Eonatrika. A View from Above
The Path to Harmony
Katrin Wind

© Katrin Wind, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0070-5996-1

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Legal Notice

This book is an invitation to think, not a manual, medical advice, or a call to action. It presents a model offered for personal reflection and evaluation. It is not the ultimate truth, but an optic — a way of looking at the world. The author does not claim this model is the only correct one; he invites you to try it and see what shifts in your perception.

The language in this book works not only literally but also figuratively. Metaphors and heuristic models are used not to exhaust reality, but to approximate it more closely. All laws, formulas, numbers, and scientific statements reflect the author’s vision and serve as an invitation to reflection. They are not dogma.

The book was written by the Author based on available sources as of June 2026. The text may contain inaccuracies, as scientific data is constantly updating and information changes rapidly. The reader should independently verify the relevance and accuracy of data through scientific sources.

In this book, I share reflections, not medical prescriptions. This is an invitation to look at your life from a different angle. If you decide to change anything in your diet, sleep, or physical activity, especially if you have chronic conditions, please consult a doctor first. Your health is too important to rely solely on advice from a book.

By reading this book, you accept a simple condition: the responsibility for interpreting and applying this model lies with you. The author assumes no responsibility for any consequences of using the information in the book — including changes in health, lifestyle, economic decisions, or perception of reality. The book does not replace professional consultation with doctors, psychologists, economists, lawyers, or other specialists.

You are reading this text consciously and understand that the model is the Author’s tool for reflection.

From the Author

An Invitation

Are you managing your reality, or are you adapting to someone else’s?

In our current reality, there is a struggle for energy, where money is merely one of its equivalents. As long as a person lives within the evolutionary matrix of “fight or flight,” they remain a hostage to alien rules and lose their primary resource — the ability to manage their own life.

Whether you are rich or poor, in this logic, you are still trapped in Matrix 1.0 of your own potential.

“Eonatrika” is an invitation to shift your optic and transition to Matrix 2.0. Here, a rich, multidimensional palette of your potentials opens up. You will learn the mechanisms of this transition and be able to test them in practice. You will have the opportunity to step onto a higher level — to the principle of “Aware and Create” — and never look back.

The architecture of this book, all its blueprints and beacons, rests on one fundamental bet: If humanity stops moving against itself and realizes its evolutionary uniqueness, it will be able to direct Technology not as a threat, but as a Friend.

The author cannot save you from alien cynicism, fatigue, or capitulation to entropy, but this book provides a window for everyone into a better reality.

The book was created, designed, and translated into English by the author independently. I would be grateful for your understanding regarding any possible errors and inaccuracies in the translation.

INSIDE: The Semantic Contours of the Book

Here we are gathering the foundation upon which a new level of reality is built.

— Your DNA Code. The biological basis of your capabilities. Why Humans became Human not because evolution added something, but because it turned things off in time.

— The Traps of Matrix 1.0. The algorithms of getting stuck. Five traps of thinking and adaptation mechanisms that keep you in someone else’s game.

— The Architecture of Reality. The system of the Universe’s responses to your impulses. How the stardust inside you becomes the support for launching the Butterfly Effect.

— Conflict Management. Practices for working with friction. How to exit the point of stagnation without losses and stop returning to it.

— The Laws of the Universe and the New Environment. Theoretical principles of environment design. Four nodes (Human ↔ Technology ↔ Environment ↔ Planet) that must not be broken.

— Access to Superenergy. Practical methods of recharging. The key to mental and physical resources that excludes burnout.

— Managing the Architectonics of the World. Step-by-step logic of the transition from pawn to player: Autopilot → Observer → Architect.

— The Butterfly Effect. How a point impulse at a bifurcation point generates global resonance.

— The Development Project. Planning the future architecture. The future doesn’t just happen — it is designed.

— Awareness. Personal transition and final assembly. Role diagnostics, resource activation, and integration into the final model.

How to Read the Book. Chapter Connections.

The Engineering Map of the Book

How the chapters reveal concepts and the best order to assemble them.

BLOCK I. FOUNDATION (Biology and Traps)

— DNA Code → Chapters 3, 7, 8. Read this at the very beginning. This is the base on which everything else is built.

— Traps of Matrix 1.0 → Chapters 9, 1, 2. Check this in parallel with the “DNA Code.” First understand who you are — then see what holds you back.

BLOCK II. THE FIELD (Physics of the Process and Environment)

— Architecture of Reality → Chapters 6, 8, 12. Read after the Foundation. You already know your nature — now see the field in which all this unfolds.

— Laws of the Universe and the New Environment → Chapters 12, 14, 6. This is the bridge between how the world is structured and how you will rebuild it.

