At the John Radcliffe Hospital, a physician tells Richard
Dawkins that his son was stillborn. A hospital chaplain talks Richard into
secretly adopting an orphaned newborn whose mother died in childbirth. Out of
concern for his wife’s mental health, Richard agrees. He and his wife Marian
name the child Damien.
Shortly thereafter, Richard’s mentor, Nikolaas Tinbergen, is
killed in a freak accident when a gas main explodes under his car. As a result,
Richard is appointed to replace Tinbergen as the Simonyi Professor for the Public
Understanding of Science
Five years later, Damien’s original nanny is bitten to death
by a black mamba. This is puzzling because there are no black mambas in
Oxfordshire. Richard assumes the snake must have escaped from a private collector.
A few days later, a new nanny, Mrs. Baylock, arrives out of
nowhere to replace her–claiming the agency sent her after reading the obituary.
Richard hires her on condition that she never read fairy tales to Damien: “I
have sometimes worried about the educational effects of fairy tales. Could they
be pernicious, leading children down pathways of gullibility towards
anti-scientific superstition and religion? I think looking back to my own
childhood, the fact that so many of the stories I read allowed the possibility
of frogs turning into princes, whether that has a sort of insidious affect on
rationality. Faith can be very very dangerous, and deliberately to implant it
into the vulnerable mind of an innocent child is a grievous wrong. I’ve always
been scrupulously careful to avoid the smallest suggestion of infant
indoctrination, which I think is ultimately responsible for much of the evil in
the world. I want Damien to make up his own mind freely when he becomes old
enough to do so. I would encourage him to think for himself–as long as he
thinks like me.”
One night, when Marian goes into Damien’s bedroom, she’s
confronted by a menacing Rottweiler with glowing red eyes. She runs from the
room and tells Richard. “It’s like some hellbound with eyes that glow in the
dark!”
Richard assures her that the dog’s eyeshine is simply the
natural effect of tapetum lucidum reflecting the nightlight in Damien’s
bedroom. The next day, Richard asks the nanny about the strange dog. Mrs.
Baylock tells him it’s a guard dog that the agency sent to protect the boy.
Damien has become very attached to the new dog.
One day, when Damien is playing with another boy, his
playmate accidentally breaks Damien’s toy train. Damien glares at the boy,
mutters a Sumerian curse, and the boy bursts into flames. The burning boy runs
screaming from the room, and dies moments later.
The police are mystified, but Richard assures them that
there must be a perfectly natural explanation for what happened. “Just because
science so far has failed to explain something, such as spontaneous combustion,
to say it follows that the facile, pathetic explanations which religion has
produced somehow by default must win the argument is really quite ridiculous.”
Another time, Marian walks into Damien’s bedroom when Damien
playing with toy soldiers. The toy soldiers are floating in midair.
Marian tells Richard. “It’s as if he was moving them with
his mind.”
He assures her that there must be a scientific explanation
for levitation–if that’s what it was. Probably an optical illusion, or
anomalous atmospheric conditions. Must have something to do with
electromagnetic fields. “If ever there was a slamming of the door in the face
of constructive investigation, it is the word miracle. To a medieval peasant, a
radio would have seemed like a miracle. Faith is the great cop-out, the great
excuse to evade the need to think and evaluate evidence.”
On
Damien’s sixth birthday party, Marian hires a magician to perform tricks for
the children who came to celebrate Damien’s birthday. The magician pulls a
rabbit out of the hat. Marian sees Damien touch the rabbit. It turns into a
cobra. The magician is horrified. The children scream and run away. All except
for Damien.
When Marian tells Richard what she saw, he brushes off the
incident as slight-of-hand. “It really comes down to parsimony, economy of
explanation,” He says. “It is possible that your car engine is driven by
psychokinetic energy, but if it looks like a petrol engine, smells like a
petrol engine and performs exactly as well as a petrol engine, the sensible
working hypothesis is that it is a petrol engine. Telepathy and possession by
the spirits of the dead are not ruled out as a matter of principle. There is
certainly nothing impossible about abduction by aliens in UFOs. One day it may
be happen. But on grounds of probability it should be kept as an explanation of
last resort. It is unparsimonious, demanding more than routinely weak evidence
before we should believe it. If you hear hooves clip-clopping down a London
street, it could be a zebra or even a unicorn, but, before we assume that it’s
anything other than a horse, we should demand a certain minimal standard of
evidence.”
One day Marian takes Damien to the zoo. When they go to the
herpetarium, all the snakes press themselves against the glass, as if they were
doing obeisance to Damien.
Fr. Brennan, an Anglican priest, visits Richard’s office at
Oxford to warn him that his adopted son is possessed. Damien is the
long-predicted Antichrist, he says.
He urges Richard to have Damien baptized and exorcised. Read him the
Bible every day.
Richard is scornful: “Don’t ever be lazy enough, defeatist
enough, cowardly enough to say ‘I don’t understand it so it must be a
miracle–it must be supernatural–it must be the occult–God did it–the Devil did it.’ Say instead, that
it’s a puzzle, it’s strange, it’s a challenge that we should rise to. Whether
we rise to the challenge by questioning the truth of the observation, or by
expanding our science in new and exciting directions–the proper and brave
response to any such challenge is to tackle it head-on. And until we’ve found a
proper answer to the mystery, it’s perfectly ok simply to say ‘this is
something we don’t yet understand–but we’re working on it’. It’s the only
honest thing to do. Miracles, magic and myths, they can be fun. Everybody likes
a good story. Myths are fun, as long as you don’t confuse them with the truth.”
“But that’s precisely why the dark side entrusted the child
to your care,” Fr. Brennan interjects. “They knew you’d provide the perfect cover.
The Devil’s dupe. You’d be the very last person to suspect Damien’s true
identity–until it’s too late!”
Richard orders the priest to leave. After he goes outside,
Fr. Brennan is struck dead by a lightning bolt, even though there’s not a cloud
in the sky.
Marian starts having nightmares about Damien. She begins to
question whether Damien could really be her own child. As she’s driving to his
office to share her concerns, she’s swallowed alive by a sinkhole, which
suddenly appears right under her car.
Hilarious! But the point is well-made. For sure, one has to wonder what kind of evidence and degree of certainty is needed for those who claim that their love for the observable truth is what keeps them from knowing that designed things need a designer, information comes from minds, etc.
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