Interview - One Human Colony
19/07/25 14:02 Filed in: Book: One Human Colony
Interview
Book: One Human Colony, by Warren Jones
Release Date: Q1 2026
Warren, your book One Human Colony seems to frame Earth’s ecosystems through the lens of Buddhist philosophy. Why did you choose the forest floor as the opening microcosm, and how does it set the stage for your thesis?
> Warren: The forest floor is instantly relatable – and a perfect example of natural collaboration. Think termites, ants, fungi... they thrive on core Buddhist principles: impermanence (anicca) and interdependence (pratītyasamutpāda). They show us that smart, purposeful colonies exist everywhere in nature. Their purpose isn't some abstract human idea; it's baked into the ecosystem itself. Take a termite colony: it emerges, flourishes, and dissolves – all according to the forest's needs. It serves the creative forces of life, then gracefully steps aside. That’s not tragedy; it’s ecological dharma – a perfect blueprint for living within nature's cycles.
You describe colonies like termites or beavers as having an “emergent mandate.” What do you mean by that, and how does it contrast with human notions of progress?
> Warren: An "emergent mandate" means their purpose arises directly from their niche. Ecosystem pressures shape them into hyper-specialized agents: termites recycle wood; beavers engineer wetlands. No grand plan, just brilliant adaptation to fulfill specific planetary needs within limits. Life excels at this: serving big functions, then making space for what's next. Human "progress," however, feels like endless sprawl. Corporate growth often replaces true purpose. We chase infinite expansion, detached from ecological reality. A beaver's dam has natural boundaries; our economy demands endless frontiers – that's the rupture. It’s the definition of a cancer.
You discuss “The Grace of Unbecoming.” Why is dissolution as important as emergence in your framework?
> Warren: (Chuckles) Partly because I'm getting older, and the topic feels closer each morning! But truly, impermanence defines life itself. Think about it: a rock is permanent – and dead. Life is constant cycles of becoming and unbecoming. From fungus and decay, a queen emerges. She builds a colony of intelligent, purposeful life. When her work is done, nature simply says, "I need your children now." The colony doesn't cling; it doesn't exhaust its host. It releases its matter back for the next cycle. This mirrors anattā (non-self): the colony isn't immortal, just a beautiful, temporary expression of life's flow. Our terror of decline – economic, demographic – blinds us to this essential grace. We fight the unbecoming instead of embracing it.
You argue early human bands (Chapter 4) operated like “integrated nodes” in Earth’s fabric. What made them distinct from modern civilization?
> Warren: Picture early humans: we cleared paths like beavers build dams. At night, our fires, music, and dance were like performances – maybe with birds and crickets as the opening acts! Like other species, we practiced a "right relationship": integrated, reciprocal, and sustainable. We lived within the system, bound by its rules, proving our worth to the larger web of life. Modern civilization is built on breaking those bonds. It creates mechanisms where some extract resources and labor from others – and from the planet itself. Some blame agriculture for severing our link, but that's not quite right. Ants farm fungi constantly and remain deeply connected to ecological feedback. The difference is how we relate, not what we do.
You call modern humanity a “Sapiens Supercolony.” Isn’t that dehumanizing?
> Warren: It’s simply a biological description, not a moral judgment. Like a termite colony scaled up disastrously, we function as one hyperconnected entity. Our priority? Internal growth – GDP, resource extraction – often at the expense of the planet's health. Crucially, unlike natural colonies, we lack an "off-ramp." We've flattened diverse human cultures into a single global monoculture driven by the ideology of endless growth. That – the erasure of difference and the relentless drive – is where the real dehumanization lies, not in the term itself.
Chapter six claims we’ve “Silenced the Feedback” loops. What would those signals look like if we could hear them?
> Warren: Ever try pissing into the wind? Nature's feedback is that direct – constant and everywhere. But we've built thick physical and informational walls against it. Our media reports climate chaos and extinction, yet divorces us from the real signals. Think about slogans like "Go vegan to save the animals!" But clearing millions of acres for crops or livestock still exterminates life... often just to support adding more humans. The Supercolony excels at reframing these "externalities" as "problems" to be fixed with more technology. We silence nature by only offering Supercolony-approved "solutions" that never include a real "Stop" signal.
You end by asking if we can “re-member our place.” Is this a spiritual or practical awakening?
> Warren: It has to be both. Practically, it means embracing biophysical limits: degrowth, circular economies, rewilding. Spiritually, it's shedding the deep delusion of separation. We must recognize ourselves as just one colony among countless others within the Living Earth. Like mycelium sharing nutrients, we need to recenter reciprocity. This isn't romantic nostalgia; it's survival. Dharma here isn't mysticism; it's simply aligning our actions with natural law.
Ultimately, does your book offer hope or a dire warning?
> Warren: A warning headed makes for hope, no? The truth is no colony defies impermanence. Our current path – infinite growth on a finite planet – will end. The choice is stark: dissolution through chaotic collapse, or a "graceful unbecoming" through conscious transformation. The hope lies in recognizing the Sapiens Supercolony not as humanity's pinnacle, but as a brief, aberrant flicker in Earth's story. We can still choose to become a colony that serves life's flow, rather than exploits it. The forest's ancient wisdom is right there, waiting for us to listen.
