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Love Island: 'thanking the universe’ makes no sense

The universe doesn’t even know you exist, so don't waste time thanking it.

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

A Composite image of Love Island contestants stand together in a group under a fiery heart.
ITV.

I don't watch Love Island, but maybe I should. A friend noticed something odd happening on it recently. Contestants often seem to credit 'the universe' with something happening. The universe has been thanked; it’s been used to bring solace to those unlucky in love (i.e. ‘the universe has your perfect woman lined up to enter the villa’ ); it’s been ‘prayed’ to, even.

I read a moving article about a mother some while ago, reflecting back on the difficult birth of her now teenage son, filled with a sense of gratefulness for the sheer gift of his life. Her words were simple: “As my son turns 16, I thank the universe his fraught birth is only a memory.”

‘Thanking the universe’ has become a common trope these days, maybe because people feel they can no longer thank God. Being thankful, of course, is a good thing, and gratitude is the subject of significant scientific research. Numerous studies have shown the beneficial effects of a grateful approach to life. It helps people live longer, sleep better, reduces toxic emotions like regret or resentment, and builds self-respect. By consciously being grateful for ordinary things – a roof over their heads, clean air to breathe, or a kind word from a friend, people who were previously dogged by resentment and grievance about the way life had treated them have found it possible to express appreciation of others, let minor insults pass and negotiate successfully with tricky neighbours.  

Gratitude is the ability to recognise good things in our lives that we didn’t create. It reminds us that we are not the makers of our own good fortune.  Saying a simple ‘thank you’ turns us outwards, away from a sense that we deserve the good things that come our way.  It contradicts any idea that we are somehow self-sufficient, helping us recognise that we are thoroughly dependent on factors beyond ourselves for most of what makes our lives enjoyable and fruitful.  

All the same, there is something odd about being grateful to an impersonal object - like a tree for standing, a river for flowing, or, for that matter, to the universe itself, especially when we usually think of that universe as blind and indifferent. Bob Emmons, a Professor of Psychology in California points out an important distinction between gratitude and thankfulness. We tend to be grateful for something, but thankful to someone. We often talk about life or a particular talent as a ‘gift’, but for something to be a gift, it really needs to be given by a giver. Something that is not deliberately offered can’t easily be seen as a gift.  

Imagine finding a bunch of flowers in the street outside your home, dropped by an absent-minded shopper. Then imagine a similar bunch of flowers given to you by a friend who knew you needed cheering up. Which would mean more? Which is really a gift? You might be grateful that the lost flowers exist and are sitting in a vase on your kitchen table, but they would mean so much more if they were a gift from a friend. Gifts which come from a giver, deliberately chosen, and personally given, mean so much more than things which would just happen to be there. 

While a sense of gratitude can be psychologically beneficial, something even better happens if we learn to see everything we have as a gift from a giver, rather than a fortunate accident, or mere chance. 

A gift we receive is never ultimately about the gift – it’s about the relationship established between us and the one who gave it. 

The practice of giving thanks in Christian prayer is rooted in the idea of Creation - that the world around us is not here by chance but is a gift from a God who made it. It therefore changes the way we look at that world. The simple discipline of saying grace before a meal transforms the food from a random plate of meat and veg into a sign of love and provision for our needs. Thanksgiving reminds me that the tree outside my window doesn’t just happen to be there, but is a gift from a heavenly Father who made it and gave it, at least in this moment, to me as the person observing it right now. As G.K. Chesterton once put it: “If my children wake up on Christmas morning and have someone to thank for putting candy in their stockings, have I no-one to thank for putting two feet in mine?”  

We often say it’s the thought that counts. If that’s true, then if there is no thought behind the thing we receive, then somehow, however good it is, it means little. A gift we receive is never ultimately about the gift – it’s about the relationship established between us and the one who gave it. Gratitude is better than greed, but if there is no-one behind the things we enjoy, then what we have is not really a gift. To put it bluntly, the universe doesn’t care about you. It doesn’t even know you exist. So, thanking it makes no sense whatsoever.  

If, however, behind the gift, there is a Giver who gave us what we needed, or even more than we needed, whether or not we deserved it, that gift becomes something much more significant. That gift – friendship, food, forgiveness and much more, becomes a token of love – a sign that despite everything, there is a God who made us, thinks of us, and even beyond that, gives himself for us at great cost, an even deeper reality than the gift itself. 

