The dream of sending humans to Mars is typically described in terms of engineering, biology, and geology. We talk about rocket propulsion, radiation shielding, and soil chemistry. But as we stand ready to launch the first pioneers on a journey to another planet, a more fundamental, more primitive question arises in perspective, one at the very center of human experience: how shall we be religious and spiritual on the red planet? The Martian landscape will prove to be the ultimate test of faith, not by undermining it through doubt but by depriving it of the terrestrial context in which all of the world's great religions had their genesis and have continued to develop for centuries. The pursuit of meaning, belonging, and connection to the divine on Mars will necessitate a radical reinterpretation of scripture, ritual, and the very notion of a higher power.

The immediate and first problem will be the physical environment. All the world's great religions have roots in their natural environment. Sun and moon cycles determine prayer in Islam and holidays in Judaism and Hinduism. Purified water is the foundation of most religions. Pilgrimages are undertaken to specific rivers, mountains, and cities. These terrestrial anchor points do not exist on Mars. A Martian day, or "sol," is 39 minutes longer than an Earthly day. With what calendar will a Muslim colonist keep Ramadan, a month when the crescent appears on Earth? How will a Jewish community observe the Sabbath when the sun comes up and goes down on a different beat? The River Ganges and the city of Mecca will be tens of millions of miles away, out of reach of pilgrimage. The very essence of ritual—water, fire, certain foods—will be lacking or absent. It will necessitate a change of radical change from literalism to spiritual improvisation. The believers will be forced to ask: Is the substance of my prayer in the direction I pray, or in the intention of my heart? Is the sanctity of a river in the water, or in the act of cleansing itself?

This adaptation that must occur will most likely introduce new, independent Martian religious denominations. The initial colonists will be an identity-aware group of scientists and engineers, but they will not be bringing their humanness along with them. Confronted with the crushing loneliness and ever-present, life-or-death risk of a foreign world, the human mind will naturally reach for comfort, meaning, and explanation above the material. You can imagine a new spirituality unfolding, one that reconciles the scientific wonder of cosmic exploration with deep reverence. This "Cosmic Pantheism" would not necessarily be deifying a personal God, but would perceive the divine in the beautiful, intricate, and horrific physical laws that govern the cosmos. The Big Bang would be a creation myth. The cosmic background radiation would be a sacred echo. The complex, centuries-long religious ceremony of terraforming—of animating an abiotic world—would be the unified, communal act of creation with, or simulation of, a creative universe.

For earth-based traditional religions, Martian experience will require a re-interpretation of scripture and doctrine on a par with the Copernican Revolution. The revelation that our earth is not the universe's center caused theologians to rethink human existence in the mind of God. Learning about life on Mars, even if only bacterial, would create another such crisis. Even without the discovery of life, the mere creation of a human settlement on another planet evokes fundamental theological questions. For Christian theology, the Incarnation doctrine is such that God became human on Earth. If there is intelligent life elsewhere, did the Son of God become flesh for their salvation as well? Or is the universe saved from down here on Earth with enough? Not fresh theological conundrums, maybe, but to the first generation of Martians born human, they will be visceral and pressing. They will be the living witnesses that human beings cannot be restricted to a single world, rejecting geocentric presumptions inherent in most sacred texts.

The Martian colony's social organization will further transform religious life. The colony will be small, closed, and entirely reliant on the oneness and survival of all individuals. Radical individualism or religious exclusivism in such a situation would be a danger to the whole colony. This will certainly give rise to a strong culture of interfaith dialogue and ecumenical practice. The Catholic engineer, the Buddhist botanist, and the secular humanist will all be in the same lifeboat. They will begin to share common rituals—not of dogma, but of shared experience. A "Thanksgiving for a Successful Harvest" from the hydroponic bay will be a prominent colony-wide celebration, one that everyone can share, even those who do not practice a belief in an omnipotent source of supply. Spirituality could be centered on something other than salvation in the afterlife and move toward the holy obligation of remaining alive in this world. The community itself, its survival, and its health may be the holy thing of worship.

Finally, the simple reality of space exploration and colonization will establish its own myth. Its Mayflower will be the initial ship to set foot on Mars. He who takes his first step on the reddish ground will be a legend in his own right, a new Moses guiding his people to their promised land, only this will be a harsh and unforgiving one. All of the tales of early hardship—the initial Martian dust storm they endured, the first Martian-born child—will be mythic beginnings, to be repeated and retold. They will be secular histories, but they will possess a transcendent character to them, recounting who the Martians are and how they came to be. They will be tales of bravery, sacrifice, and indefatigable humanity, the foundation of a new Martian identity that will, centuries hence, perhaps coalesce into a real civil religion.

Ultimately, the quest for religious fulfillment on Mars is a quest to determine what it is to be human in a universe so vast and more foreign to that which our forebears could ever have conceived. The red planet will prove a fiery crucible for the soul. It will reduce the inessential trappings of religion—the particular holy days, the particular holy places, the worldly things—and leave people of faith to face the essence of their faith. It will require them to look for God not on some particular mountain or river, but in the cold, hollow, vastness of space. It will provoke them to find brotherhood and sisterhood not only with people who share their creeds, but with all human persons collaborating with them for survival. The first Martian prayers will maybe be a home language spoken in a foreign new world, but the religions that come to thrive there will be irretrievably altered, evidence of the fact of a people that have gazed out upon its own small, pale blue planet from the surface of another world, and in so doing, set about to redefine its place in the universe quite differently.

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