Rational Skepticism vs. Tribal Dogma
I’m skeptical of most things. There are only a handful of propositions that strike me as truly self-evident. Beyond those axioms—and the basic rules of logic and the evidence of our senses—everything else is up for debate. I’ve thought hard about many of the big questions and reached what I believe are solid, rational conclusions. But unlike the zealots and the team players, I hold those conclusions lightly. If I’m wrong, I want to know.
What sets off my internal alarm faster than anything is intellectual—and I use the term loosely—tribalism. Or worse, naked power-seeking dressed up as intellectual or moral certainty. Don’t you find it strange that nearly everyone on the political left in the United States supports expansive taxpayer funding for children’s programs but likewise supports nearly unlimited access to abortion? Those positions aren’t logically connected. You could easily imagine someone arguing that the state has a duty to protect the vulnerable—including the unborn. But that combination of views just doesn’t exist. That’s not reasoning. That’s tribal alignment. Dogma.
So yes, I’m skeptical. Of what they say they believe. Of what they insist is true. And more often than not, my skepticism has turned out to be justified.
I do want to draw a sharp distinction between my practice of skepticism—what might be called rational skepticism—and philosophical skepticism.
Rational skepticism begins with the assumption that truth exists—and that, with effort, we can get at it. It’s the posture of a mature mind: cautious but curious, alert to error but not paralyzed by it. The rational skeptic asks questions not to tear down knowledge, but to build it on firmer ground.
Philosophical skepticism, by contrast, doesn’t just doubt particular claims; it doubts the possibility of knowing anything at all. Where the rational skeptic kicks the tires, the philosophical skeptic slashes them. Or asks, “How do we even know roads exist?”
One is a safeguard against gullibility. The other, a kind of surrender.
The trouble is that philosophical skepticism, taken seriously, leads nowhere—except perhaps to cynicism, despair, or the yearning for some substitute certainty, usually political. It’s no accident that the people most likely to say “we can’t know what’s true” are often the first to shout you down for saying something with which they disagree. At its worst, philosophical skepticism isn’t a method—it’s a mood. Rational skepticism keeps you honest. Philosophical skepticism just keeps you stuck.
The rational skeptic says, “Eureka! I was wrong—and I learned something.” The philosophical skeptic says, “You can’t prove anything”—and then insists you agree with him. One delights in discovery. The other clings to dogma.
The Four Pillars of Climate Alarmism
It is for all of these reasons—and more—that I am a climate skeptic. Not because I deny science. That’s absurd. But because the claims of the climate alarmist movement have taken on a religious dimension. “You doubt the environment is an existential crisis? Don’t tell me you support tax cuts and a balanced budget too!”
The climate movement relies on four propositions. What a logician might call four jointly necessary premises. All four must be true or climate alarmism is false. They are:
P1: It is getting warmer.
P2: The warming is caused by humans.
P3: Humans can stop it.
P4: The continued venting of CO₂ into the atmosphere will be harmful to human life and the environment.
From these, they conclude that drastic, immediate restrictions on human choices and actions are justified. As is—somehow—Medicare for All.
With the exception of Premise 1, I have serious doubts about all of them. Each is debatable. None is self-evident.
And it seems to me that even if all four premises are true, they still don’t justify the wholesale dismantling of our modern economy—or the deliberate plunge of billions of people into poverty. In fact, that would almost certainly make things worse. But here’s the unsettling thought: maybe that’s the point. Maybe dismantling the modern economy has been the objective all along. The climate crisis just gave it a moral gloss—a reason to say out loud what some have long believed in private: that capitalism is the real threat, and human freedom the real pollutant.
Is More CO₂ Always a Bad Thing?
Let’s consider Premise 4—that rising CO₂ levels will be bad for us. I’ll give that a “maybe.”
But what about a hundred years of negative economic growth? Would that be bad for us? What about the billions of people around the world who depend on fossil fuels to power their factories, light their homes and hospitals, and pump clean water from the ground? Are those things good? Would ending them—or making them prohibitively expensive—be bad?
And who says higher levels of CO₂ are bad in the first place? This is an article of faith among the climate faithful. But could they be—ya know—wrong?
The Earth has experienced much higher concentrations of atmospheric CO₂ in the past, completely unrelated to human activity, and yet here we are. Life didn’t end—it flourished.
