Of Skepticism and Nature

by Jason Stotts

As I lie here bathing in patches of sun and shade, beneath an ancient Oak proudly bearing its new summer greens, I can clearly feel the soft grass beneath me. When I reach out my hand I can feel the heat of a large granite rock that is almost as big as I am. The rock is dark grey, marked in places by soft lichen. I can clearly feel the unmoving hardness of the stone and try as I might, it will not budge for me. As I lean back against the mighty Oak, I feel calm and at ease. There is no doubt in my mind that the Oak tree will continue existing for the whole of my brief reprieve.

Indeed, the thought that some people actually have this fear saddens me. I cannot conceive of the constant terror and uncertainty that must come from skepticism. Because I know the world operates strictly by causality and is consequently beautifully ordered, I can always know what to expect, or at least a small range of things that might happen. A true skeptic, if such a position were possible, would be in a constant state of apprehension because he could never have any idea at all about what could happen. Truly, an honest skeptic, pardon the irony, could not even know that the sun will rise tomorrow and must, therefore, go to sleep hoping that light will once again (somehow) come to the world.

What skeptics really need is to get back in touch with reality; I recommend an Oak.

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