 

A version of this article originally appeared in the Times 

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June 3: Esau McCaulley and Graham Tomlin - get tickets now

Join us in London as we explore today's cultural moments.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A man talks to a camera with his hands together palms up and his finger interlaced.
Esau McCaulley on the Re-enchanting podcast.

Meet Esau and us

Seen and Unseen is hosting an incredibly rare event: Bishop Graham Tomlin in Conversation with Esau McCaulley on 3rd June, at St Mellitus College, 24 Collingham Road, Earl’s Court, London starting at 7.30pm .

As well as hearing more of Esau’s story, this conversation will cover the place of faith in public life, the significance of the black church, US politics, and this cultural moment. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this. I have had a couple of conversations with Esau McCaulley, and they have re-arranged the theological air I breathe.  

You can find out more about Esau on his web site and read his New York Times columns. Or listen to my interview with him, as part of our Re-enchanting podcast.  

Places will be limited, get further details and reserve your (free) ticket on Eventbrite.

 

Belle Tindall writes...

How does one wrestle their faith out of the hands of those who used it as tool to enslave them? How does one keep hold of such a faith when the owner of the local plantation was also the pastor of the local Presbyterian church? When the people who filled the pews were also the people who turned up to the KKK rallies? And how do the descendants of those people wade through the cultural and spiritual residue of such a history? Wrestling, still, with the complex evil that defined their ancestors' days?  

And how does one respond when Donald Trump, the likely Republican presidential candidate, endorses a God Bless America Bible as some kind political strategy? What does one do when their community are being peddled their own sacred book, this particular edition of which includes the American Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, the Pledge of Allegiance and the lyrics of a country song also entitled God Bless the USA? Oh, it also has the American flag emblazoned across the front. For good measure, I suppose.  

And finally, how does one look out at an increasingly secular culture and remain confident that what it really needs is to be reminded of an ancient Galilean carpenter, as if he’s still some kind of relevant solution to our deepest hopes and fears?  

These questions have something in common: they have been, and are continuing to be, answered by Esau McCaulley.  

Answered honestly.  

Answered powerfully. 

Answered ever so publicly.  

Last year, Esau was named by the Washington Post as one of the most influential faith leaders in the USA. He is a New York Times contributor and a New Testament Professor at Wheaton College, he is also the author of the award-winning Reading While Black and his latest best-selling memoir, How Far to the Promised Land? What began as a eulogy for Esau’s (rather complicated) father became ‘one black family’s story of hope and survival in the American south’. The eulogy was unapologetically complex, and so is this book. It was unwaveringly honest, and so is this book. It was utterly profound, and so is this book.  

Esau, when reflecting on his own history, stretches for truth, refusing to relax into comfortable simplicities or false binaries that don’t belong in reality. Writing this memoir cost Esau something. You can tell. The grace woven into the paragraphs did not come cheap.  

This book, as Esau himself explains, is about his father, but his father is a metaphor for America. And so, when it comes to this book (and much of Esau’s work), the political makes its home within the personal; the story that Esau tells is, to an extent, a trojan horse. A challenging commentary of America is sitting within this book’s pages. Esau is clear, his father – who continued to leave a trail of trauma in his wake – made bad decisions. But society played a significant role in creating the context within which those decisions were made. Were the poor decisions his father made down to personal responsibility or was it structural injustice? Esau’s answer? ‘Yes’.  

Again, he has an aversion to binaries that don’t belong in reality.  

To borrow an Elizabeth Oldfield phrase that I cannot stop thinking about: this book tells us something of our brokenness and our ‘breaking-things-ness’. And, as Esau writes,  

‘patience with broken people and broken things is a manifestation of trust in God’ 

And Esau seems to have a lot of patience. Patience with himself, patience with his father, patience with Rev. Matthew Bone, owner of the Bone planation where his ancestors were enslaved, patience with those who have hurt him, patience with us all.   

And that, it seems to me, has bred a persistence in hope. Real, gritty, bruised and yet still beating, joy-filled hope. The kind of hope that can look at the God Bless America Bible and not face-palm. The kind of hope that can research the links between Christianity and slavery and not fall into spiritual crisis. The kind that can observe the theory that faith is losing its place in public life and can use a New York Times column to prove it wrong.  

Ultimately, the kind of hope that the world is increasingly paying attention to.