Why are we even here anyways?”
The boy sat cross-legged beneath the ancient oak, fidgeting with a twig in his hands. The sage, an old man with a face carved from time itself, squinted at the child from beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. The boy had asked questions before, but never one quite so grand.
“Applied biology, son!” he barked, as if the matter were as plain as the noon sun.
The boy furrowed his brow, his lips pursing as if he had tasted something bitter. “What’s biology?”
The sage let out a sigh that ruffled his beard like a windblown wheat field. He adjusted his hat, leaning back against the tree with the ease of a man who had all the time in the world. “Biology, my boy, is applied chemistry. You see, every little thing you do—breathing, blinking, thinking—happens because of chemistry. Life ain’t just some happy accident; it’s a grand series of chemical reactions, rolling about like a well-oiled contraption. Your blood carries oxygen ‘cause of hemoglobin, which works thanks to iron atoms, which obey the laws of chemistry. Your stomach digests food ‘cause enzymes break down molecules, all due to chemical bonds formed and broken by thermodynamics. Life is just chemistry in motion, adapting, evolving, and keeping its balance like a river that never runs dry. And the moment those chemical reactions stop—well, boy, that’s when you stop too.”
The child chewed on this for a moment before narrowing his eyes, the twig in his hand forgotten. “Okay, so if we’re applied biology, and biology is applied chemistry, then where did chemistry come from?”
The sage chuckled, his eyes twinkling as if he had been waiting for this precise question. “Chemistry, my inquisitive young friend, is nothing but applied physics. You take atoms, little bits of energy and matter, and put ‘em together—why, that’s just physics getting fancy with itself. Chemistry works ‘cause of quantum mechanics, electrons do their little dance ‘cause of electromagnetism, and molecules hold together ‘cause of forces that go back to the very bones of the universe. Chemistry is physics with a flair for the dramatic. It explains why fire burns, why water freezes, and why your ma’s biscuits rise in the oven—though I reckon she might argue it’s witchcraft.”
The boy leaned forward now, eyes alight. He was a child who loved stories, and the sage’s words spun one of the grandest tales he had ever heard. “Alright, but where did physics come from?”
The old man tapped his cane on the ground, a slow rhythm like a heartbeat. “Physics, my dear boy, is just applied mathematics. Every law, every force, every motion—why, it’s all just numbers playing dress-up. You got Newton scribblin’ about gravity, Einstein dreaming up relativity, and every last one of ‘em using mathematics to turn the mysteries of the universe into something you can write on a chalkboard. You see, physics don’t make the world work—it just explains the way it’s already working. And the rules it follows? All laid out in numbers.”
The child’s face scrunched up. “So where does mathematics come from then?”
The sage rocked back on his heels and stared off into the golden horizon. He took a long, thoughtful pause, as if weighing his words carefully. “Now, that’s the real kicker. Mathematics just is. It don’t come from anywhere. It ain’t applied to nothin’, nor is it a byproduct of anything else. It exists, plain and simple. Some folks say we discovered it, like lost treasure buried in the universe, while others claim we invented it, like a game with rules we made up to make sense of things. But whichever way you slice it, mathematics is the bedrock of all things, and yet it don’t rely on anything but itself. It’s the only thing that don’t need no origin story.”
The boy stared at the sage, chewing the inside of his cheek. His hands pressed into the dirt as he mulled over the words, frustration flickering across his face. “Well, that’s not very satisfying.”
The sage grinned, the creases of his face deepening like old riverbeds, letting out a hearty laugh, patting the boy on the shoulder before standing up, stretching as if he had settled some ancient debate within himself. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if he were about to share a secret. “Well, when you find God, son, ask Him why!”