But assume, for a moment, that they’re right: CO₂ is a greenhouse gas, and rising levels will warm the planet. Is that an unalloyed evil? I know this is heresy, but could it possibly be a net benefit to humanity?
CO₂ is plant food. Period. Plants—including food crops—need it to grow. Imagine it’s more abundant. Imagine the growing season, thanks to slightly warmer temperatures, is two weeks longer. Might we see a greening of the Earth as a result?
We already are. NASA satellite data shows significant global greening over the last thirty years.
And here’s another inconvenient fact: far more people die from cold than from heat. Maybe—just maybe—a slightly warmer planet isn’t the end of the world. Maybe it’s the beginning of a more hospitable one. Warmer temperatures and higher CO₂ levels might create the conditions for more CO₂ uptake—not less.
I think the case here is a strong one. But I might be wrong. I’m open to debate. Something the climate faithful are decidedly not open to.
Sea Levels, Ice Ages, and Perspective
Twenty thousand years ago, New York City was buried under a half mile of ice. A glacier so massive, it dwarfed the Empire State Building. So much of Earth’s water was locked up in ice that sea levels were more than 390 feet lower than they are today.
Since that time, across centuries of advance and retreat, the Earth has been getting warmer. Since that time—over thousands of years—sea levels have risen at an average rate of roughly a quarter inch per year. That’s the same rate we’ve seen over the past fifty years. And over the past 150. Has the pace accelerated recently? Maybe. But let’s not forget: around 1850, the Earth began to emerge from a cooling period—the so-called Little Ice Age—that lasted four to five centuries. Could today’s faster rise be part of a natural rebound from that?
It’s a reasonable question. But one that the climate faithful won’t even entertain.
The Real Target Isn’t Carbon—It’s Capitalism
And here’s the part nobody wants to say out loud: for many of the climate faithful, the real enemy isn’t carbon. It’s capitalism. Except me. I’ll say it out loud.
The alarmists don’t just want to cut emissions. They want to dismantle the system that lifted billions out of poverty, connected continents, and brought us antibiotics, electricity, and indoor plumbing. They see the climate crisis not as a problem to be solved within the system, but as a moral justification to tear the whole system down.
To them, fossil fuels symbolize a system of consumption and inequality they believe must be dismantled—even if that means crushing the very engines of human freedom and progress. And better environmental outcomes.
But here’s the thing: if you actually care about the environment—I mean really care, not just when it’s trending on Instagram—then you need to care about poor people first. Because poor people don’t give a damn about emissions. Not in South Africa. Not in Bangladesh. Not in North Korea or Venezuela or Iran.
They care about survival. Food. Shelter. Electricity, if they can get it. Maybe running water. They’ll burn dung or coal or tires to keep their kids warm. And who can blame them?
You want them to care about the environment? Then make them richer.
And how do we do that?
Capitalism. The messy, unpredictable, sometimes unfair, but wildly effective economic system. The one that builds factories and power plants and cell towers and creates jobs that lift families out of poverty and give them enough margin to start caring about abstract things like carbon footprints and sustainability. And separating out the recyclables.
That’s how we save the planet: not by shrinking the economy, but by growing it—and growing it in a way that brings more people into prosperity.
And while we’re at it, let’s talk about emissions. The United States—that evil capitalist empire, the one we’re told is destroying the planet—has actually made real progress. Over the last two decades, U.S. carbon emissions have declined, even as the economy grew. Why? Fracking. Natural gas. Innovation. Not mandates. Not moralizing. Not multilateral treaties with 195 signatories and zero teeth.
Meanwhile, China’s emissions have exploded. India’s are rising. Germany, after bowing to the climate gods and shutting down its nuclear plants, is now burning more coal. So spare me the sermons.
The people lecturing you about de-growth and redistribution aren’t living in mud huts or walking ten kilometers for a bucket of water. They’re typing manifestos on MacBooks in Brooklyn lofts—enjoying all the luxuries of a system they claim to despise. Environmentalism is a luxury belief—an idea you can afford to hold because your life is materially secure. A kind of status signal for people who’ve never missed a meal.
That doesn’t make it wrong. Of course not. Although that is what it is: a luxury belief. But for the billions who are still missing meals, who are still cooking over open fires or praying the lights stay on through the night—capitalism and natural gas-powered electrical generators aren’t the problem. They’re the hope. The hope for a greener future.