Human beings have always been dreamers, makers, destroyers.
But today, something has gone wrong — or more precisely, out of balance.
We hold the power of gods — the ability to split atoms, rewrite genomes, terraform landscapes, and speak to millions at once.
But that power is still directed by the nervous systems of frightened, status-seeking mammals.
We are gods with ape brains — and we are running out of time.
By David Di Muro
Human beings have always been dreamers, makers, destroyers.
But today, something has gone wrong — or more precisely, out of balance.
We hold the power of gods — the ability to split atoms, rewrite genomes, terraform landscapes, and speak to millions at once.
But that power is still directed by the nervous systems of frightened, status-seeking mammals.
We are gods with ape brains — and we are running out of time.
Evolution didn’t prepare us for the world we now rule.
Our minds evolved for:
Short-term thinking
Tribal loyalty over global cooperation
Immediate threats over slow-moving disasters
Hoarding and conquest in times of perceived scarcity
Story over data
Status over stewardship
In small groups, around fires, this worked.
But we scaled — and we scaled too fast.
Now, we have:
Weapons that can erase cities
Markets that exploit with precision
Algorithms that hijack our attention
Systems that reward selfishness
Climate instability we deny until it's too late
The result? A civilization sprinting forward without ever checking whether the ground is still there.
Some suggest rewiring the human brain with tech, or editing our DNA to evolve “better” humans.
Maybe. One day.
But there’s another path:
We don’t need to rewrite human nature — we need to remember its higher aspects and reshape the incentives that drown them.
We already contain:
Empathy
Long-term thinking
Reverence
Cooperation
Restraint
Art
Memory
Myth
But these virtues are not rewarded in most of our institutions.
They’re exploited, mocked, or treated as luxuries.
Yes — and no.
Many indigenous and pre-industrial societies lived embedded in their land, not dominant over it.
They believed in cyclical time, sacred limits, and animistic connection to all life.
They didn’t accumulate endlessly. They sustained.
Not perfectly.
Not universally.
But their violence was limited in scope.
Their societies, more often than not, collapsed only when they began to overreach — when they forgot the pact with place, time, and humility.
The challenge isn’t human nature. It’s unchecked amplification.
We need to contain power within wisdom — not chase more power to fix the problems caused by power.
That means:
Change the stories. Stop worshipping conquest. Celebrate humility, cooperation, care.
Reintroduce limits. Not because we can’t — but because we shouldn’t. Some lines should not be crossed.
Pull power out of its top-heavy towers. Restore community-level strength, response, and identity.
Teach discernment, not just data. Teach emotional mastery, mythic thinking, and ethical tension.
Preserve deep truths in art, story, and ritual. Not just information — but initiation.
Live smaller. Live closer. Know your food, your neighbours, your sky. Rebuild a human scale of life.
Raise people who do not depend on systems to tell them who they are. People who can say “no,” wisely.
We were never meant to be gods.
Or maybe we were — but not gods of control,
gods of care. Of balance. Of presence.
The Earth was never ours to fix.
She was ours to love.
If you feel the truth of this in your chest — start small.
Start with your home. Your family. Your stories.
Change how you speak, how you listen, what you honour.
Not to fix the world — but to belong to it again.
Build something real.
Be the memory your children will one day cling to when the noise is gone.
Or don’t.
Keep running. Keep scrolling. Keep pretending.
But if you’re still here — if something in you remembers —
then welcome back.
Big Nose Knows… we don’t need more power.
We need more soul.
This post is part of a longer reflection on technology, myth, memory, and the future of humanity. If it stirred something in you, consider sharing it — or sitting quietly with it under the stars.
