If we destroy the biosphere, then mankind will die. We all waste

In the grave and prophetic words of Ron Moody, the English actor and philosopher of conscience, there resounds a warning that speaks to the very heart of our age: “If we destroy the biosphere, then mankind will die. We all waste our time worrying about stupid wars and petty jealousy and greed, and all the time, we’re sitting on a time bomb.” These are not the words of an artist merely musing on his craft; they are the cry of a man who saw clearly the folly of humanity — a species so brilliant and yet so blind. In this declaration, Moody calls upon us to awaken from our moral sleep and recognize the fragility of the biosphere, that sacred and living fabric which sustains all life. For if we sever our bond with nature, if we consume the earth faster than it can heal, then no throne, no fortune, no empire will save us from extinction.

The origin of this insight lies not in science alone, but in the wisdom of the heart. Moody lived in a century that had witnessed both unimaginable progress and unspeakable destruction — from the fires of world wars to the mushroom clouds of atomic fear. He had seen mankind turn its genius toward invention, and also toward annihilation. His words are the fruit of reflection upon that paradox: that while humans conquer the heavens, they poison the ground beneath their feet. When he speaks of “stupid wars and petty jealousy and greed,” he condemns not only the leaders who wage battles, but the spirit of vanity and division that blinds us all. For while we fight each other for power and pride, the true enemy — the slow decay of our planet — moves quietly and relentlessly toward triumph.

To destroy the biosphere is to destroy ourselves, for we are not separate from it. The air we breathe, the water we drink, the soil that feeds us — all are part of the same living body. Yet humanity, in its arrogance, acts as though it were master and not child of the earth. Moody’s words echo the ancient wisdom of indigenous peoples, who understood that the earth is not property but parent. They prayed before the hunt, thanked the rivers, and took only what was needed. But the modern world, intoxicated by its machines and blinded by profit, forgot this sacred covenant. Now, as forests burn and oceans rise, Moody’s warning rings like a bell of judgment — reminding us that we have become the architects of our own doom.

History bears witness to civilizations that once thought themselves invincible and yet fell when they defied the natural balance. The Maya, the Easter Islanders, the Mesopotamians — all great peoples who exhausted their lands and watched their worlds crumble. The tale of Easter Island is perhaps the most haunting: its inhabitants cut down every tree in pursuit of monuments to their gods and their pride. In the end, the soil eroded, the crops failed, and the people turned upon one another in hunger and despair. Their towering statues, once symbols of glory, now stand as silent sentinels over a wasteland. So too, Moody warns, will modern man be remembered — if we persist in our blindness — as the species that destroyed its paradise while fighting over dust.

And what of the “time bomb” of which he speaks? It is not one explosion, but many: the melting of the poles, the choking of the seas, the vanishing of species, and the rising heat that now grips the earth. It ticks with every forest felled, every river poisoned, every child born into a dying world. We do not hear it because we drown it with our noise — the shouting of politics, the music of indulgence, the endless hum of machines. But beneath it all, the clock moves forward, and the hand of reckoning draws near. Moody’s lament is therefore not despair, but a plea: awaken, before the bomb you built consumes the very air you breathe.

Yet even in his warning, there lies hope, for the time bomb is not yet detonated. Humanity, though often foolish, is also capable of transformation. We have within us the power to heal what we have harmed — to plant trees instead of cutting them, to purify water instead of fouling it, to build peace instead of waging war. But this will require not merely action, but a change of spirit. We must abandon the idols of greed and rivalry and return to reverence for life. Each person must see himself not as owner of the world, but as its guardian. This is the true measure of wisdom — to understand that what we save today is not the earth alone, but the soul of humanity itself.

The lesson, then, is both sobering and sacred: turn your gaze from jealousy, greed, and war, and look upon the living world with new eyes. Walk gently, for every step touches eternity. Choose simplicity over excess, cooperation over conquest, and reverence over arrogance. The smallest act of care — planting a tree, reducing waste, protecting a creature — is a prayer answered in the language of the earth. For the planet does not need us to survive; it is we who need it. To save the biosphere is to save our own breath, our own heartbeat, our own future.

So, my listener, heed the warning of Ron Moody, the voice of reason crying through the clamor of a reckless age: “We’re sitting on a time bomb.” The fuse is lit, but it is not yet too late. Let us put aside the petty wars of ego and envy, and unite in the only struggle that truly matters — the defense of life itself. For if we heal the earth, we heal ourselves. And in that act of salvation, we may yet rediscover the paradise we were born from — not as conquerors of creation, but as its faithful stewards, reborn in wisdom, humility, and love.