Divine Evolution

My hands were tired, my back’s aching to feel the softness of my warm bed and my mind’s begging me to sleep so that it could finally drift into the carefree realm of dreams. Yet I chose to stay awake, to defy my own instinctive desire to rest because I believed that I had to keep writing. A ravenous hunger within me was driving me to create a masterpiece which could be remembered long after my death. Unfortunately, after hours of forcing my brain to come up with brilliant ideas, that masterpiece still hadn’t been started yet. And I’d probably end up staying up all night to accomplish nothing. So what’s the point in all this hard work? Why did I have to persist, to keep trying, to keep wasting my time? Wouldn’t it be better for me to just spend each night peacefully sleeping instead of vainly attempting to write?

As I stared at the blank page of my notebook, a small, black ant caught my attention. It was crawling all over the blank page, probably searching for something it could bring back to the anthill. Couldn’t that dumb creature understand? It could spend the entire night crawling all over my desk but it would still find no food. Still it would go on. Still it would keep wasting its time.

Perhaps I was no different from the stubborn ant. Perhaps my life was no more meaningful than that of an insect vainly searching for food on a clean piece of paper. But even after knowing all that, would I stop writing? Would I stop believing that someday I would create that one masterpiece? No. And that’s my tragedy. Mother Nature willed that I be born with a determination that would never be matched by my talent! But why did nature have to reserve so much worthlessness for so many creatures?

Angered by my own thoughts, I grabbed the pen and thought of breaking it. But as I grasped the pen, I saw my own veined hands, and something about it suddenly compelled me to look at the ant again and examine its tiny body. Once upon a time, I thought, these grasping hands of mine did not even exist. And all organisms were no more sophisticated than the dumb ant on my desk. There wasn’t even a thinking mind that could wonder how such functional hands came to be.

There was even a time when all moving creatures lived in the ocean. And obviously, because there are land-based creatures like me today, there must have been a time when those marine creatures began migrating to the land. I could just imagine those marine creatures’ ordeal. How much suffering did they have to bear just to crawl on the sand using their fins? How many of them suffered slow, painful deaths as their gills dried up? How many of them starved as they failed to hunt for food because of their immobility? Yet they went on to leave the sea. Yet they kept wasting their lives. And now, because of those seemingly pointless struggles, because of those seemingly wasted lives, there are terrestrial creatures like me who can grasp objects and marvel at the functionality of their own grasping hands.

If I were an immortal god during that time and I could watch the marine organisms’ suicidal exodus from the ocean to the land, would I ever think that slithering creatures were actually paving the way for the evolution of god-like humans—intelligent organisms who’d someday reach the moon and build towers that nearly touch the sky?

What about my early mammal ancestors – the ones whose extremities were devoid of grasping hands? If none of them ever attempted to grasp a branch of a tree or tried grabbing the fruits on those branches, would these grasping hands of mine be developed? Would I ever be able to hold a pen and write anything if not for the seemingly futile efforts of my ancestors?

When the first responsible human father was out there in the jungle, figuring a way to get past the monstrous beasts that stand between him and the cave where his family hid, did it ever occur to him that it was much easier to just let the beasts give him a quick, painless death? Did it also cross his mind that even if he eluded the beast for one day, they’d still get him and his family sooner or later? Did he not find it pointless to keep thinking of ways to save his family from those invincible predators? Couldn’t it have been more convenient to just dream of just dying and then ascending with his family to a heaven ruled by an all-powerful, loving God? Maybe. But he still chose to go on, to keep wasting his time. I wonder if he ever realized that by striving to come up with ways to protect his family and survive the wrath of the stronger beasts, by straining his relatively simple brain, he was actually contributing to the evolution of the human brain, that he was actually making it possible for his descendants to understand the theory of relativity, the laws of gravitation and even quantum mechanics. Whenever he found himself hiding in the bushes, nervously staring at the predators that waited for him to come out and be devoured, he must have asked himself what all the struggle was for. No matter what he did, he’d never be stronger than those monsters. He must have also asked why nature had reserved so much weakness and worthlessness for him. But in the end, he defied nature and crossed the biological boundaries set for him at birth. He overcame his instinctive fear and his in-born weakness. And when he was about to die, he must have satisfyingly said, “Mother Nature, I have done much more than you ever expected me to do.” That’s why he defeated the beasts and survived. That’s why he evolved. That’s why we all live.

If there could be so much meaning in the seemingly pointless struggles of less evolved beings, I can just imagine how much more significance hides in the seemingly pointless struggles of highly-evolved humans like me. How many more masterpieces will be accomplished tomorrow because of my persistence to write today? How many more monuments would be built, how many more galaxies will be discovered because of my stubborn attempts to overcome my biological weaknesses?

God is good because he lets evolution happen. Because he gives both the rich and the poor, both the mighty and the weak, the power to shape the future of mankind. A homeless beggar may never achieve anything astounding or groundbreaking in the society we live in. But in the eyes of God, in the scheme of evolution, that beggar is as powerful as any king. As he wills himself to survive each tiring day, as he endures the painful coldness of the pavement on which he rests each night, as he struggles to salvage his sanity, he is contributing to the evolution of stronger, wiser men.


Today, I still continue to write and dream of creating that literary masterpiece, although I’m already starting to fear that one day, I might just die without writing a masterpiece. But even if that happens, maybe someday, one of my descendants will write the most beautiful literary masterpiece of all time. And when he’s already basking in his glory, he’d wonder how it had been possible for him to be born gifted.

And that’s when he’ll think of me.