Book: One Human Colony, by Warren Jones
Release Date: Q1 2026
Warren, your book One Human Colony seems to frame Earth’s ecosystems through the lens of Buddhist philosophy. Why did you choose the forest floor as the opening microcosm, and how does it set the stage for your thesis?
> Warren: The forest floor is instantly relatable – and a perfect example of natural collaboration. Think termites, ants, fungi... they thrive on core Buddhist principles: impermanence (anicca) and interdependence (pratītyasamutpāda). They show us that smart, purposeful colonies exist everywhere in nature. Their purpose isn't some abstract human idea; it's baked into the ecosystem itself. Take a termite colony: it emerges, flourishes, and dissolves – all according to the forest's needs. It serves the creative forces of life, then gracefully steps aside. That’s not tragedy; it’s ecological dharma – a perfect blueprint for living within nature's cycles.
You describe colonies like termites or beavers as having an “emergent mandate.” What do you mean by that, and how does it contrast with human notions of progress?
> Warren: An "emergent mandate" means their purpose arises directly from their niche. Ecosystem pressures shape them into hyper-specialized agents: termites recycle wood; beavers engineer wetlands. No grand plan, just brilliant adaptation to fulfill specific planetary needs within limits. Life excels at this: serving big functions, then making space for what's next. Human "progress," however, feels like endless sprawl. Corporate growth often replaces true purpose. We chase infinite expansion, detached from ecological reality. A beaver's dam has natural boundaries; our economy demands endless frontiers – that's the rupture. It’s the definition of a cancer.
You discuss “The Grace of Unbecoming.” Why is dissolution as important as emergence in your framework?
> Warren: (Chuckles) Partly because I'm getting older, and the topic feels closer each morning! But truly, impermanence defines life itself. Think about it: a rock is permanent – and dead. Life is constant cycles of becoming and unbecoming. From fungus and decay, a queen emerges. She builds a colony of intelligent, purposeful life. When her work is done, nature simply says, "I need your children now." The colony doesn't cling; it doesn't exhaust its host. It releases its matter back for the next cycle. This mirrors anattā (non-self): the colony isn't immortal, just a beautiful, temporary expression of life's flow. Our terror of decline – economic, demographic – blinds us to this essential grace. We fight the unbecoming instead of embracing it.
You argue early human bands (Chapter 4) operated like “integrated nodes” in Earth’s fabric. What made them distinct from modern civilization?
> Warren: Picture early humans: we cleared paths like beavers build dams. At night, our fires, music, and dance were like performances – maybe with birds and crickets as the opening acts! Like other species, we practiced a "right relationship": integrated, reciprocal, and sustainable. We lived within the system, bound by its rules, proving our worth to the larger web of life. Modern civilization is built on breaking those bonds. It creates mechanisms where some extract resources and labor from others – and from the planet itself. Some blame agriculture for severing our link, but that's not quite right. Ants farm fungi constantly and remain deeply connected to ecological feedback. The difference is how we relate, not what we do.
You call modern humanity a “Sapiens Supercolony.” Isn’t that dehumanizing?
> Warren: It’s simply a biological description, not a moral judgment. Like a termite colony scaled up disastrously, we function as one hyperconnected entity. Our priority? Internal growth – GDP, resource extraction – often at the expense of the planet's health. Crucially, unlike natural colonies, we lack an "off-ramp." We've flattened diverse human cultures into a single global monoculture driven by the ideology of endless growth. That – the erasure of difference and the relentless drive – is where the real dehumanization lies, not in the term itself.
Chapter six claims we’ve “Silenced the Feedback” loops. What would those signals look like if we could hear them?
> Warren: Ever try pissing into the wind? Nature's feedback is that direct – constant and everywhere. But we've built thick physical and informational walls against it. Our media reports climate chaos and extinction, yet divorces us from the real signals. Think about slogans like "Go vegan to save the animals!" But clearing millions of acres for crops or livestock still exterminates life... often just to support adding more humans. The Supercolony excels at reframing these "externalities" as "problems" to be fixed with more technology. We silence nature by only offering Supercolony-approved "solutions" that never include a real "Stop" signal.
You end by asking if we can “re-member our place.” Is this a spiritual or practical awakening?
> Warren: It has to be both. Practically, it means embracing biophysical limits: degrowth, circular economies, rewilding. Spiritually, it's shedding the deep delusion of separation. We must recognize ourselves as just one colony among countless others within the Living Earth. Like mycelium sharing nutrients, we need to recenter reciprocity. This isn't romantic nostalgia; it's survival. Dharma here isn't mysticism; it's simply aligning our actions with natural law.
Ultimately, does your book offer hope or a dire warning?
> Warren: A warning headed makes for hope, no? The truth is no colony defies impermanence. Our current path – infinite growth on a finite planet – will end. The choice is stark: dissolution through chaotic collapse, or a "graceful unbecoming" through conscious transformation. The hope lies in recognizing the Sapiens Supercolony not as humanity's pinnacle, but as a brief, aberrant flicker in Earth's story. We can still choose to become a colony that serves life's flow, rather than exploits it. The forest's ancient wisdom is right there, waiting for us to listen.