The Middle Way

Why Won't They Listen?

Why don't people believe climate scientists that anthropomorphic global warming is real and a growing threat?

This question puzzling scientists comes as no surprise to social scientists. NPR's All Things Considered ran a recent story highlighting research that shows a belief in climate change hinges on a person's world view. From NPR's story:

"To social scientist and lawyer Don Braman, it's not surprising that two people can disagree so strongly over science. Braman is on the faculty at George Washington University and part of The Cultural Cognition Project, a group of scholars who study how cultural values shape public perceptions and policy beliefs.

" 'People tend to conform their factual beliefs to ones that are consistent with their cultural outlook, their world view,' Braman says."

The Cultural Cognition group ran a series of experiments among people whose cultural beliefs were labeled individualistic -- those who embrace new technology, authority and free enterprise -- and communitarian -- those who are suspicious of authority or of commerce and industry. In a series of experiments, both groups formed vastly different opinions when presented with the same scientific facts.

"It doesn't matter whether you show them negative or positive information, they reject the information that is contrary to what they would like to believe, and they glom onto the positive information," Braman says.

It turns out that the messenger is also important. You don't send Al Gore to talk to climate skeptics; they won't be able to hear him with any sense of objectivity. To persuade the climate change discussion, scientists need to focus more on influencing the influencers in the skeptics' camp.

The broader implications go beyond climate science. Anyone watching the Health Care summit (as I did for 6 hours) could plainly see that the people sitting around the table were not convincing anyone to change their beliefs. Implacable, strained expressions -- all.

No one is immune to this. We all shape the world we live in by our particular belief systems. We are all resistant to changing our beliefs, even when confronted with evidence that's in direct conflict with them. Some of the most painful moments I've lived through came when I could no longer block a particular truth from penetrating my protective shield.

My own spiritual belief system involves constantly checking in to see whether what I am doing, saying or thinking is real or an illusion. It means I'm always striving to be open to change a long-held belief by paying careful attention to where I'm getting my information.

And it's likely to keep me busy for the rest of my life.

Snowed In

I have never outgrown my love of snow. I feel the same wonder and delight today that I did as a child, watching it fall and muffle the sounds of a noisy world.

I know few share my love of snow, especially in a winter that's already seen more than usual. Here's something for those who do.

 

Shoveling Snow With Buddha
Billy Collins

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clear air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making,
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.