Not thirty feet from my head a shark sliced along the clear wall of a building wave. Its dorsal fin briefly split the surface before it descended and was gone. I had just surfed into an area of mush — topside evidence of an underwater breach in the sand bar. As I turned and paddled back out I spotted the five-foot shark. I pushed past the break and sat up, my toes dangling in the home of the toothed torpedo. Moments later everyone was called out of the water. When a nineteen year-old with white goop on her nose, designer sunglasses, and red flag blows her whistle, I guess it’s serious. I paddled in.
I live in the shark-attack center of the world. Around the globe there are roughly 70 reported “shark incidences” each year. Florida’s eastern shore accounts for nearly 30 of them. Fortunately, no Great Whites inhabit our waters. The shark attacks at the beaches I surf are of the you’ll-need-a-few-quick-stitches-in-the-emergency-room variety. Hands and feet get bloodied, not outright stolen. Still, no one wants to get bitten by a shark. But there’s no way to surf without running the risk.
While surfing gives me a physical thrill, science mentally excites me. Both are risky pursuits in their own ways. With science you put your beliefs to a test; you conduct research to see if they withstand challenge.
The risk is that when it comes to the actual data, your belief/hypothesis may take a wipe-out. Then what?
Then you jettison your bruised ego and head back into the action.
Consider this scenario: A surfing friend tells you that when you were out of state, for 7 days and 7 nights there was an endless procession of perfectly glassy waves tubing their way to shore. He had the waves all to himself and he surfed until his arms quit. Would you believe him? I might say, Dude, your beautiful story is making me cry. But until I see the photos, I ain’t buying it.
Tales are like the wake of a surfboard. The scratch a surfer leaves in the face of a wave quickly disappears after the fact; the storyteller is then free to say anything he or she wants about it. Without somehow catching the bubbling slice, there is no hard evidence to prove a tale right or wrong.
It is not, however, up to the listener to prove the tale-teller wrong; it is the tale-teller’s responsibility to provide something more substantial than yet more words to establish the veracity of his or her claim.
Of course, if a claim can’t be verified there is no risk involved. Is it any wonder that the bulk of religious tales and claims can’t be tested? And so they are safe.
Accepting dogma and having faith is easy. Just listen and let be. “Doing science,” however — formally or informally — takes time, effort and exposure to potentially embarrassing, bruising correction.
Not many people surf. There is less danger and more comfort on shore.
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Tags: atheism, Freethought Musings, religion
August 26th, 2010 at 12:01 pm
Andrew, that was nonpareil…a piece of writing that deserves a wide audience. Now, I’m pondering, where can I find an audience wide enough?
August 27th, 2010 at 8:38 am
Thanks, Nance.
Yes, where to find that wider audience. Part of the trouble is, while I enjoy writing, I find the whole self-promotion thing as alluring as visiting the dentist. Would rather not have to do it.