Skeptical: Show Me Evidence—Then I’Ll Believe

By Bob Moores

In Skeptical, author Bob Moores describes his atheistic/humanistic philosophy and traces its roots back to early childhood epiphanies where he first began to question certain axiological teachings. He argues against creationism and religious fundamentalism and defends scientific naturalism, critical thinking, and a rational approach to understanding the world.

Moores attempts to show readers how recent scientific discoveries, especially in biology, are more exciting and uplifting than any form of biblical mythology. Using lay terms, he explains the significance of DNA and why a scientific theory is more than just a guess. He argues that modern humanistic values are superior in many ways to those venerated in ancient texts, and he shares his belief that humans are both the greatest threat and greatest hope for the preservation of life on Earth.

Moores hopes that Skeptical will challenge readers to consider views and information that may conflict with their comfort zones, allowing them to broaden their perspectives. He argues that if we are too protective of our own paradigms, if we stubbornly believe that our way is the only way, then the tribes of earth will never come together to solve the most urgent need of all our continued existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462057757

Bob Moores

BOB MOORES has a mechanical engineering degree from Johns Hopkins University. He worked in product development as a designer and manager for Black & Decker/DeWalt for 36 years. He was granted 38 U.S. patents. For the past 46 years his hobby has been studying construction of the Egyptian pyramids. In 1987 he was a member of the National Geographic team that revealed the second of Pharaoh Khufu’s two solar boats entombed in a rock-cut pit on the south side of the Great Pyramid. Bob lives with his wife Marlene in Chestertown, Maryland.

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Copyright © 2011 by Bob Moores.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-5774-0 (sc)

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Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 11/09/2011

Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER 1

My Early Years

CHAPTER 2

Reality

CHAPTER 3

The Universe

CHAPTER 4

The Earth

CHAPTER 5

The Origin of Life

CHAPTER 6

Biology

CHAPTER 7

Humans

CHAPTER 8

Religion

CHAPTER 9

Christianity

CHAPTER 10

God

CHAPTER 11

Wrapping up

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

REFERENCES

For Mom and Marlene

PREFACE

That which is incapable of proof itself is no proof of anything else. P. B. Shelley

It was a warm spring day in April 2005. I was discussing philosophy with my younger brother while he was trying to re-seed my mother’s lawn. As Scotty did not seem to mind the diversion, we began to explore our respective worldviews in more depth than ever before. At one point he allowed that he had committed some of his thoughts to paper. I asked if I could have a copy. He readily agreed. When he asked if I could do the same for him I had to admit that I had never put any of my philosophical thoughts to paper, but would get right to it. Thus began the process that led to this book.

Does God exist? If so, does he care about me? Those are questions I have had since childhood. Will definitive answers ever be available? Not that I can see. To some, God is a certainty. They feel his presence. His existence is not in doubt. I, conversely, seem to have been born without a spiritual detection system. I have been told that I will discover the answer when I expire, but that revelation won’t be helpful while I live. I can deal only with what is available now.

For questions that are unlikely to be resolved in my lifetime, it comforts me to have a most probable answer, a default explanation that is close enough until something better turns up. For most of my seventy-two years I have been aware that others have wondered about the same things that have most puzzled me: How did we get here? Do we have a purpose? How big is the universe? Most of these questions, I have learned, do not have answers to which most would agree. In my mid-teens I concluded that I would have to settle for what makes the most sense while I searched for what was really true. By accepting this course I had unwittingly adopted one of the tenets of science, but more on that will follow.

Philosophy, according to the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, is the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence. Other than thinking and reading about philosophy, and discussing it for most of my life with anyone willing to engage, I have no special expertise in this field.

In this book, my first, you will quickly notice my preference for the branch of philosophy known as scientific naturalism. Scientific naturalism is concerned with types of reasoning and methods that attempt to arrive at scientific conclusions, a description of the tangible, the natural world. Metaphysical naturalism is a philosophical world view holding that there is nothing but natural things, forces, and causes of the kind studied by natural sciences. It seems that metaphysical naturalism is closely allied with scientific naturalism, with metaphysical naturalism being somewhat more explicit in denying the possibility of anything supernatural.

