“…demented by the glory and solitude of God.”

I’ve once again found myself astounded by a Louis de Bernières novel. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin might have been even better than Birds Without Wings. De Bernières has this wonderfully aggravating knack of pulling me into another world, then twisting, tearing, pushing my emotions in every direction, and finally dumping back into the banality of my own existence, but much better off for the experience. Both novels present an unblinking gaze into some of the horrors of war, and into the despairingly evil nature in men, and into the absurdities that form history, but also into the sublime intricacies of human relationships; and all of this peppered throughout with delicious little bits of humour and incisive religious and political commentary. In short, it is very much worthwhile and I happily recommend any book which can leave me so satisfied and so distraught all at the same time.

Worst Vacation Ever - The green hills and valleys of Uganda beguiled me into a sense of tranquility not fit for the purpose of my visit here: a dentist appointment. Ten thousand curses upon all wisdom teeth. The dentist’s evil instruments wreaked their unholy havoc upon my maladjusted third molars; an experience from which I’m still reeling. My God I could go for a smoke, and something to cure me of my unkind sobriety.

Back in Sudan - Morning is an uninvited guest; a stubborn and insufferable mule. I face it grudgingly, grasping a plastic cup full of steaming tea, black and bitter, which rightly matches my disposition. I’m still thinking the thoughts of last night -- thoughts inspired by a coffee-induced restlessness which spared me no reprieve or escape into fancy. Thoughts… of 1.4 billion people living in extreme poverty; of women walking 3 miles to a stream for water which will probably make their children sick; of a little girl with a skinned knee, and the flies swarming around it; of an unconscious man by the side of the road, and the crimson rivulet of blood flowing from his ear; of how he died two days ago. I think of how I still refuse to consider my own mortality. Instead, I diverge into literature.

“No! a man is better at home. Here, at all events, you can lay the blame on others, thus justifying yourself in your own eyes. I may perhaps undertake an expedition to the North Pole, because drink, which used to be my only solace, has at last sickened me.” – Svidrigailoff to Raskolnikoff in Crime and Punishment

The Theory implies that there’s no such thing as an essence, or nature of anything. Everything is in a constant state of flux, of change from one thing to another. And the change (described by the term “survival of the fittest”) is no picnic. In fact, I would even say that the sustenance of Evolution is death. Life continues to prove itself, in the words of our friend Hobbes, “nasty, brutish, and short.” While the things that Life produces are rather impressive, I see no beauty in the gears of Nature. This leads me to conclude that, despite the evidence, there is so much more appeal in Plato’s philosophy of essential forms; as though everything, from a mango tree to a monkey to a mountain, were a dim replica of its original form. This idea lines up well with the Christian myth of Creation; that God created forms in an ideal state which have since been corrupted through an ill-fated rebellion against their Creator. And we’re all left pining for the essence of what God originally designed: an unsullied figure, harmonious and beautiful, waking up to the fresh grandeur of a new world. Unfortunately I’m at a stage in life where scientific evidence speaks louder than holy conviction. And while evolutionary biologists and physicists are grasping at straws trying to explain the intricate mechanisms and causes of our cells and our universe, the current theory seems to be the best we’ve got. Which leaves me depressed.

But maybe God is in the inexplicable details of Evolution. Maybe there’s a higher beauty in brutish survival than I can appreciate. And maybe we are longing for an essence; not one that differentiates, but one that suggests a unifying theme throughout Creation. Regardless, for now I choose to see and worship God in the more palatable realms of the universe… a sunrise, a constellation, a cat purring in my lap.