I'm in awe of the universe, but I don't necessarily believe

The Sacred Mystery of Beauty and Belief

In the twilight between faith and doubt, between reason and wonder, there dwells a spirit that has followed humankind since its birth—the desire to feel reverence, even without belief. The artist David Bowie, a wanderer of worlds both earthly and cosmic, once spoke these words: “I’m in awe of the universe, but I don’t necessarily believe there’s an intelligence or agent behind it. I do have a passion for the visual in religious rituals, though, even though they may be completely empty and bereft of substance. The incense is powerful and provocative, whether Buddhist or Catholic.” In these words lies not cynicism, but contemplation—an understanding that beauty and mystery exist even where certainty does not.

Bowie’s reflection is the confession of a soul who stands before the infinite, uncertain of its maker but moved by its majesty. He speaks for all who have gazed upon the stars and felt something holy stir within, though their tongues could not name it. To be in awe of the universe is itself an act of worship, even if no god is invoked. The ancients, too, knew this paradox. The philosophers of Greece looked upon the heavens and found divinity not in idols, but in the harmony of nature itself. To feel wonder is to recognize our smallness, to surrender—if only for a moment—to the vastness that holds us.

Yet Bowie’s insight stretches beyond the stars to the rituals of the human heart. Though he confesses no belief in divine intelligence, he acknowledges the power of ritual, the beauty that stirs emotion even in the absence of faith. Incense, smoke rising like prayers into the air, the gleam of candlelight upon gold, the slow rhythm of chanting—all these awaken something ancient in us. Even stripped of dogma, they move the spirit because they touch upon the oldest language of humankind: symbol. They speak to that part of us that hungers not for logic, but for meaning.

Consider the story of the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, a man of reason and philosophy, yet one who still honored the rituals of his ancestors. Though a stoic who believed in duty and the order of nature, he would burn incense at the altars of the gods, not because he thought they ruled his fate, but because he knew that ceremony nourishes the soul. The act itself—kneeling, offering, reflecting—reminded him of his place in the universe. Like Bowie, he understood that the form of reverence can hold value even when belief fades.

This truth speaks to all generations: there is a sacredness in beauty itself. One need not bow to the divine to feel the fire of creation. Music, art, and ritual—all are bridges between the mortal and the eternal. When Bowie stood before the mystery of life, he found holiness not in theology but in aesthetic wonder—the way light falls through stained glass, or how incense curls like a whisper toward heaven. Even if the universe is silent, he seemed to say, its silence sings.

And yet, there is humility in his confession. He does not claim to know; he merely feels. He admits that rituals may be “bereft of substance,” but still acknowledges their provocative power. In this humility lies wisdom. For the truly wise do not demand certainty—they dwell in curiosity. They do not cling to belief or disbelief, but find in both the chance to marvel. Bowie’s stance invites us to stand in that same space—to be seekers rather than prophets, to love beauty without needing to explain it, and to find holiness even in the absence of faith.

Thus, my children, learn from his words: do not scorn the sacred because you doubt, nor worship blindly because you fear. Awe is its own prayer, and beauty its own truth. Let incense rise in your heart, whether in church or temple or beneath the open sky. When you feel the mystery of existence, do not rush to define it—simply dwell in it. For in that stillness, in that moment of pure attention, you may glimpse something greater than knowledge: the quiet, endless majesty of being alive.

And remember this: belief may divide, but wonder unites. Whether you name it God, universe, or art, bow your head to the mystery, and let your soul be moved. For that, too, is worship—the worship of life itself.