For Small Creatures Such as We: Rituals for Finding Meaning in Our Unlikely World

by Sasha Sagan

Beneath the specifics of all our beliefs, sacred texts, origin stories, and dogmas, we humans have been celebrating the same two things since the dawn of time: astronomy and biology.

Rituals are, among other things, tools that help us process change. There is so much change in this universe. So many entrances and exits, and ways to mark them, each one astonishing in its own way. Even if we don’t see birth or life as a miracle in the theological sense, it’s still breathtakingly worthy of celebration.

For my dad, as for me, belief required evidence. To say “I don’t believe” in something doesn’t mean that I am certain it doesn’t exist. Just that I have seen no proof that it does, so I am withholding belief.

And yet we all seem to have a vivid idea of what an alien is like. We almost always imagine they look like us but they’re smaller. They have large eyes and no hair. They don’t talk. They don’t know the social mores. They might be good or they might be evil, but they definitely want something from us and as soon as they arrive, everything will be different forever. Babies are not like aliens. Our idea of aliens is like our idea of babies.

Whatever it is that makes you feel like spring has arrived, there is a field of science that studies it and, by doing so, honors it. No matter the moment that crystallizes this change for each of us, the idea that the dark, cold times eventually give way to bright warmth, beauty, and plenty is at the core of spring. All seems lost, but then, somehow, we receive another chance at life.

The rains, the crops, the invaders, the kids—this is what determined our future in an uncertain world. This is what we worried about, so these are the gods we created. There is no taboo against saying these gods were invented to cope with the dreams and anxieties of their ancient disciples.

All these spring legends are about suffering and heartbreak giving way to joy. Each contains a secret, a hidden miracle, offering hope when all seems lost. This is spring itself. The themes of renewal, rebirth, resurrection, and rescue from death are not religious ideals in conflict with nature but rather rituals inspired by the biology of plants and animals.

This ambiguity haunted me, so while still small I devised a plan, a kind of personal superstition. Every evening while being tucked in I would say to my parents, “Don’t forget! Don’t die!” and every evening my mother would say, “I promise!” and my dad, accuracy zealot that he was, would say, “I’ll do my best!”

Once, early in my fascination with death, I came to my parents with a question: “Maruja says when you die you go to heaven and there are angels playing harps and you’re with God. And you guys say it’s like you’re asleep forever with no dreams. Who is right?” My parents, without missing a beat, said in unison, “Nobody knows!” And they didn’t just say it. They announced it like good news, joyful, enthusiastic, beaming.