Science does not make any claims about the supernatural. It does not deny the existence of supernatural or spiritual entities. Science simply ignores the supernatural because the supernatural offers nothing that can be tested. The supernatural cannot be studied using the scientific method. Pseudo-scientists (e.g. astrologers, alien-visitor detectives, ghost hunters, intelligent design proponents) would disagree with the last two statements, but that is because they do not have a good understanding of what science is about.

At this point let me define a few terms that are pertinent to my treatise.

God is the proposed supernatural entity, having unlimited power and wisdom, who created, and governs, the universe.

An atheist lacks belief in any gods.

A theist believes there is one or more gods.

A monotheist believes there is only one god.

A polytheist believes there is more than one god.

A deist believes in a creating, but impersonal, god.

An agnostic believes the existence of a god is unknowable.

Humanists attach importance to human rather than supernatural entities.

A biocentrist believes that all life forms are equally valuable.

I used to think that atheists positively affirm that there are no gods, but Richard Dawkins, perhaps the best known atheist alive, says in The God Delusion (2006) that atheists simply lack belief in a god. He lists seven positions in his spectrum of possibilities concerning belief. I will shorten them to five:

1) Strong theist. 100 % certain that [my] God exists.

2) High probability, but less than 100%, that God exists.

3) 50% probability that God exists or not, the popular, but incorrect view of agnosticism.

4) Low probability, but short of zero, that any god exists (weak atheism).

5) Strong atheist. 100% certain that no gods exist.

In this array I would land, along with Dawkins, in category four.

For most of my life I had been calling myself an agnostic, but it was never a 50/50 deal. My lack of belief in a god makes me an atheist, even as I maintain that the existence or non-existence of a god is unknowable. The god for which I yield a small probability is a deistic god, a universe creator who might be watching what is going on, but does not interfere in affairs on Earth

I could never be a strong atheist. Not only would it be unscientific to claim something with certainty, but it would also say that I know that many of my best friends are dead wrong. I can’t say that. My inability to detect supernatural entities may be a personal deficiency. Still, I await evidence.

There are several definitions of the word skeptic. Paul Kurtz, in Skepticism and Humanism (2001), covers them nicely. An extreme form Kurtz calls total negative skepticism, or nihilism, where the proponent believes nothing is real or true, where there can be no objective standards or principles. Another form was coined by David Hume as mitigated skepticism, where, though ultimate truth about the world is unattainable, we must pragmatically and conditionally accept what appears to be true in order to make any progress at all. Kurtz then lists unbelief (or disbelief) as yet another type of skepticism held in two forms, reflective unbelief and a priori unbelief, both usually applied to religion, the paranormal, and the occult, and both denying unproven claims rather than offering anything new. Finally, Kurtz describes skeptical inquiry as being closely allied with disbelief of unproven claims, but having an investigatory element that can lead to scientific progress.

Excited by scientific discoveries, I emphatically fit in the last category. I find ancient scripture interesting, but unexciting. Perhaps it is because those writings were made before the advent of science, and in ages where superstition and credulity ruled.

Being skeptical, I do not mean that I go through life continually doubting everything people tell me. I tend to take people at their word, unless they lose my trust. And if they convey information based on extraordinary beliefs honestly held, rather than verifiable facts, I still respect and honor those opinions, though I am not compelled to believe them. Honesty is not in doubt, and opinions need not be questioned, only to be respected and recognized as such. As Robert Green Ingersoll said in 1880, No matter what we believe, shake hands and let it go. That is your opinion; this is mine: let us be friends.

I am especially dubious of what can be called extraordinary claims. Examples of extraordinary claims are alien beings have visited Earth and supernatural entities exist. I do not reject these claims out of hand. I read and consider arguments pro and con, weigh and assign probabilities to what evidence might exist, and then make what I hope are rational decisions on conditional acceptance or non-acceptance, that is, open to change my mind if demanded by new information.

Armed with all of these definitions how can I define myself? I guess this leaves me a skeptical, atheistic, slightly deistic, half humanistic and half biocentric, scientific naturalist. How’s that for a mouthful? I might be fully biocentric if not for stinkbugs.

