I’ve always had my doubts about Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution. Now understand me, I’m perfectly willing to acknowledge that Chuck was onto something way back in 1859 when he published his big book. I’m not opposed to school children learning all about it; school children should learn all about everything. And I’m not a “Creationist” insisting on a literal interpretation of the early chapters of Genesis. It’s just that I believe everything, including the Theory of Evolution, is evolving. And there is much more going on than you, or I, or Charles Darwin can possibly know. I think it’s just silly to imagine that anyone has had the last word about anything.
All that being said, however, I do believe that the principle behind “natural selection” is spot on. Adaptations that work and give individuals some kind of advantage tend to persist. That goes for tooth enamel, feathers, binocular vision, and fur that turns white in the winter. It also goes for the ability to add and subtract, recognize your offspring, whistle a tune, and imagine why it might be handy to have a long, pointy stick, if only to poke those annoying people who won’t stop whistling.
I assume, therefore, that Atheism has some real adaptive advantage. It has persisted for millennia, presumably because it frees people up to do things they otherwise might be reluctant to do, or perhaps liberates them from having to waste their time doing things that don’t increase the likelihood of survival. But even so, I’ve been told that Atheism is the least transferable of the major religions. Atheists recruit well, but statistics suggest they have a heck of a time passing it on to their own children. Un-faith, it seems, is particularly vulnerable to those unsettling doubts and stumbling blocks that litter this fallen world.
And I suspect that one of the great stumbling blocks for Atheism is the feast we are in the process of celebrating this weekend. Occasions like Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah, Ramadan, Rama-navami and Hanamatsuri --I had to google the last two -- all require some theological or historical context, but Thanksgiving is just so accessible, so in-your-face. And perhaps the English author, playwright, journalist, composer and ardent gardener, Beverley Nichols, has said it best.
It was inevitable, I suppose, that in the garden I should begin, at long last, to ask myself what lay behind all this beauty. When guests were gone and I had the flowers all to myself, I was so happy that I wondered why at the same time I was haunted by a sense of emptiness. It was as though I wanted to thank somebody, but had nobody to thank; which is another way of saying that I felt the need for worship. That is, perhaps, the kindliest way in which a person may come to God. There is an interminable literature on the origins of the religious impulse, but to me it is simpler than that. It is summed up in the image of a person at sundown, watching the crimson flowering of the sky and saying—to somebody—“Thank you."
Adaptive advantage is wonderful, but it’s a precarious thing. So if you are happy this weekend, satisfied, appreciative, even thankful that you are an Atheist, be careful. It’s a slippery slope.
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