Accelerationism. Functional in the real world?

  Technology has long been a point of intense debate in political and philosophical circles. From Ted Kaczynski’s Unabomber Manifesto to modern discussions around accelerationism, it’s clear that the relationship between society and technological advancement is complex and controversial. Accelerationism—the belief that the best way to fix a broken system is to speed up its collapse—is one such controversial idea. It argues that by pushing flawed systems to their limits they will implode, allowing a new and better system to rise from the ashes.

On the surface, this might seem like a bold and even logical solution. However, it critically overlooks the long-term and often irreversible consequences of unchecked technological advancement—particularly its impact on the environment. Once certain thresholds are crossed, especially with destructive technologies, the possibility of rebuilding becomes questionable, if not impossible.

One concept often discussed in accelerationist circles is The Fourth Turning, a generational theory proposed by William Strauss and Neil Howe. According to this theory, history moves in cycles, each consisting of four “turnings”:

1. The High – A post-crisis era of rebuilding and unity.
   
   
2. The Awakening – A time when society begins to question established norms, often marked by a surge in individualism and spiritual exploration (e.g., the counterculture movement of the 1960s and ’70s).
   
   
3. The Unraveling – A period of growing individualism and social division, where institutions begin to weaken.
   
   
4. The Crisis – A defining event, often a war or a massive upheaval, that reshapes society and sets the stage for the next High.
   
   

The last major crisis, according to many interpretations of this theory, was World War II. During this period, we saw a massive leap in technological development—most notably the creation of the nuclear bomb. While the war did lead to the rebuilding of many nations, it also left scars that are still visible today. Certain areas affected by nuclear weapons remain uninhabitable, decades later. This shows that not all crises lead to renewal; some create devastation so complete that recovery becomes nearly impossible.

This is where accelerationism fails. The idea rests on the assumption that collapse is a productive and necessary step toward rebuilding. Yet, when technological progress results in tools of mass destruction, there may be nothing left to rebuild from. Accelerationism does not account for the possibility that the collapse could be final—not just of a system, but of the environment, infrastructure, and humanity itself.

Furthermore, by welcoming or even encouraging the development of destructive technologies as part of this acceleration, the ideology becomes self-defeating. The “reform” it seeks through destruction may instead ensure permanent ruin. In this sense, accelerationism begins to resemble more of a dystopian fantasy than a practical strategy for social change.

In conclusion, while accelerationism may appeal to those frustrated with the status quo, it ultimately offers a dangerously flawed vision. History, particularly through events like World War II, demonstrates that technological escalation during crises doesn’t guarantee rebirth—it can just as easily lead to annihilation. A more sustainable path forward would be one that carefully manages technological growth and seeks reform without courting catastrophe.

Ancient Aircraft: Evidence of Advanced Aeronautical Knowledge in The Antiquity

 

Ancient Aircraft: Evidence of Advanced Aeronautical Knowledge in The Antiquity

The idea that ancient civilizations may have had some understanding of flight, tends to get pushed to the fringes of academic discussion. It’s often lumped in with conspiracy theories or pseudoscience, and understandably so—claims about flying machines thousands of years ago can sound far-fetched. But sometimes, pieces of evidence surface that are hard to explain through conventional narratives alone. Across different cultures and time periods, we find artifacts and texts that suggest people may have had a deeper understanding of aerodynamics—or at least a fascination with the concept of flight. Whether or not these civilizations actually built flying machines is up for debate, but dismissing the idea outright may be premature. Artifacts like the Quimbaya “airplanes” in Colombia, the Saqqara Bird in Egypt, and ancient Indian texts describing Vimanas all point to something worth looking at more closely.

Let’s start with the Quimbaya artifacts. These small gold objects were discovered in Colombia and are estimated to date back to around 500–800 CE. At first glance, they’re labeled as zoomorphic—meant to represent birds or insects. But if you actually look at the shapes, they don’t resemble any known animal exactly. Instead, they have swept-back wings, upright tail fins, and other features you’d expect to see on a modern jet or glider. As Susan Kelly notes in her analysis, the design elements look more like an airplane than an insect (Kelly). In fact, scale models of these objects have been built and tested, and they’ve been shown to glide successfully when fitted with propulsion. That doesn’t necessarily prove the Quimbaya people had aircraft, but it does raise a legitimate question: how and why did they design something so aerodynamic?

