Ant Sutra offers enlightenment for humans

I never thought I would ever write praising Eric Bahrt, but his letter of March 1 reveals a thoughtful, measured man who contrasts starkly with the screaming loony he often seems to be.
Eric argues rightly that atheists can be just as arrogant as theists in their certainty that they possess the Final Truth. He is also right in arguing that we need to keep open minds. So far, so good. But his argument begins to wobble when he asks, “Who created God?” and concludes that believers don’t owe us a scientific explanation because they believe in a supernatural power.
Well, not so fast. Maybe believers don’t owe us a scientific explanation, but that supernatural power does. If there is any sort of God, and if he wants us to believe in him, he owes us the courtesy of making himself comprehensible to us. If he doesn’t do this, and if he doesn’t care whether we believe in him or not, that’s fine, we won’t.
I have long thought that there ought to be an Ant Sutra to give us a sense of our place in the universe. We humans are like the ants on my kitchen table, scurrying around hunting for stray grains of sugar.  What do ants know? They may know about my kitchen table, but not much else. They don’t know that there’s a world beyond the table.  They have no idea about the living room, or the entire apartment, or the building, or the adjacent soi, or the neighbourhood beyond it, or the city of Bangkok, or Thailand. Far less do they know anything about our planet, or the solar system and the vast galaxies that range infinitely beyond it.  
The ants are ignorant. They don’t know anything but the kitchen table, and maybe the floor and an adjacent wall or two. They may have some vague apprehension of a giant monster who looms over them and occasionally spills sugar on the table. If they had brains, they might fantasise that he is godlike and omnipotent. They might even imagine that he loves them, and that’s why he spills sugar on the table to feed them.
What they don’t know is that he is just a mortal creature like themselves, with flaws, shortcomings, and problems they can’t conceive of, but a lot bigger, smarter and more complex than they are. And they don’t know that, far from loving them, he just wishes they would get off his table and go away so that he can finish eating his Granola without being bothered by the damned ants.
Ye Olde Theologian