Humans have always been storytellers. Our capacity to imagine, to construct and believe in fictions, is perhaps the most distinctive feature of our species. Lions and chimpanzees do not invent stories about the past, nor do they hold complex hopes for the future. But from the moment Homo sapiens stood upright, we began weaving narratives to make sense of a world that otherwise defied comprehension.

For most of our history, these stories centred on gods, spirits, and forces beyond our control. We told ourselves that the rain came because the gods willed it. Disease was a punishment for sin, and our survival was dependent on appeasing divine powers. But the story that changed everything—the story that ushered in the age of science, capitalism, and industrial power—was the myth of progress.

Progress is not a fact of nature. The universe has no inherent direction or goal, and yet over the past few centuries, humans have convinced themselves that history is moving forward toward something better. We believe that each generation will live longer, richer, and healthier lives than the last. In doing so, we constructed a new religion: faith in human mastery over the world.

This myth, like all myths, has some basis in reality. Human beings have achieved remarkable things. We split the atom, eradicated diseases, and connected the globe in ways that would have been unimaginable just a few generations ago. Indeed, from one perspective, the march of history appears to be one of steady progress: longer life expectancy, greater wealth, and a staggering increase in technological power.

But progress is not inevitable, nor is it free from cost. The Industrial Revolution made us wealthier, but it also unleashed the catastrophic environmental destruction we are grappling with today. The digital revolution has connected us, but it has also exposed us to unprecedented levels of surveillance, manipulation, and distraction. Every new advancement creates new dilemmas, new forms of suffering, and new existential risks.

Consider the rise of artificial intelligence. For millennia, intelligence was the most distinctive advantage humans had over other animals. Now, for the first time in history, we are building machines that may soon surpass us in cognitive ability. Proponents argue that AI will revolutionize medicine, transport, and industry, creating a utopia where disease, poverty, and even death are things of the past. Yet, there is no guarantee that such a future will materialize.

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What if AI does not create a paradise, but instead exacerbates inequality and concentrates power in the hands of a few corporations or governments? What if, rather than freeing us, AI locks us into systems of control that reduce human autonomy? And what if, in seeking to perfect our world through technology, we end up dismantling the very foundations of what it means to be human?

The myth of progress also blinds us to the precariousness of our situation. We assume that because our civilization has achieved so much in the past, it will continue to do so indefinitely. But history shows that complex societies can collapse as quickly as they rise. The Roman Empire was one of the most advanced civilizations of its time, yet it fell into chaos within a few short centuries. The same could happen to us, particularly as we push the planet's ecological systems to the brink of collapse.

We must remember that Homo sapiens is not exempt from the laws of nature. The same biological and ecological forces that shaped us are still at work. Progress, in any form, is a fragile and fleeting construct. We can never assume it will continue without effort or that it will lead to outcomes we desire.

So where does this leave us? Should we abandon our belief in progress and return to a world of superstition and fatalism? Of course not. But we must be honest about the nature of the stories we tell ourselves. We must recognize that progress is not an eternal truth but a story we have invented to give ourselves purpose.

In the end, our survival may depend not on whether we continue to advance, but on whether we learn to balance our ambitions with the limits imposed by the natural world. As our power grows, so too must our humility, for the greatest danger facing humanity today is not that we will fail to progress, but that we will progress beyond our capacity to control it.

And as we navigate the future, we must ask ourselves: Can we find meaning in the world not because we are its masters, but because we are its caretakers?