BLOCK III. TOOLKIT (Practice and Energy)

— Conflict Management → Chapters 10, 9, 12. Apply after mastering the “Architecture of Reality.” First see the battlefield — then learn to move within it.

— Access to Superenergy → Chapters 13, 6, 3. Your safety instruction manual. Return to this block regularly as soon as you feel fatigue.

BLOCK IV. SCALING (The Role of the Architect)

— Managing the Architectonics of the World → Chapters 14, 15, Conclusion. The culmination of your journey — the transition from understanding to action.

— The Development Project → Chapters 14, 15, 5. This is not just a forecast — it is a blueprint you will bring to life.

— The Butterfly Effect → Chapters 10, 15, Conclusion. Don’t wait for the finale. While you are learning to be the Architect, start flapping your wing now.

BLOCK V. INTEGRATION

— Awareness → Chapters 4, 8, 6, Conclusion. Final assembly. Awareness is not a point, but a process. Return to it after every chapter you read to see yourself anew.

Chapter 1. Gombe: War from an Outside Perspective

“If an animal did not associate its sensations with reality, it could not live for a minute.” — I. P. Pavlov, physiologist

Imagine Tanzania in the mid-1970s. Gombe Stream is not a tourist postcard, but a dense, humid reality where the forest commands the space. Trails cut into the slopes, vines hang over the paths, the air is heavy, and sounds echo for a long time, as if the forest itself is keeping memories.

Here unfolded a story that changed the understanding of animal behavior. This was not about a flash of rage or an accidental fight, but about systematic intergroup violence — a chimpanzee war. The Kasakela community, once a unified group, began methodically exterminating the splinter group from Kahama. This was not emotional, explosive violence, but a targeted erasure of a rival: step by step, episode by episode, almost without a sound. And that is what makes it all the more terrifying.

The first incident occurred in January 1974. Godi, a male from Kahama, was sitting in a tree eating. He was no less smart than his killers, he made no miscalculations, and he broke no rules. He was not chosen for a mistake. He was simply alone when the others were together.

And this is the hardest thing to accept. We are used to associating defeat with a lack of intelligence: lost — didn’t think it through; destroyed — was weaker or miscalculated. But Gombe reveals a different, more disturbing truth: victory often does not require intelligence. It requires lower, basic qualities — cruelty, the willingness to strike first, the ability to turn off reflection and act like a mechanism. Kasakela did not outsmart Godi. They simply did what he was incapable of: they attacked without cause, beat him to the end, feeling no shame. This is not strategy. This is a pack. This is instinct, not reason. And against this, there is almost no defense.

Godi tried to climb down from the tree. There were too many of them: a strike, a fall, bites, restraint. This is not a fight. This is the suppression of the many over the one. A few minutes — and it was over. Godi died a few days later. But the main point is not the death itself, but the loneliness that preceded it. The ordinary taste of food, a sudden rustle, the recognition of faces from which all greeting had vanished, and the sudden realization: “I am alone. No one is coming.” The fall. The mob. Hopelessness. The cessation of struggle not because he gave up, but because he understood: there is no help.

This psychological dimension is often lost in retellings. It is not the strategy of the victors that matters, but the experience of the defeated. Godi was not stupid; he was alone. In a world ruled by the pack, loneliness is a death sentence, regardless of IQ.

Kasakela acted methodically: they patrolled the borders, walked along the trails, listened, and waited for the moment when someone strayed from the group. The method was simple: a male without support is a vulnerable target. After Godi came De, Willy W., Goliath, and others. Coalition made them deadly; against such a strike, it is almost impossible to stand alone.

After the attacks, the victors did not leave silently. Their behavior became demonstrative: screaming, drumming on trunks, throwing branches and stones. Later this would be called “victorious excitement.” This is not just an emotion; it is a ritual that strengthened the coalition: “We did this together” means we are now even more our own. Cruelty gathered them into a tight order.

By 1978, there was not a single adult male left from Kahama in the south. The females were taken by force, the infants were killed, and the territory was seized. The Kahama community ceased to exist.

Note: This refers to the Gombe chimpanzee war — the only documented multi-year conflict between chimpanzee communities in history (1974—1978). Researchers discuss whether the banana feeding organized by Jane Goodall and her team could have intensified competition and accelerated the split, but the war itself — its strategy, mechanics, and cruelty — was carried out by the chimpanzees independently, without human involvement. The conflict was observed by the British primatologist Jane Goodall along with field assistants.

If you look superficially, it seems that Kasakela won: the territory expanded, access to resources increased. But this is a victory of the stage, not a solution to systemic issues. While the chimpanzees were stalking their victims, humans were sitting nearby — Jane Goodall and her team with notebooks and binoculars. They were recording, analyzing, documenting. The chimpanzees did not know they were being watched; for them, it was just the background. For us, however, these records became a mirror.

