It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has

Hear, O wanderer of wisdom, the somber words often attributed to the sages of the twentieth century: “It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.” Though the origin is uncertain—some ascribe it to Albert Einstein, though no true record bears his mark—the meaning shines with clarity, a lamentation and a warning. It speaks of the imbalance that arises when man’s hand grows swifter than his heart, when his tools outpace his mercy, when his machines rise higher than his compassion.

In the long march of history, man’s greatness has always been twofold: the mind that invents and the soul that feels. The bow was made not merely to kill, but to hunt and survive; the ship not only to conquer, but to explore; the press not only to spread power, but to awaken minds. Yet when technology surges ahead while humanity lags behind, a great shadow is cast. The danger is not in the machine itself, but in the coldness of its master, who wields it without wisdom, without empathy, without restraint.

Look to the twentieth century, when the fruits of science burst forth in both glory and horror. In a single century, man split the atom, reached the heavens, and conquered diseases that had plagued him for millennia. But in that same span, he forged weapons capable of destroying nations in an instant. Think upon Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where the brilliance of the mind unleashed a fire that consumed flesh and stone alike. The technology was great, but the humanity was weak, for it failed to restrain its hand until after the devastation had come. This is the essence of the lament: man’s inventions raced ahead, but his mercy stumbled behind.

Even in peace, this imbalance shows itself. The world has woven a web of machines and networks, binding billions together in an instant. Yet though voices now travel faster than light, hearts often remain distant. Loneliness spreads amidst connection, division amidst abundance. The power to speak has grown immense, but the will to listen has withered. What is this, if not technology soaring beyond humanity? The servant has grown taller than the master, and the master risks being forgotten.

Yet despair is not the only answer. The very recognition of this imbalance is a call to action, a trumpet sounding for the awakening of our hearts. If our technology has exceeded our humanity, then it is upon us to strengthen the latter, to let compassion, justice, and wisdom catch up with the speed of our machines. The cure is not to halt invention, but to elevate our spirit. For every rocket that pierces the skies, let there be a conscience that asks: “Does this bring life, or death?” For every circuit we weave, let there be a voice that asks: “Does this connect hearts, or sever them?”

Therefore, my child, the lesson is this: Do not fear technology, but fear the emptiness of the soul that wields it without care. Nourish your humanity with kindness, patience, and love, so that your tools may serve light and not darkness. In your daily life, let the machine aid you, but never let it replace your listening ear, your gentle word, your open hand. Choose to look into the eyes of another, not only the glow of the screen. Choose to heal when your tools can harm, to unite when your tools can divide.

Thus let this teaching endure: When technology exceeds humanity, ruin follows. But when humanity exceeds technology, the tools of man become miracles. May you be among those who hold the balance, who carry both brilliance and compassion, and who ensure that the fire of invention warms the world, rather than burns it to ash.