Imagine you’re in a vast, dark forest. The trees are towering, the shadows deep. You can’t see the sky. You don’t know who’s out there—are they friends or enemies? You don’t know, and that’s the problem. The forest is full of life, but you can’t see anyone, hear anyone clearly. Every sound—a crack of a twig, a rustle in the leaves—might be a threat. Every step you take could be your last if you’re not careful.
In this forest, the only thing that keeps you safe is silence. The moment you make a noise—step too loudly, call out, make yourself known—someone could hear you. Someone might come. And if they do, you have no idea whether they’re a friend or an enemy. So, you stay silent. Still.
Hidden.
This forest, dark and full of unknowns, is the metaphor for our universe. And the truth it points to? We may not be alone in the cosmos—but we’re all too scared to say hello.

The Quiet Universe
Space is enormous. The stars twinkle like the flickering eyes of distant creatures, and somewhere out there, there are billions of planets—some of which might be home to life, even intelligent life. Sounds like a place ripe for making new friends, right? We send out signals. We try to reach across the stars, hoping someone will hear us. We think: surely, with all the possibilities, someone, somewhere, will answer.
But what if… they don’t?
What if the silence is intentional? What if, in this massive cosmic forest, everyone is hiding?
What if no one is talking because they’re too afraid someone else will hear?

The Dark Forest Theory
Enter the Dark Forest Theory—a chilling idea that the silence in space is not a sign that we’re alone, but that everyone else is too scared to make a sound. Think about it: If you’re out there in the stars, and you know that there are other civilizations, how do you know they aren’t just waiting for an excuse to blow you up? It’s a tough world in the cosmos, and maybe—just maybe—the safest thing is to stay quiet. Don’t broadcast your location. Don’t make noise. Just stay hidden, and hope no one notices you.
The Dark Forest Theory takes the idea of this forest and stretches it across the entire galaxy. Each civilization is a hidden traveler, crouched behind thick, silent trees, doing everything it can not to be seen. No one calls out, no one sends a big “hello” into the void. Silence is survival.
Any noise could be a signal to a more advanced species that might just decide you’re a threat—boom, end of story.

The Problem with Trust
Now, let’s talk about trust. The real problem with reaching out in this dark forest isn’t just that you might stumble into a bigger, scarier creature—it’s that you can’t trust anyone. You have no way of knowing if the voice calling out in the distance is a friend, or a predator. And in a universe filled with unknowns, no one can afford to take that risk.
Imagine you’re out there in space, all alone. You’ve figured out some cool tech, you’ve sent a few signals hoping to find someone to share knowledge with, maybe even form an alliance. But you’re also wondering: What if the next civilization you encounter is just looking for an excuse to destroy you? After all, in a world of finite resources and unpredictable technology, it’s safer to assume the worst. Better to stay hidden. Better to stay silent.
So, you keep your sensors on, your communications off. You listen to the static. And you hope,
deep down, that no one notices you.

Are Good, Bad, or Evil Even Relevant?
In this dark cosmic forest, it’s not about being good, bad, or evil. Those labels are irrelevant. In fact, the entire concept of morality becomes a moot point. What matters is survival. Just like in the forest, you can’t afford to stop and question whether the figure lurking in the shadows is good or bad, or whether you’re justified in your silence. It doesn’t matter who’s right or wrong, who’s moral or immoral. In this scenario, the hell isn’t the cosmic void or the danger of the unknown—it’s other people. The very presence of others is what makes the universe a dangerous place. Their existence is the threat.
Think about it: In this vast, dark forest, everyone is so caught up in protecting themselves that they no longer see each other as potential allies or friends. Instead, they see competition, potential threats. Every movement could signal their undoing. So, the only rational response is to keep quiet, keep hidden. Stay unnoticed.

Why Silence Isn’t Lonely—It’s Survival
Here’s the kicker: Silence in space might not mean that we’re alone. It might mean that everyone’s hiding, just like us. Everyone’s waiting in the dark forest, hoping no one sees them. The reason no one replies to our signals? Maybe because everyone’s too scared to reply. Maybe they know the risk of making noise—of revealing their location—could lead to their own destruction.
This is where things get eerie. We might not be alone in the universe, but we are alone in our silence. Every civilization, somewhere in the galaxy, is keeping its head down, its lights off, its message unread. They’re not choosing loneliness—they’re choosing safety. They’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The Paradox of the Dark Forest
Think about this for a second: What if the quiet is the real message? What if silence isn’t a sign of nothingness, but of fear? What if the universe, instead of being a bustling, noisy neighborhood full of life and chatter, is actually a ghost town, where everyone is hiding in plain sight? In this strange, dark forest, survival doesn’t depend on making friends—it depends on staying invisible.
So, what do we do? We keep trying. We send our signals. We keep searching. Maybe one day, someone else will hear. But deep down, we have to wonder: Are they hiding too?
In the end, the real question isn’t whether there are other civilizations out there, but whether they—and we—will ever dare to make a sound. The universe is quiet not because it’s empty—but because it’s too dangerous to speak.
And in that, we’re all just hoping not to be noticed in the dark. Silent. Alone.

Penned By:

Rtr. Dasuni Perera

Director of Finance 24-25