An old post of mine from the Dawkin’s forum, I happened to think of…
My headache was such tonight I finally gave up on writing, and went out walking. It is a bitterly cold night, and my face is raw. I walked through Nature, admiring the handiwork, yes the Design; the staggering variety of form, texture and shape, the fragile ephemeral beauty of Nature’s dance, the rhythm of the scurrying life forms. The designs startled, enthralled, and confused me – at times I could see no real purpose in them. The night was filled with colours, a vast prismatic spectrum of shining jewels – yet I could not see why I would be able to perceive them at all? I am glad I can, humbled by their splendour, and the little green goblins which bade me cross the road shone like burning emeralds across the cityscape, but why can humans see so many colours? Is it a by product of some other evolutionary process?
Mystery! Can a God creep in here, into this nest of incomprehension?
Not tonight – I am a Christian, but here the hand of the Designer I beheld was the hand of humanity.
Let my friends go to some woodland glade to picnic in Nature – my Nature is the city at night! Let them walk over hill tops, staring at picturesque farms and flower filled meadows, and babble at the beauty of Nature – forgetting that even ugly old CJ is part of nature, and his house, these curious alleys, tiny streets, and towering glass malls are all part of Nature! They look for Nature as something other, something distinct – they hope to commune with the natural. Yet how can they do otherwise? the rivers of headlights, the pounding of the dance music from the clubs, the staggering waves of students reeling home – every bit a natural as the Lark and the Linnet? Why do we admire the wonder of the cherry blossom, and feel excited by the sight of a sunrise, yet miss the beauty of the cat graffiti’d on the wall of the Working Men’s Club, and the cascade of golden lights which fall down the Bingo Hall?
The hand of humanity is everywhere in the City – yet the farms, hilltops and woods are just as much shaped by those hands, its just those who did not grow up out there, where the town is an amber glow on the horizon, amidst the rustling of the woods, the shuffling of cattle, and the great loneliness beneath the stars — they miss the Designer.
We humans are part of Nature, and our towns are part of Nature too. The Lie we are not; Nature is the Other, is a strong and sometimes seductive one, but I resist it now, and see it’s idiocy! Maybe the cold effected my brain, and I will come to my senses as I thaw, but for now, I praise the natural world, and the mysteries of bus depots, the magic of the pavements, the wonder of the shining electrical stars.