I’m going to use the rest of this section for a few bookkeeping items. The first is my purpose for writing this volume. This book is mainly a discourse on my philosophy of how I see the world, or perhaps how I would like it to be. I start with some information about me and how I came to think as I do, then show why critical thinking is more likely to produce reliable information than mystical thinking. I end with my thoughts on human beings and my hopes for their future. Why then, one of my proof-reading friends asked, did you put all that boring stuff about the universe, the earth, and biology in the middle? My reason: If we humans are to discern our significance, and purpose if we have one, it seems helpful if we understand our history. The chapter on the universe sets the stage for the birth of our planet and provides the single crumb I can throw to my creationist friends. The chapter on the earth is for the benefit of friends who argue that our planet is only a few thousand years old. I present chapters on the origin of life and biology not only to show the connectedness of all living things, but more importantly how those ties support evolution (science) rather than creationism (mysticism).

In this book I will refer to God using masculine pronouns. This is in deference to convention, not fairness. I toyed with the idea of switching back and forth between she, he, him, her, and it, but decided that that route would be confusing and disruptive. I doubt very much that God has a gender. For the same reason I often refer to humankind and human beings as man, a less bulky word that improves readability. To partially offset these concessions to conformity I promise you will find only one use of the tiresome phrase it is important to note in these pages, and you have already found it.

Unless I note otherwise, all biblical citations are from the Life Application Study Bible, New International Version (2005).

In the last chapter I describe my philosophy of unpretentious humanism. This philosophy may be upsetting to a few of my friends and relatives with whom I have never discussed philosophy. That is, if they read it. These are good people. I wish them no harm. My hope is that they respect my views and remember that I am the same person they always knew.

It is not my goal to destroy religious faith, but to have a chance to explain, and have considered, my own philosophy. I hope that is not too vain. For those who may harbor seeds of doubt, but feel burdened with the fear of hell, perhaps I can make a tiny contribution in the liberation of that fear.

One last reason why I wrote this book is to urge people to consider views and information that might conflict with their comfort zones, and broaden their perspectives in a good way. Uncertainty and unfamiliar ideas should not be feared; they may open exciting new possibilities. If we are too protective of our own paradigms, if we stubbornly believe that our way is the only way, then the tribes of Earth will never come together to solve the most urgent need of all—our continued existence.

CHAPTER 1

My Early Years

God give me the courage to face a fact, though it slay me.

T. H. Huxley

Now I will tell you a little more about myself. This is not an ego thing. In the grand setting of the universe I am as unimportant as anyone can be. The reason why I want to tell you about me is so you can understand how I came to think as I do.

My first epiphany: An uncomfortable truth

Epiphany: a moment of sudden and great revelation.

December 1946. I had just turned eight the month before. That fall my family had moved from my grandparents’ farm in rural Carroll County to the big city. I had started the third grade at Pimlico Elementary School in Baltimore.

Somehow the subject of Christmas came up in a conversation with one of my classmates. I told him what I had asked Santa to bring me for Christmas. My friend said What? You still believe in Santa Claus? It’s your mom and dad. There is no Santa Claus. I told him he didn’t know what he was talking about, but was anxious to get home that day. Finding my mother in the kitchen, I related to her what my friend had told me. Mom said, Do you really want to know who Santa is?

At this point I must pause to give you a little background on the importance of Santa. Each year, in writing my letter to Santa, my parents allowed me to ask for three items from the Sears Christmas Catalog where Santa’s inventory was on display (If that was a clue, I suppressed it). There was a good possibility that Santa would actually deliver two of the things I asked for, and on a good year, all three! Thus, Christmas was my main opportunity to score big in the new toy category. This opportunity was not to be squandered.

Returning to Mom’s query of do you really want to know?, her question gave me the answer I sought, but still I hesitated to reply. I had a difficult choice to make. I could go along with what I now realized was a deception, comfortable in the idea that my annual Christmas bonus would continue, or have an uncomfortable fact confirmed.

After a few seconds, I decided. Yes, I wanted the truth, and to hell with the outcome. Mom enlightened me. My point? As an eight-year-old, I, like Huxley, wanted the truth, even if it was bad news for me. Truth, tested against comfort on the balance scale, was more weighty for me. If you think back, you have had life-shaping moments that were more impactful than others. This was one of mine.

