travel and you know how to use Skype.)
“What made this guy so good?”
The vast majority of the pitchers tell you some
version of what you expect:
“Remarkable reflexes; great anticipation.”
“A student of
his opponents.”
“Tremendous work ethic.”
A few guys, though, tell you something odd. They conjure
up a story that, all things considering, doesn’t really make any sense.
“I threw him my easy stuff.”
“He really wasn’t that great.”
“He got lucky.
A lot. I mean, like, a lot a lot.”
Stranger still, these few pitchers go on to make a
startling accusation.
“Everyone who pitched against him was throwing him
meatballs.”
“What?”
“Yeah, just straight down the pipe.”
“For nineteen years?”
“Sure.”
“The game footage doesn’t really seem to ….”
“Forget the footage. Forget what you know, or think
you know. The guy was a fraud. He couldn’t hit; at least not at our level. We
all just got together and threw him easy stuff. This idea that he’s one of the
best hitters ever? It’s a hoax.”
“A hoax?”
“Yep, it’s a conspiracy.”
“Whaaaat?”
“Absolutely, yes. All the pitchers were in on it.
Only I and a handful of others are willing to admit it.”
After making sure you’re still recording the
interview, you take a deep breath and continue.
“So, to clarify, you’re telling me that out of the
hundreds of pitchers who faced him throughout his career, men whose very
livelihood and reputation hinge on their ability to strike people out, you’re
telling me that they all chose to go easy on this one batter, jeopardizing not
only that particular contest but their entire season, just so he, as an
individual they barely knew, could make it to the hall of fame?”
“Sure.”
“Wow. OK. I think this interview is over. Thank you
for your time and enjoy the rest of your day in Crazytown.”
Kind of farfetched, but that’s basically what is
happening with climate change. Thousands of scientists—men and women whose very
livelihood depends on interpreting data—have come to the same conclusion: The
climate is warming up, humans are, at the very minimum, exacerbating it, and,
if we don’t slow it down, the results will be increasingly catastrophic.
Yes, there
are a handful of detractors, but the idea that all of the scientists who have
come to the same basic conclusion are conspiring in an effort to curb economic
growth makes about as much sense as the idea that a career’s worth of pitchers
went easy on one single batter, just so he could make it to the hall of fame.
It’s absurd, and regardless of our politics, we
should know better.
Scientists love to debunk each other. It’s their
thing; that’s how science works. Researchers are constantly debunking each
other’s ideas in all kinds of places, but the vast majority of climate
scientists tend to agree that human-induced climate change is a serious problem
that needs urgent and global attention.
Although not related to climate change, about two months
ago an instrument on the Voyager II deep space satellite noticed a significant
decrease in the amount of solar wind, suggesting it had finally left our solar
system. Launched in 1977, this vessel has less computing memory than a cell
phone, yet it continues to send back information to scientists millions of
miles back on Earth.
About one month ago, NASA landed a much more
sophisticated vessel on Mars. This machine, named InSight, also sends
information back to Earth. Stationed about 300 miles away from another
human-made robot, the Curiosity rover, this instrument is designed to record
seismic activity.
These stories are pretty amazing, and I mention them
to highlight very obvious examples of multiple scientists working together to
get it right. Yes, scientists are humans and they make mistakes, and I’m certainly
not suggesting we deify science or, much less, the humans doing it.
However, if our Creator has gifted us with not only
the ability to ask hard questions but to also collect the data needed to offer
reasonable answers, why are we often so hesitant to accept what we find out?
Why do we so often ignore the batters we don’t like?
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