Awe Belongs to Us

For a long time, I envied those who believe in a higher power—a deity, or some guiding intelligence—because their faith offers a quiet assurance, however unproven, that the self does not simply vanish with the body, but continues on in some other realm of consciousness. It’s a thought that comforts anyone facing death anxiety: the idea that when the body fades, something essential remains.

Lately, though, I’ve begun to feel more at peace with not knowing. That acceptance fits my scientific worldview. Science recognizes that mysteries remain—that not everything is yet understood. The key word is yet. As a species, we continue to push the boundaries of understanding, both of the universe and of ourselves. I can live with the unknown because I have faith in humankind: faith that, little by little, the sphere of mystery will shrink. Just look at how far we’ve come in the past two thousand years—or even the last hundred—in science, mathematics, engineering, art, literature, music, psychology, philosophy, and the countless other ways humans have explored, created, and understood the world. We did all that ourselves, with our modest brains, building on one another’s discoveries.

Various counsellors, in trying to ease my existential distress, have often asked: “Aren’t you in awe of nature—the majestic mountains, green forests, vast oceans, and wildlife?”
It’s a kind question, meant to help me find meaning and appreciation for every moment of my limited life.

My honest answer is: "No, I’m not in awe of nature." It definitely brings me joy, and I appreciate it deeply. But I’m not awed by the grand material forms that the laws of nature happen to produce. I love all forms of non-human life, many of which likely experience consciousness in ways we can’t imagine—but to me, evolution is a process, not a miracle.

What truly fills me with awe is us: what humans have managed to create and understand in such a brief span of time—a tiny, blink-of-an-eye fraction on the cosmic scale. Our curiosity, ingenuity, and persistence as a species have continually deepened our understanding and improved our existence. We did this ourselves and I see no need to invoke the belief that something "greater than us" is required to explain our incredible human achievements.

I’m content living with the unknown of what comes after death because I have faith that one day—perhaps in a distant future—we’ll know a little more. My position is, therefore, very closely aligned with scientific, secular humanism. I don’t deny the possibility of deities or an afterlife; I simply believe their existence is unknown, and perhaps unknowable.

I believe we are capable of creating meaning and progress through our own intellect, empathy, and ethical judgment. My sense of purpose and hope rests within the human and natural world—built not on faith in higher powers, but on trust in what we already are and what we can still achieve. And that, to me, is good enough.

There’s an African concept called ubuntu—“I am because we are.” It captures something I’ve come to believe deeply: that our strength, knowledge, and meaning don’t arise in isolation, but through one another. The more we understand, help, and inspire each other, the more human we become.