“O brave new world, that has such creatures in it.” — The Tempest, William Shakespeare

In an age that worships speed and quantity, wisdom — patient, calm, and belonging to the human heart — may be the counterweight we most need.

Something has shifted in me. I feel optimistic, grounded, and quietly confident that a future exists beyond our present turmoil. More importantly, I sense that this shift is not mine alone. Across many traditions and communities, people are awakening to the possibility that a transformed consciousness can inform daily life.

Have you noticed such a shift—in yourself, or in the world around you?

I don’t mean to sound Pollyanna-ish. The challenges in my own life remain, and some are not the kind that simply get better with time or effort. Yet, alongside the darkness, a light has appeared to illuminate a path forward. Are others having the same experience.

In the geo-political realm, we are witnessing the resurgence of familiar patterns: the belief that power makes right; the greed that renews colonial ambitions; the political extremism that fuels political extremism.

Yet the stakes today are unlike any we have faced before. Nuclear weapons, autonomous drones, environmental degradation, and artificial intelligence have amplified the consequences of our oldest impulses.

These crises did not arise overnight. They are the consequence of centuries of extraordinary achievement coupled with centuries of neglect—and, at times, malevolence: neglect of the natural world, over which we imagine ourselves sovereign; exploitation of other peoples, whose land and resources we coveted and still covet; and our enduring desire to free ourselves from labor, to live without drudgery, like kings.

Despite what appears to be a predictable trajectory toward war, environmental catastrophe, and perhaps even our own irrelevance, our future is not predetermined. These trajectories can still be altered if our consciousness changes. Indeed, I believe that change has already begun

In the current culture, the qualities most admired are measurable ones: productivity, net worth, market value, square footage, accumulation. Quantity has become our highest virtue.

It is no surprise, then, that our newest creation—artificial intelligence—is perfectly suited to this age. AI is astonishingly productive. It never sleeps, never tires, never hesitates, and is unconstrained by many of the qualities our culture increasingly dismisses as inefficiencies: compassion, empathy, patience, contemplation, and simple human decency.

Increasingly, we are expected to keep pace with AI’s relentless speed and output. But organic beings cannot live that way. We require rest, silence, reflection, relationship, and time to integrate experience. Reports are already emerging: those who develop and manage AI systems describe exhaustion and burnout as they struggle to match the tempo of the very machines they have created

If productivity alone becomes our highest value, then the soul, and I believe there is one, becomes an inconvenience. Wisdom has little place in such a world because wisdom cannot be measured by volume or speed.

Yet wisdom teaches precisely the things our culture most neglects: how to live with joy and purpose; how to live in harmony with ourselves, with one another, and with the natural world.

Wisdom is about discernment and quality. It is the opposite of the worship of quantity.

It slows us down.

It asks us to examine our priorities.

It reminds us that although each of us plays only a small part in the vast order of creation, that humble part is nevertheless meaningful and necessary.

For my own part, I find myself drawn once again toward writing about mystery—the mysteries of the soul, the hidden dimensions of consciousness, and the realities that lie beyond what can be counted, measured, or optimized.

We need a counterweight to an age increasingly captivated by materialism—an age that can, astonishingly, speak of compassion as though it were a weakness.

Age itself teaches another lesson.

While we are young, healthy, and capable, we often imagine that our achievements place us firmly in control of life. Yet change is as constant as the tides. Strength fades. Abilities diminish. New generations replace us.

No matter how great our success or influence, we are eventually overtaken by time.

We become, perhaps, like Ozymandias in Shelley’s poem—a monument to human ego slowly crumbling in an empty landscape, reminding us of the impermanence of power and self-serving ambition.

Today there is increasing talk of transcending our biological limits—even of overcoming death itself. Many leaders in the technology world predict that within a few years our lives will be transformed in ways we can scarcely imagine. Indeed, we are already witnessing changes that are reshaping how we work, think, and relate to one another.

Deepfakes have become so convincing that we can no longer trust the evidence of our own eyes and ears. If seeing is no longer believing, where do we turn for truth?

Perhaps, paradoxically, these technologies will lead us back to something we have neglected: smaller communities where we know one another personally, where trust is earned through relationship rather than mediated through screens.

Perhaps every age of material triumph eventually awakens a hunger for something deeper. As our attention is drawn ever more completely toward the external world, might we also begin the journey inward, to the depths of the heart, to wisdom, and to the reality we have long called the soul?

Despite all our inventions, all our convictions, and all our astonishing achievements, the deepest questions remain.

How much do we truly control?

What, in the end, do we actually leave behind?

Is there something in us that survives the body?

The future may well belong, in many ways, to artificial intelligence. And like every powerful tool, it can become a force for great good.

But wisdom has always belonged to the human heart. It remains our greatest guide for confronting life’s deepest challenges and to living joyous meaningful lives.

The question is whether we must first endure great suffering before we remember what has always been our birthright.

Consciousness is not merely something we possess. It is the doorway through which we participate in a greater reality.

Doubtless the next great idea is not technological at all.

Likely it is wisdom.

©2026 Shulamit Elson