The Two Realities of Life - Part 1

Hardly Unbelievable: 

An Argument Against Unbelief in God

Compiled by Gerhard Nehls

Early in the morning, we move quietly in a single line through the African bush. All our senses are wide awake.

 

It is very silent, except for the sounds of the wild, which make us even more alert. I’m leading a school trip so Western students can experience the excitement of a walking safari.

 

The closest town is about 80 km away. Sometimes we hear the sad cry of a fish eagle, the strange and contagious laughter of hyenas fighting over pieces of meat from an old lion kill, or the soft steps of a herd of impalas.

 

All of this is set against the background of chirps and mating calls from birds we don’t know.

 

To get here, we spent four long days sitting on the wet bottom of a dug-out canoe, called a “mokoro” here.

 

The owner stands at the back. He controls his long, narrow boat with amazing skill, using a long pole to push it quickly through narrow but clear channels that open into wide lagoons.

 

These waters are home to crocodiles of all sizes and, even more dangerous, hippos. Hippos can be very aggressive and can flip a canoe easily.

Now that we are on foot, we see hundreds of impalas, buffalo, giraffes, and zebras.

 

They keep a safe distance from us, but they are still close enough for us to observe them well.

 

Suddenly, Moketsi, our African tracker, freezes, bends down a little, and signals for us to stop. He keeps waving the wildebeest tail he carries, using it like the original animal did—to keep away painful tsetse flies.

 

His narrow eyes are fixed on some thick bushes under a group of acacia trees.

 

Whenever we come to this amazing wilderness, Moketsi is our guide.

 

He enjoys coming with us, and over the years we have built a strong trust.

 

Based on his appearance, he is probably half Bushman and half Bantu.

 

He had little or maybe no formal schooling, but he knows the bush as well as the animals that live here.

 

We would walk long distances for hours, following different tracks in the sand until he found the lions or whatever we were searching for.

 

And without fail, he always led us back to camp, even in complete darkness.

 

To be honest, if I walked only 100 yards from camp into the bush, I would probably never find my way back.

Now Moketsi creeps forward. Then we see it too: a cheetah curled up, sleeping.

 

But this beautiful, spotted wild cat would have run away long ago if it were alive.

 

It must have died during the night.

 

Its muscles are stiff from rigor mortis, and not even the ants have found the body yet.

 

“What happened to the cheetah?” I ask that evening by the campfire.

“It must have died of something,” one student says, rather foolishly.

“Maybe we can do better than that,” I joke.

“Yesterday this animal, the fastest land creature in the world, was alive and moving around.

 

Now every cell in its body is dead. So what makes the difference between a living cheetah and a dead one?

 

The body’s chemistry and anatomy haven’t changed. What important thing is missing? And why do we feel a bit amazed or uncomfortable when we see death?”

“It’s simple. Life is missing,” someone says.

“Exactly! But what is life?

We often try to explain something by looking at its opposite.

But death doesn’t explain life.

We can describe life by talking about breathing or a heartbeat, but those are only functions, not life itself.”

 

Old sayings aren’t enough. Especially for big questions about existence, each student should form their own opinion, even if it goes against what most people think. Trying to avoid the topic, someone says firmly, “When we die, everything is over!”

 

“That’s a big claim,” I reply. “May I ask, who says so? Who has the authority to say that?”

“Well, nobody can know for sure. But no one can know the opposite either,” another student adds.

“It’s worth thinking more deeply about that,” I say, just as a loud cracking sound in the bush distracts them. “Why worry?” I tease. “Just leave the animals alone. What could happen to us anyway? Maybe everything really is over when we’re dead?”

Their faces show embarrassment. “Whether our life ends today or in fifty years – does it matter?”

“Who wants to die now?” someone asks.

“Nobody wants to die now, or in fifty or seventy years,” I agree. “Of course, we still want to enjoy life,” I hear others say quietly.

 

Naturally, we had reached a big question: “Should we assume that life has meaning and purpose?

If I’m only a part of the food chain, then life’s purpose is mostly just to satisfy hunger.

What gives my life direction and purpose?

Enjoying life – whatever that means?

Becoming somebody?

Getting wealth or power?

 

There are endless opinions in politics (liberal, conservative, socialist), religion, philosophy, and worldviews.

Where does evolution fit in?

Or climate change?

Many of these ideas disagree partly or completely.

Are they all partly right?

All partly wrong?

Or are some right and others wrong, even if people strongly believe in them?

And who has the authority to decide? Based on what?

 

In school, I learned about evolution. Later in life, I started questioning it. My thinking went like this: “Forgive my simple and slightly sarcastic version of evolution. It’s not meant to be a correct description of facts, but it looks at the idea.

How could a primitive creature imagine something abstract, like seeing, if it had no eyes?

How can a wish become the reason for developing something as complex as an eye?”

 

The next evening, the topic of “evolution” came up again. Many people wrongly think it is the opposite of creation. To stay honest, Lothar and I had to answer, “Can we really say that things created themselves?

 

That doesn’t make sense.

 

The main argument for evolution is that it takes a huge amount of time.

So, let’s imagine that 67.4 million years ago, when most animals lived in the seas, there was a fish. Like all living things, it was still developing. Let’s call it ZK 187. This poor fish was always almost starving. Why? It had no eyes yet. There was plenty of food around.

It just couldn’t see it.

On average, it only got food once every 273 tries. Then one day it thought, ‘If only I could see’ – an abstract thought – ‘I’d get food almost every time!’ It wished this so strongly that the wish somehow changed its genes.

And believe it or not, 14.3 million years later, its descendants had developed skin that could sense light.

And just 3.8 million years after that, the first fish of this species was born with two bright, beautiful eyes and lived happily with a full stomach.

Only in our modern scientific age did someone name this. It was Norman Vincent Peale, who called it ‘The Power of Positive Thinking.’”

 

We enjoy the beauty of nature. Think of a beautiful flower. It was probably grown by someone. But even if it wasn’t, you must wonder why it is beautiful.

What wild animal appreciates beauty?

The flower’s colour and scent serve another purpose.

They attract insects that fertilize it and help it reproduce.

But how did this process work before insects existed?

 

The real question is: how did the flower, or plant, come up with a way to attract insects?

And how did it know that colour and scent would work?

 

Have we lost the ability to be amazed?

How often do we stop and notice the world around us?

It is full of incredible beauty and greatness – in nature, in the huge universe, and in the tiny microscopic world.

How big is it?

When and how did it begin?

Why is there something instead of nothing?

And what does all this have to do with you and me?

Why are we here?

How and where do we fit in?

These are questions worth thinking about, because they have a lot to do with you and me.

 

Let’s take a moment to think about these things.

 

To be continued…