The Natural

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?