Human Beings Are Just Gene Machines.

All Qualified Physicists, Biologists, Cosmologists And Geologists Agree, On The Basis Of Massive, Mutually Corroborating Evidence, That The Earth's Age Is At Least Four Billion Years.

We, Alone On Earth, Can Rebel Against The Tyranny Of The Selfish Replicators.

Presumably There Is Indeed No Purpose In The Ultimate Fate Of The Cosmos, But Do Any Of Us Really Tie Our Life's Hopes To The Ultimate Fate Of The Cosmos Anyway? Of Course We Don't; Not If We Are Sane. Our Lives Are Ruled By All Sorts Of Closer, Warmer, Human Ambitions And Perceptions.

On One Planet [earth], And Possibly Only One Planet In The Entire Universe, Molecules That Would Normally Make Nothing More Complicated Than A Chunk Of Rock, Gather Themselves Together Into Chunks Of Rock-sized Matter Of Such Staggering Complexity That They Are Capable Of Running, Jumping, Swimming, Flying, Seeing, Hearing, Capturing And Eating Other Such Animated Chunks Of Complexity; Capable In Some Cases Of Thinking And Feeling, And Falling In Love With Yet Other Chunks Of Complex Matter.

All Religious Beliefs Seem Weird To People Not Brought Up In Them.