Rethinking Our Place: A Cosmic Humility
My last conversation with my kids and friend made me write a post and because I feel so strongly about it, here are I am writing a blog. Writing has always been a way for me to organize my thoughts, it gives me clarity and from that clarity I am able to have peace with a certain topic. In this case I’m very doubtful if I will get that peace.
Anyway, so humanity’s existence in Earth’s epic expanse of history, is but a fleeting sigh, a whisper in the cacophony of epochs. Yet, we arrogant humans proclaim ourselves the protagonists of a saga that unfolded billions of years before our arrival. With breathtaking audacity, we write ourselves into the role of saviors, masters of a world that was neither ours to conquer nor to save in the first place. Who decided we wore the crown anyway?
I think one of the most profound lessons in this regard comes from the Chernobyl disaster zone. That catastrophic nuclear accident left a huge swath of land in the former Soviet Union uninhabitable for humans. For decades, this „human disaster zone“ remained largely abandoned. But here’s the remarkable part: nature thrived in the absence of human interference. Wolves, bears, and birds flourished in the radioactive ruins. Plant life exploded in abundance, reclaiming its place. That land that was thought to be irrevocably damaged, healed. The very zone we deemed uninhabitable became a sanctuary of wild, unbridled life. This isn’t just an ecological anecdote; it is a profound invitation to question our role and relevance.
This powerful example, I think serves as a testament to the resilience of Earth. Nature does not need us to survive – it can heal itself and continue to evolve. The Earth will go on, regardless of our presence.
Our rhetoric often centers on “saving the planet,” a phrase steeped in hubris and naivety. The Earth does not need our salvation—it has endured cosmic collisions, ice ages, and cataclysmic eruptions. It is we who are fragile, tethered to the health of this ancient, intricate system. To think otherwise is to cling to the delusion of ownership over something far greater than ourselves.
This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t care for the planet—on the contrary, our well-being is deeply tied to the health of the Earth. But it’s important to recognize that our role is not one of saviors, but of stewards, learning to coexist with the natural world rather than dominate it.
Let’s do a reality check on time. To understand our insignificance, let us consider the numbers:
Earth’s age: 4.5 billion years – an incomprehensible long time in human terms.
Humans have been around for roughly 300,000 years – a blink in the geological timeline.
In fact, 99% of all species that have ever lived are extinct. What hubris leads us to believe we are immune to the same fate?
Nature has been thriving long before our arrival, and it will continue to do so, even if we vanish tomorrow.
Our brief existence in this place doesn’t make us the “pinnacle” of creation, I think our role is not to dominate or “fix” the planet but to learn, adapt, and coexist. We are not separate from nature; we are its expression. Every breath we take, every heartbeat, is an interplay within this vast, living system.
Our bias blinds us. We create hierarchies of consciousness with stunning arbitrariness. We decide that animals feel more than plants because they move, communicate, and respond in ways we recognize. But what arrogance! Just because we don’t understand a plant’s language of chemical signals, electrical impulses, and root communications doesn’t mean they lack consciousness. Is their language any less valid because we fail to comprehend it?
True environmental consciousness demands a paradigm shift. Our role isn’t to “fix or save” the planet but to understand, adapt, and coexist as an integral part of nature’s intricate web. Every breath and heartbeat reminds us that we are not separate from this vast, living system—we are its expression. Embracing environmental consciousness requires humility: listening rather than asserting, observing rather than manipulating, and recognizing our interconnectedness rather than striving for dominance. Survival depends on our ability to respect the planet’s complexity, a system far more ancient and profound than we can fully comprehend.
To survive, we must acknowledge the planet’s systems as more complex and ancient than our limited perceptions can fathom.
We often measure intelligence and consciousness through a narrow lens, valuing traits like mobility, visible responsiveness, and communication styles that mirror our own. Animals, we argue, are more sentient than plants because they move and express emotions we can easily interpret. Yet plants possess their own intricate forms of communication, relying on chemical signals, electrical impulses, and vast networks of interwoven roots. Does their lack of recognizable “language” make their existence less valid? And if so, does that justify viewing them as lesser beings? This raises an uncomfortable question: is it truly more humane to consume animals, whose sentience we recognize, than plants, whose complexity we have yet to fully understand?
Can we shift from seeing ourselves as conquerors to collaborators? Can we let go of the narrative of supremacy and embrace the wisdom of interconnectedness? The Earth will persist—with or without us. I think the choice lies in whether we wish to be part of its continued evolution or just another fading memory in its vast, eternal story.