A Robin’s Nest Tragedy

Three weeks ago, my wife discovered a robin’s nest on the window sill outside our guest bedroom window. One morning, there were four perfectly shaped blue eggs. We were incredibly excited to have such a wonderful view of the nest. I had visions of taking pictures of the entire process, from the eggs hatching to the baby birds leaving the nest.

It was difficult to get a picture of the mother robin sitting on the nest. We learned that robins have sensitive hearing, and, if she heard noise through the window, she flew off. Her instinct is to escape from predators and leave the nest, even if the eggs are exposed. Most robins live only a year but those that grow to maturity can leave five years or more and lay eggs two or three times each season. Thus, it’s better for her to survive and lay eggs another day.

One morning there were only three eggs. We realized that this is was not going to be an entirely smooth process. While the nest was visible to us, it was also easily accessible to the neighborhood crows, which are natural predators. Still there were three eggs left and three days ago, they hatched! The baby birds were scrawny and pink, barely recognizable as birds, but we could see their little beaks reach up for food. Then two days ago, there were only two birds left. We were stunned. By the end of the day, there weren’t any! The mother bird never came back. The nest sits empty on the window sill. The entire brutal process in which predators, probably crows, ate the baby robins took less than twenty-four hours. A fortunate nest location for us turned out to be a bad mistake for the baby birds.

We talked about why we felt so bad. We agreed that we should not project human emotions on to the mother robin. Although the brain of a robin is large relative to its weight, it is still tiny compared to human brains. The robin brain has no complex limbic system, which generates and modulates emotions. It doesn’t make sense to say that the mother bird is “grieving.” The mother robin does not look for meaning when she loses all her babies to predators. She does not try to understand how this tragedy fits into a divine plan. Her instincts drive her to find a mate and lay eggs again, maybe in a few weeks. We understand that looking for a divine plan when crows eat baby birds is silly.

It is very difficult to accept the idea that we, like robins, lead lives filled with tragedies that make no sense. We want to find meaning when children die or when loving, generous friends are cut down by cancer. We want to believe that God works in mysterious ways and that there must be some overarching plan that is too complex for us to understand. Those who can find comfort in this vision are fortunate, and there is no need for them to find another path. But for those who cannot, the task is to find meaning despite the tragedies that strike all of us at one time or another. In The Uncertain Believer, I describe one path in which there is a central role for God, but in which there is no divine plan or belief in an anthropomorphic God that intervenes in the word. This is not a path for everyone, although I believe it is a good one for many. Whatever path one chooses, we can learn this lesson from the robin: There will be tragedies, but we can live for another day.