I heard this tale years ago, I think in a sermon – I regret that I’ve forgotten by whom.

Once upon a time two mice, a male and a female, somehow fell into a piano while its top was open. The piano was in a busy bar and eatery, and the waiters had to brush past it on their way to serve customers. It had no castors and was very solid, so nobody ever moved it; however, spilled beer with nutricious yeast would leak in under the bottom; and when the floor was swept or mopped crumbs and scraps which the waiters or the customers had spilt, as well as water, would also end up inside.

Because of this the two mice thrived, even though there was no light inside except for some tiny bits which showed through chinks and joins, and which they thought were splendid stars. They had offspring, and died; and their offspring had offspring. Because of the constant food and drink, and because they could hear the wonderful music whenever the piano played, the mice were contented. They reflected on their happy state, and concluded that they had been gifted with all they had by a great and benign Creator. They would gather together every night in their comfortable darkness and pray to this Creator in gratitude.

However, one day an intrepid mouse was born who was inexhaustibly curious and daring; and eventually he declared that he was going to explore upwards in their dark Cosmos to try to find the great Creator. With threads and chewing-gum and pins and other bits and pieces which had been swept into the piano over time, or had fallen in when the top was occasionally opened (letting in Divine light), plus a good supply of crumbs in a bundle about his neck, he set out on his quest. A day passed, then another, and finally on the third day he returned to the terra firma of the mice, the bottom of the piano. All his brother and sister mice, and uncles and aunts and cousins, crowded around him, and asked, “Did you find the great Creator?”

He responded sadly, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. I climbed and climbed up into the Cosmos, and eventually I found the source of the wonderful music. By smelling and feeling, and peering around by the light of the little stars, I gradually made out how the music is made. These great hinged hammers come down on very hard strings stretched tight, which vibrate and make the music. That’s all there is. Everything’s mechanical – there’s just matter and movement, which by chance produces music. It’s all purposeless and impersonal! There’s no guiding Hand! There’s no great Creator!”

And ever since then all mice have been atheists.