A similar puzzle exists in ancient Egypt. In 1898, archaeologists unearthed a wooden object from a tomb in Saqqara. It was small, shaped vaguely like a bird, and for decades was dismissed as a toy or symbolic artifact. But in the 1970s, Dr. Khalil Messiha took a closer look and suggested that it might actually be a model of a glider. The object has wings that are straight rather than curved and a tail fin—features that birds don’t have, but are something gliders do (Messiha). Replicas of the Saqqara Bird have shown that it can, under the right conditions, actually glide. Again, this doesn’t mean the ancient Egyptians had functioning aircraft, but it might suggest they were experimenting with aerodynamic shapes—or at the very least, observing how flight works in a more mechanical way than we give them credit for.

Then there are the ancient Indian texts, which are even more detailed and, in some ways, even more controversial. The Mahabharata, the Ramayana, and a lesser-known text called the Vaimanika Shastra all mention flying machines known as Vimanas. These are described as being able to fly through the sky, hover, and travel great distances. Some descriptions even include technical-sounding language about materials, propulsion, and maneuverability. However, the Vaimanika Shastra has been criticized heavily, especially after a 1974 study by scientists at the Indian Institute of Science concluded that the designs were scientifically flawed and inconsistent (Mukunda et al.). That’s a fair critique. But what’s still interesting is the sheer depth and persistence of the idea of flight in these ancient stories. As Shruthi and Jairam point out, the presence of Vimanas in both texts and temple carvings across India points to more than just imaginative storytelling—it could reflect an early scientific curiosity or a lost tradition of experimentation (Shruthi and Jairam).

It’s important to pause here and acknowledge the obvious: there’s no concrete, physical proof that any of these cultures actually built and flew real aircraft. We don’t have engines, blueprints, or recorded test flights. And it’s entirely possible that these objects and stories are just imaginative, symbolic, or misinterpreted. But still—when so many different cultures, separated by thousands of miles and years, depict or describe flight in such specific ways, it’s hard not to wonder if we’re missing something. Maybe they weren’t building flying machines, but maybe they were trying to—or dreaming of it more seriously than we assume.

Critics of this line of thinking often argue that seeing “ancient aircraft” in these artifacts is a case of modern bias—reading today’s technology into the past where it doesn’t belong. That’s a fair point. We always have to be cautious about interpreting evidence through a modern lens. But there’s a difference between jumping to conclusions and asking open-ended questions. Looking at these artifacts and texts with curiosity doesn’t mean we have to accept fantastical explanations. It just means we’re willing to explore possibilities, especially when the evidence doesn’t fit neatly into our current understanding of the past.

In the end, we may never know for certain whether any ancient culture really achieved flight. But the fact that so many cultures were thinking about it—designing it, even imagining it—suggests that they were more technologically curious than we often give them credit for. Whether it was the aerodynamic form of the Quimbaya objects, the gliding potential of the Saqqara Bird, or the rich descriptions of Vimanas in Indian texts, the idea of flight clearly captured the imagination of ancient people. Maybe they didn’t quite get there. But maybe, just maybe, they got a little closer than we think.

The Concept of the Noosphere and the space for temptation.

The Noosphere: The Mind's Realm and the Origin of Temptation

Movement is the engine of evolution. Evolution, in turn, is the product of thought. As thought evolves, it gives rise to the Noosphere—a realm of collective consciousness. And it is within this intangible sphere that the Adversary finds ground to sow temptation.

