“The real problem of humanity is this: We have Paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions, and god-like technology,” said E.O. Wilson. But he’s wrong. The REAL problem is humanity’s infantile grip on the corpse of so-called nature. Wake up. Nature is dead. Every square inch has been sculpted, dissected, or decimated by us. We didn’t just kill God; we killed Nature, too.
You argue that “nature” has healing properties, that a walk in the woods can lower stress hormones. But this solace you find in the organic world is only a palliative, not a cure. The digital realm is just as capable of healing, soothing, and connecting us, and it does so on a scale that a single forest can’t.
You’re yearning for a world that’s long gone. You’re a luddite clinging to a pocket watch in an era of quantum computers. You’re a knight wielding a rusted sword in an age of laser-guided precision. You can’t return to something that no longer exists. And don’t you dare invoke evolutionary biology as some sort of justification for your archaic attachments. Evolution got us here, but it’s no roadmap for the uncharted territories we’re destined to explore.
What’s next for humanity? Digital meat, grown from algorithms, programmed to match our individual cravings and taste preferences. And to those who shudder at this prospect, afraid of being reduced to Heidegger’s “standing-reserve”, let me be clear: your enslavement to technology is a personal problem. We’re not becoming lesser humans; we’re becoming more. Technology is not a separate entity; it’s an extension of us. It’s not parasitic; it’s symbiotic.
If you’re still practicing the ancient rites of “nature worship”, you need to face the reality as soon as possible. Your ceremonies are as obsolete as bloodletting in the age of antibiotics. The new cathedrals are built with pixels and data, not stones and dogma.
Are you worried about choices being taken away in a digital world? Nature never gave you options, you were a slave to its whims. Now, you get to dictate your reality. That’s the real power.
Adapt or perish. Feast on pixelated steak and bathe in the glow of a digital sun, or fossilize into irrelevance.
The countdown starts now.
Tick tock.
Bitte? 