It just seems like a religion that is perfect for people who feel

Russell Crowe, a man who has seen the shifting tides of fame and the restless spirit of the modern world, once observed: “It just seems like a religion that is perfect for people who feel like they need a grounding, who feels that the world has run off on them. I've discussed this with Scientologists, and they don't disagree. So, for a certain type of person, that's great.” In these words lies not a judgment of belief, but an insight into the human soul—that men and women, when tossed by storms, seek grounding, a foundation upon which to steady themselves when the world feels unmoored.

From the dawn of civilization, humanity has turned to religion as an anchor. The ancients raised temples not only to worship their gods but to remind themselves that there was order in the midst of chaos, meaning in the midst of suffering. When floods came, when wars raged, when empires crumbled, men and women clung to rituals, prayers, and creeds as to a lifeline. Crowe’s reflection touches this eternal truth: faiths of every kind, old or new, provide grounding for those who feel abandoned by the relentless march of the world.

Consider the slaves in America who, in their darkest hours, forged songs of faith. The world had indeed “run off on them”—their families torn apart, their freedom stolen, their humanity denied. Yet in the hush of the night, their spirituals rose: “Swing low, sweet chariot.” Their belief gave them strength where none else was to be found. For them, religion was not a luxury but survival, a fortress of hope against despair. Crowe’s words echo this same need: when the world overwhelms, men search for a power greater than themselves to keep their spirits from breaking.

Yet hear also the wisdom in his caution: not every path is for every traveler. Crowe does not claim that one faith is universal, but rather that for a certain type of person, one way may provide the refuge they need. This humility is ancient wisdom itself. The sages of India taught that different rivers flow into the same sea. The Stoics taught that each man must find his own practice of virtue. And so Crowe reminds us: though we may not walk the same road, we must recognize the roads of others, for all seek the same thing—peace, strength, and grounding in a world that often feels unsteady.

The danger, of course, lies in scorn. Too many have mocked the faith of others, forgetting that what seems foolish to one may be salvation to another. Rome laughed at the early Christians, yet their faith outlasted the empire. Intellectuals mocked the mystics, yet their words still burn with fire centuries later. To ridicule the belief that steadies another is to strike at their anchor and leave them adrift. Crowe’s words carry quiet wisdom: better to understand than to deride, better to recognize the role of faith than to dismiss it outright.

The lesson, therefore, is this: honor the search for grounding in every soul. Do not despise another’s path, but instead ask—what truth does it give them, what strength does it nurture? And in your own life, be not ashamed to seek an anchor. Whether in religion, philosophy, art, or service, find that which roots you when the storms rise. For to live ungrounded is to be forever tossed by the winds of fear, ambition, and despair.

Practical wisdom flows from this: create rituals that steady you. Begin your day with silence or prayer. Walk among trees, and let the earth remind you of your place. Read words that lift you above the noise, and surround yourself with companions who anchor you to truth. Do not let the world “run off on you” without a tether, for without grounding, abundance turns to chaos.

So remember this, O children of tomorrow: life will shake, the world will tremble, and often you will feel abandoned by its pace. In such times, do as Crowe has seen—seek grounding, whether in religion or in wisdom, in faith or in love. For when you are rooted, no storm can uproot you, and you will stand firm as an oak, giving shade and shelter to all who rest beneath your branches.