My father was an electrician. He worked on big commercial projects for a company called Riggs-Distler. Dad was a foreman, which I took to mean some kind of boss. His best friend was another electrical foreman named Otz Parsons. Otz and Ann Parsons, with son Bunky, lived in a large log house in the woods. My family would visit the Parsons’, and vise-versa, at least once a month. Dad, a.k.a. Reds, and Otz would talk for hours, mostly about target shooting, deer hunting, and people on the job who were screwing up.

The thing I remember most about our visits to the Parsons’ is the time it took for Dad and Otz to say goodbye. Goodbye happened in stages. First we would get our coats on. Then there would be a lengthy conversation in the kitchen (where the front door was located). We would then proceed to the front porch, where the same lengthy conversation continued. Finally we would get into the car. Dad would roll down the window so he could have one last lengthy conversation with Otz before we actually departed. The entire process of saying goodbye took at least thirty minutes, and this was after several hours of talking about the same stuff! I mention this anecdote simply to point out that I did not inherit Dad’s gift of gab.

In most ways Dad was my role model. He was mechanically savvy, always fixing things around the house, especially his car. Those fixes were more along the lines of improvements to an imperfect design. I was his helper. I fetched tools that he needed, and watched intently as he used them. There was always the right tool for a given job. Never ever use an open-end wrench when you can employ a box wrench. Things like that.

Dad was also very good at making logical arguments. Whenever he decided to phone someone with whom he had a problem, I would sit transfixed, listening to his spiel. He had a way of calmly convincing the person on the other end of the line that he should get his way.

Several times I accompanied Dad when he went to buy a new car. Those negotiations held my attention in the first hour, but became tedious as the day went on. Even after the deal was sealed, Dad would usually wrangle an extra wheel from the frustrated salesman. That way Dad could always keep two snow tires mounted (a spare in the car, the other in the garage) in preparation for the winter season. For you youngsters, in those days we did not have all-weather tires.

Perhaps because of the inner-city conditions in which he was raised, Dad harbored certain prejudices. He had labels for various groups, particularly by race, nationality, and religion. I learned those names as well, but did not have many opportunities to use them because, except for blacks, the other group members were hard to identify. My mother never used those names, but her silence did not mitigate my adoption of Dad’s nomenclature. Don’t get me wrong. Dad was not a hateful or bitter person; his prejudice was as natural to him as it was to most of his friends. I found after he died that his favorite poem was Abou Ben Adhem., by James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859). It became my favorite also:

Abou Ben Adhem, may his tribe increase!

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

What writest thou?-The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, The names of those who love the Lord.

And is mine one? said Abou. Nay, not so,

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

Mom had five brothers and four sisters, so she served quite an extended family, especially in her later years. I say served because her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, nieces and nephews would come to her for advice and consolation when they had problems. If face-to-face meetings were impractical, Mom would find out through the grapevine who was having problems and write them letters of support, always adding that she was praying for them. Her love, empathy, patience, and common sense were limitless. She was the best psychiatrist in the world, and charged nothing for it.

My mother was very religious. She took her four boys to church every Sunday, at least until we reached our teens. We were Methodist Protestants of the Christian faith. My dad never attended church, nor did he ever discuss religion with me. I figured he was delegating this teaching area to Mom. Mom, in turn, seemed to be delegating my formal training to the church. Looking back, I think I learned my sense of right and wrong from my parents, not from church.

I don’t remember much about Sunday school. I can’t recall learning any moral lessons, so it must have been about playing games, making craft projects, and generally keeping out of the way of the adults who were learning the serious stuff upstairs. The only things of historical significance I absorbed were the stories of Daniel in the lions’ den and the fascinating account of Noah’s ark.

Graduation

When I was eleven my family moved to Baltimore County, in an area known as Shawan. About a year later I graduated from Sunday school to the adult service upstairs. Right away I noticed some significant changes. For one thing, the whole affair was scripted in a bulletin, a printed program that was followed to the letter. I liked that organization a lot. At that age, I didn’t own a watch, so the bulletin gave me an indication of how much longer the church service would last.

At three points during each service, the congregation would sing a hymn. The choir would sing another. I liked the music of the hymns, but