During 2023 and 2024, a period when I was intensely focused on training both my body and mind, someone asked me a highly unusual question: "What is your belief system? Do you believe in God, or do you believe in the Universe?"
My immediate, internal reaction was a skeptical, "Urgh?"
I honestly didn't know how to answer. I don’t believe in a traditional God. The land doesn’t speak to us or dictate our actions. When I was studying for my Computer Science degrees at Southampton University, it was the books, the late nights, and the hard work that taught me. I didn't sit in a temple, church, or any other religious building waiting for knowledge to magically beam into my brain to prepare me for exams.
By standard definitions, this makes me an atheist. But sometimes I think I'm just a scientist.
Deconstructing the "Gods" of History
To me, historical gods were simply extraordinary human beings who did monumental work—people about whom epic stories and books were eventually written. But this begs a deeper question: what made these individuals stand out so sharply among their peers?
Did they stand up to brutal oppression? Did they invent something so desperately needed that humanity hadn’t seen anything like it for a thousand years?
If so, was the inventor of the first boat considered the god of water? Was he the original Poseidon?
Ultimately, it was their day-to-day work that defined them. If they possessed the unique discipline to drink water, fuel their bodies, focus their minds, read the right books, and fight against the evils of their era, it was their labor that set them apart. Over centuries, their true histories faded, and they were deified.
If this is the case, why don't we honor modern pioneers in the same way? Weren't Nikola Tesla or Ada Lovelace modern deities? Their work was arguably just as pioneering as the invention of the boat, yet we don’t worship them. In contrast, look at Jesus Christ: a man who, in the end, was left to die unsaved by his followers. Look at the ten Gurus who defined Sikhism through their very human actions. They were men, defined by what they built and stood for.
The Obsession with the Universe
Then there is the other half of the question: "The Universe."
People love to repeat the cliché that because the cosmos is so massive, we cannot possibly be alone. But why do we care? Why should I care?
Most of us barely know the people right in front of us—our families, our neighbors, the people in our own towns. We struggle to make enough time to truly know them. A single human lifetime is barely long enough to discover the vast tapestry of humanity already here on Earth.
Visiting Tokyo is, in a way, like visiting another planet. The culture is entirely different, the food is unique, and the language is unfamiliar. A person could spend their entire existence traveling this Earth and still never truly know all the "worlds" that exist right here. Why should we obsess over what is written in the stars when we cannot even establish a cooperative "star federation" among the countries on our own planet?
To me, pursuing extraterrestrial contact seems like a distraction. Perhaps those who chase this fantasy should redirect their energy toward bringing our deeply divided world together, rather than looking up at the sky hoping to make contact with an alien species.
Besides, even if there are highly advanced species out there, why on earth would they care to associate with us? Wouldn't they have their own drive to simply exist in harmony with their own kind? No species on Earth seeks to connect with every single member of its kind across the globe. Animals live in small circles, tribes, and communities. There is no "King Whale" trying to unite all the oceans' whales. Our theories about alien life are just projections of our own human concepts of existence.
Imagination: A Gift and a Curse
Human imagination is perhaps our most unique evolutionary trait, but it is also a double-edged sword. It allows us to innovate, dream, and set goals. However, a sane person must know when to stop when a dream refuses to materialize into reality, lest it become a waste of valuable time.
We must ground our thinking in what we can actually touch, feel, and see. As we transition into adulthood, distinguishing between what we imagine and what is real becomes critical.
Perhaps we ponder these grand cosmic theories because humans are deeply lonely. People seek comfort in imagining a higher power or an alien neighbor to convince themselves they aren't alone in the dark. When we are working hard to improve ourselves, we crave a grand narrative—a theory larger than our own lives, a towering mountain peak to climb.
For me, I chose to ground my philosophy in something physical. I got a tattoo of symbols that represent my personal journey as a historian, a scientist, and a musician—the practical fields of work I have actually completed.
Among them is one symbol that stands out above the rest: |
| represents a belief in the self. It is a reminder that we must work on ourselves and learn to be entirely at peace in our own company. True maturity means not depending on our parents as adults, and not being entirely reliant on another person—even when we find a partner to share our lives with.
The Silent Energy of the Earth
Despite my rationalism, there is one theory I am actively exploring: the power of trees.
I believe trees might provide us with a subtle, unseen form of oxygen and energy, much like the life force we feel when interacting with a horse or watching a bird in flight. It is an energy we cannot easily measure yet.
The Shinto religion in Japan touches on this concept, though they define it through spirits (kami) residing in the mountains, trees, and rivers. Similarly, Indigenous cultures historically symbolized the incredible human strength required to fetch water from a treacherous location by saying that the person embodied the spirit of an eagle or a wolf. They used metaphor because the scientific vocabulary did not yet exist.
I believe the science does exist today—or is close to it—to help us understand this objectively. Do forests and old-growth trees create electromagnetic or bio-energetic fields that we have yet to fully map?
Like any physical energy, it is a reaction based on an action. The land responds to us based on how we treat it. Throughout my life, I have noticed a strong correlation: the happiest, most grounded people I meet are often those who tend to the earth—gardeners and farmers. As they care for their land, perhaps the land gives something back to them that the rest of us cannot yet see or understand.
I am not pursuing this concept out of a desire for mystical power. Rather, I want to find practical methods to protect our forests. If the ecological horrors depicted in films like Interstellar ever come true—where our soil fails and the land refuses to grow food—understanding this deep, scientific connection between humans and the earth might be the very thing that saves me.