Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good. Psalm 136:1

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.

Some thoughts about “yes” and “no”

There are probably no two words that have blessed my life more than the simple words “yes” and “no”. The former invites and permits; it is an open door. "You are free to eat from any tree in the garden...” God says in Genesis 2:16. This is the first thing he says to the man, the divine “yes”. Feel free to make yourself at home. Eat whatever you like. Enjoy.

As we go to God in prayer we should understand that his initial and persistent posture toward us is positive. This is what it means to ask in faith; not so much to think we’re going to get what we want, but to ask trusting that God is on our side and will give us what is good. He is not some celestial grouch who delights in frustrating our hopes and dreams, but a loving parent who delights in us, and in our well-being.

The other side of this coin, however, is the divine “no”, ...but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, " (Gen. 2:17a) This is the second thing that is said by the one who first said “yes”, and the “no” is contained within the “yes”. Eat anything you like, but not that. Go anywhere you please, except there.

“Yes” and “no” give shape and direction to our lives the way rules define and facilitate a game. You can play anywhere on the field, but this is the boundary line; if you step on or over the line you will be out of bounds. Hit the ball as far as you can, but this is the foul line. If the ball goes over this line it’s out of bounds and doesn’t count. And the line is to be taken seriously because it kills the play. “...for when you eat of it you will surely die.” (2:17b)

When the Serpent comes he will direct Eve’s attention to this parental prohibition, this divine “no”, and the spin he puts on the question is very interesting. He said to the woman, "Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?" (3:1) Of course what he had said is almost the direct opposite of this, and she understands perfectly well. "We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, 'You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.'" (3:2-3) It’s not that we can’t eat from any tree, we just can’t eat from every tree.

In her reflection on “no” she does two interesting things; she adds to it, “...and you must not touch it...”, and she lingers over it, When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom,... (3:6)

This, of course, is the beginning of temptation. We make “no” the focus of the matter; then we begin to doubt the goodness of God, or Mom and Dad, etc. “Why does she have to be so restrictive?”, we ask. “Why is everything so negative with him? Suppose I just nudge the sideline with my toe? What if I hit the ball just on the line, not over it? Maybe I’ll put just the tip of the knife in the electrical socket.”

This is the story of sin, and sin is bad. But there is a profound and quite fascinating ambivalence in the story as it unfolds. It is certainly the story of how we fall down, but it’s also the story of how we grow up. It’s how we discover who we are, and who God is. And if we continue to read we will discover something very surprising. Though it is in some sense good to always obey the rules, there is also something very special about the ones who play the entire field, right up to the line and sometimes over. Eve, Cain, Noah, Abraham, Ishmael, Jacob, Moses, David, all play the entire field and cross the line from time to time, but it is they who drive the story forward. Jacob, for example, is called Israel, and God’s people are his descendants (the Children of Israel). And what is this name, “Israel”? The man (person) who struggles with God. (Genesis 32:28)

Of course we all must be obedient, take “no” for an answer; God is God. But life is far more interesting than that. I never hit a foul ball or step out of bounds on the sidelines, because I don’t play baseball or football any more. But no one ever became a great player by not breaking the rules. You become great by learning not to break the rules, by learning to play the whole game within the rules.

I am not belittling the seriousness of sin, or suggesting that obedience is unimportant. I’m simply saying that growth is a process. Eve’s mistake began when she allowed her focus on the rules to replace her panoramic vision of the garden; her vision of the game.

We play the game and stay in bounds. And when we step out of bounds we take the “no” we have coming. Then we get back on he field, keep playing the game and staying in bounds. And we love the game because it's wonderful!

The Pride of Man

Another reason my little nephew must learn to articulate his needs and desires, she pointed out, is that he needs to learn “please” and “thank you”, “yes” and “no”. This, of course, is another way of saying he needs to experience himself, and those around him, as persons.

As children we are all attracted to magic, both its mystery and power. When I asked a young woman at a farmer’s market in North Bay, Ontario, how they managed to keep everything so fresh she responded in a most delightful and childlike way. “O, I’m just an employee. I’m not allowed to know the farmer magic.”

This aspect of magic, and magical thinking, is an unmitigated delight to me. It’s the humble acceptance of the obvious fact – obvious to a child at least – that the universe is a place of infinite wonder filled with things we do not know, cannot know, don’t need to know, and perhaps don’t even want to know. But there is also the seductive power of magic. This aspect is more problematic, and should be viewed more sceptically.

We all want to exert power, to force our will upon the world. The discovery of this possibility is one of the primal experiences of infancy. Our demands (cries) produce desirable results, and then our smiles and gurgles do the same. We discover we can manipulate our hands, and the objects around us, including people. When we cannot manage a manipulation we can usually manage someone to manage it for us. One of the earliest games my children discovered was fetch. They would sit in the high chair and drop a spoon or cup or toy, and Mom, Dad, brother, sister would retrieve it. But if the retriever grew tired of the game and stopped retrieving the child would turn to angry shouts and cries in an attempt to get the job done.

A great stride in human development occurs, therefore, when a child first learns to ask politely. This move from demand to request is an acknowledgment that she or he is dealing with another person who also has needs and desires. Admittedly, this is just a new strategy of manipulation to begin with – “Say the magic word.” – so it’s very important that the polite request elicit a unyielding NO from time to time. As a child learns to take no for an answer a brand new notion begins to develop in her little mind and heart. She (or he) begins to entertain the strange possibility that those around her, and even the Universe in general, might be more than means by which her needs are met. And this gives rise to a companion notion that she doesn’t always have to get what she wants, and sometimes maybe doesn’t even want to get it. Sometimes what she wants isn’t good. Sometimes Mom, Dad, or the Universe may know better what is good.

Prayer of petition is a posture of humility toward God, the gods, the Universe. It is a request; never a demand. It’s always prepared to take no for an answer, because it acknowledges implicitly that it does not always know what is best, or even good. Sometimes it is said, “Be careful what you pray for; you might get it.”, but this is the great concern of magic, not prayer. We must always pray as little children, secure in the knowledge that the one who will not give a child a scorpion if he asks for an egg (Luke 11:12) will, likewise, not give a child a scorpion even if he should foolishly ask for one.

Something worth pondering:

Science is a powerful tool, but it is the child of alchemy, which is the child of magic. The power of Science is it’s amazing ability to manipulate the world, but this too is its Achilles heal. If something can be done, it must be done, it will be done. We laugh at the sorcerer’s apprentice who lacks the self discipline to behave, and the knowledge to really understand what he is doing, but is this just a matter of maturity and experience? What about the sorcerer, is there anything within the realm of science that can set limits on him? Is there anything too wonderful for us to know, or too dangerous for us to do?

Turn around, go back down, back the way you came.

Can’t you see that flash of fire ten times brighter than the day?

And, behold, a mighty city, broken in the dust again.

O God, the Pride of Man, broken in the dust again!

“The Pride of Man” written by Hamilton Camp

Surely this song is a call to prayer.