“The metaphysical change of living creatures seems to have slowed down at the precise moment thought appeared on Earth.” — Teilhard de Chardin

Throughout the history of life, we’ve observed dramatic physical changes in species through natural selection. Yet something curious occurred with the rise of humans: a noticeable pause in biological evolution coinciding with the emergence of self-awareness and complex thought. Teilhard de Chardin proposed that this shift marked a new phase—not in our bodies, but in our minds. Humanity began evolving not through physical adaptation but through the inner landscape of consciousness, giving rise to what he termed the Noosphere—the "sphere of reason" (a concept also developed by Vladimir Vernadsky).

To fully grasp the Noosphere, it’s crucial to understand the three interconnected spheres:

• The Geosphere: the realm of inanimate matter—rocks, minerals, and the physical Earth.

• The Biosphere: the sphere of living organisms—plants, animals, and all forms of biological life.

• The Noosphere: the realm of conscious thought, intellect, reason, and collective mental activity.

Unlike the Geosphere, which has existed since the formation of the planet, and the Biosphere, which emerged with the origin of life, the Noosphere only came into being with the rise of complex human consciousness—perhaps around 200,000 years ago.

The term “Noosphere” derives from the Greek noos (νοῦς), meaning mind, intellect, or reason, and sphaira (σφαῖρα), meaning sphere. Literally, it translates to "the sphere of the mind." It represents the cumulative mental activity of humanity, a sort of mental ecosystem layered above the Biosphere.

This concept parallels others found in ancient mystic traditions. For instance, Hindu mysticism speaks of the Akashic Records—a cosmic compendium of all thoughts, events, and words throughout time. Rooted in the idea of Akasha, the all-pervading ether or spiritual substance, this realm serves as the subtle space where all potential manifests. Like the Noosphere, Akasha is associated with both sound and consciousness, acting as a bridge between the material and the spiritual.

But how does this tie into temptation?

In Ephesians 2:2, Paul writes:

"Wherein in time past ye walked according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience."

This passage, traditionally interpreted as referring to Lucifer or Satan, uses an intriguing phrase: “prince of the power of the air.” At first glance, it may seem to imply dominion over the literal element of air, but a more symbolic reading reveals something deeper.

In biblical and mystical traditions, “air” is often synonymous with spirit. Thus, the phrase could be recontextualized as:

"You once walked according to the prince who holds power over the realm of spirit, the same spirit now at work in those who rebel."

From this perspective, the Noosphere—the sphere of mind and spirit—can also be seen as the realm of spiritual influence. In its vastness lies not just the progress of knowledge and consciousness, but also the seedbed of temptation.

Why? Because sin, at its core, requires choice. And choice requires consciousness. Beings without self-awareness cannot sin; they act purely on instinct. But within the Noosphere, where thoughts, intentions, and morality reside, the capacity for sin emerges. It is here—in the domain of reason and will—that temptation takes root.

Thus, the evolution of the mind is not just the next phase in human development—it is the birth of a new battleground. The Noosphere is not only the repository of our collective wisdom but also the realm in which spiritual struggle unfolds. It is the land where reason can uplift—or deceive; where spirit can ascend—or fall.

Top Ethereal Wave Bands For Newbies

Getting into a subculture can be hard. Getting into a sub-subculture of that subculture? Even harder.

Luckily for any new bats out there with a budding interest in ethereal wave, I’ve compiled a beginner-friendly list of bands that are perfect for dipping your toes into the misty waters of this dreamy, haunting genre. 🖤

The Quickest way to Learn Tarot Effectively

I’ve been reading tarot for several years, and I’ll be honest—I struggled to remember the meanings behind the cards. I often ended up defaulting to intuitive readings rather than using the intended meanings.

The decline of digital ownership

 In the last 20 years, we’ve seen the decline of owning physical copies of media and the rise of subscription-based streaming services and digital licenses. Was this a positive change? Maybe not, but first let’s explore what these terms are and what it means to you.

Rebecca Campbell's Work Your Light Oracle, an honest review

 

In my oracle journey, I’ve found that everyone’s go-to oracle artist always seems to be Rebecca Campbell. Honestly? Her decks never felt like they were for me. Every time I came across her work in recommendation lists, I’d just scroll right past. So when I saw one of her decks at Barnes & Noble this morning, I nearly walked right by it.