Hawaii is a long way from Africa. But sitting here on the lanai watching the waves and rainbows in Maui this morning, my thoughts turn to Kenya. I know it’s an odd connection, but you’ll see what I mean in a minute.

In the lobby of the Mathaiga Country Club in Nairobi, there are a couple of notable artifacts on display. First, there’s the moldy moth-eaten stuffed carcass of a lion. Whatever its historical or sentimental value, it should be put away — for good. Just my opinion.

But more to the point, there’s an antique map of Africa whose coastal outline is now known, in light of our advanced knowledge, to be a very inaccurate approximation. The interior of the map is blank — featureless. The cartographers who drew this map did the best they could with the tools at hand. But they couldn’t tell us anything about the continent’s interior and they were wrong about the outline.

Back when that map was current, it would be foolish for a skeptic to say, “Well, you’re dead wrong about the contours of Africa and we must conclude, therefore, that there is no real Africa.” It would be equally foolish to say, “Since you can’t tell me anything reliable about the continent’s interior, I must insist that there’s really nothing there.”

OK, back to Maui. This morning, I’m nearly overwhelmed by the beauty, power and majesty of what I’m seeing. Though I’m not a religious man, I have to say these awe-inspiring surroundings strike a harmony deep inside and it feels like something divine.

Now I’m not interested in knee-jerk reactions to this statement. I’m not interested in a self-satisfied genuflection in the direction of a distinctly drawn, paternal deity. I suspect any such pseudo-certainty is as wrong as those early efforts to draw the outline of Africa. On the other hand, I’m not interested in the equally pseudo-certain electro-chemical explanation that leaves no room for the possibility of a supreme being. Just because we can’t put it on the map doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

This topic is generating vicious and maddeningly superficial arguments between religious and anti-religious fanatics. On the one hand, some claim to be absolutely certain concerning the nature and purpose of God because it’s all revealed in the canons of “approved scripture.” They don’t allow for the possible merit of any difference of opinion. Sound familiar? Then there are those who point to instances where religion has been used for evil or stupid ends as proof that there must be no god at all. Humbler more open-minded voices are shouted down and demeaned by both extremes.

There’s no need to catalog the instances of mindless violence practiced alike by proponents and opponents of religion. You know what I’m talking about — there’s plenty of blame to go around. There’s no need to dwell here on the gross ignorance of fanatics who resort to vandalism and bloodshed simply because members of a different religion presume to refer to their deity as “Allah.” I pause here to point out that the ancient Middle Eastern word for god, “El,” would sound very much like “Allah” when spoken aloud. I’m told the words are very closely related — for all the good this linguistic brotherhood does.

But anyway, if the advance of human knowledge has taught us anything, it’s this: No matter how much we think we know, a lot of it we don’t. And there’s a lot going on around us that we think we can understand but we can’t, really. No matter how smart mankind is collectively, he possesses only a small percentage of the knowable.

So where does that leave us in our seaside meditations about ancient maps and Maui? Science tells us there’s a genetic component to our desire to believe in God because such beliefs provide a survival advantage to us, to our group. But that’s not altogether satisfying, is it? To say that evolution has been perfecting a receiver doesn’t really foreclose the possibility that the transmitter has been working fine for billions of years. Why would it be so? Who knows? The cartographers who drafted those wonderful old maps could never imagine how their craft would be changed by satellites.

We still have a lot to learn about the magic that lies at the root of our awe.

Oh, by the way, Friday (Jan. 22) is the 42nd anniversary of the death of Duke Kahanamoku, a legend to all who love surfing and honor Hawaii. Aloha Duke.

I’m Hink and I’ll see ya.