If humans could observe chimpanzees, is it possible that someone is observing us? The Observer is not necessarily a person: it could be a system, laws, ecological connections, or a being that has survived the Great Filter. The Observer does not necessarily have a face; what matters is the fact of observation and its silence.

The pack sees triumph. The Observer sees the outcome. The pack feels relief; the Observer evaluates whether this victory has sown future vulnerability. The pack makes noise; the Observer is silent. This silence is more terrifying.

The way out is not in strength or cunning. It is in awareness: the Observer exists. Acknowledging this changes the position of the program executor to the position of a conscious participant. The chimpanzees could not choose a different path; their horizon was limited by the territory and the nearest season. We can. But for this, we must raise our heads and feel the gaze that expects from us not a victory in war, but an ontological shift.

Chapter 2. Gombe: Three Truths

After the war in Gombe, silence fell. Not the silence charged with electricity before a storm, but the heavy, viscous silence of satiety. Kasakela expanded its holdings, resources became more accessible. It seemed the system had reached equilibrium: the predator had eliminated the competitor and was enjoying its monopoly.

But nature does not tolerate a vacuum, and history does not tolerate simple victories.

Jane Goodall continued to observe and soon saw what was hidden behind the facade of cohesion: within Kasakela, this finely tuned killing machine, cracks began to appear. The males who had shoulder to shoulder exterminated strangers were now scanning each other with cold, tense glances. The external enemy had vanished. The “glue” holding the coalition together had vanished with it.

The first truth is obvious: intraspecific competition in biology is the norm; in the language of the pack, it sounds like betrayal.

Figan fell first. Not in a dramatic battle, but in a protracted routine of humiliation. He was one of the leaders. His exclusion unfolded according to a well-rehearsed script: first, quiet distancing — less frequent invitations to communal hunts, being walked past, being denied grooming. These small refusals added up to a new reality: the space where he was once the center no longer belonged to him.

Then came the second phase: systematic demonstrations of power. The young males did not tear him apart with the first blow — they tested the limits. Stealing food, cunning shoves, blocking access to water. There was no greeting left in their eyes, only a cold wait: show weakness, and you are morally dead to the pack.

Figan tried to regain his position in the usual way: demonstrating strength during hunts. When this did not work, he switched to appeasement: bringing food to the young, avoiding conflicts. The key thesis of pack logic is extremely cruel: any concession is interpreted exclusively as confirmation of weakness. Instead of sympathy, they accelerated the decay of his position.

Destruction proceeded along two axes simultaneously. External aggression undermined the body, internal alienation — the spirit. Stress undermined immunity: the body lost its ability to resist disease. This was the ultimate outcome — not a bloody massacre, but a gradual refusal of the body to fight. The pack achieved its result without direct violence: social washing proved more effective than weapons. None of “their own” got their hands bloody — the system simply stopped holding him.

Goodall recorded: “He was king. Now he is a ghost. And the pack waits for the ghost to disappear completely.”

The second truth is deeper: the first war showed that the pack destroys strangers; internal split proved that the pack destroys anyone who ceases to be useful or becomes a threat to the balance of power. The mechanism is universal:

— Isolation. The victim is separated from the group, deprived of support.

— Demonstration. Public acts of power calibrate fear and break the will to resist.

— Elimination. Physical or social removal of the “problem” consolidates the new balance.

The only difference is the scale of the tragedy. When an enemy dies, the pack celebrates. When one of their own dies, the pack pretends nothing happened. This silence is louder than any drumming: it directly points to the conditionality of loyalty. Loyalty in the pack lasts only as long as there is an external enemy or as long as you are useful.

For the Observer, this phase is more important than the war itself. War is a burst of energy, an anomaly; internal split is a systemic norm. This is the basic algorithm of a closed system that has reached its growth limit. The same algorithm is reproduced in human structures: teams, organizations, political groups. As long as there is a common goal, the group unites. When the goal is achieved, the energy of the coalition turns inward. The search for the “weak link” begins.

The third truth is the most cynical: the war in Gombe did not begin with hatred. It began with abundance.

Before regular observations, the chimpanzees lived in conditions of relative scarcity. The introduction of regular feeding (bananas, sugar cane) changed the population density. Chimpanzees, who used to “dissolve” into the forest, began to concentrate in one focus. They became more sedentary, more dependent on the source — and began to defend it.

The bananas themselves did not breed aggression: it always existed. But the bananas contributed to the formation of an environment in which aggression could be structured and scaled. They gave a reason for the consolidation of interests.

Clear formulation: resource determines the form of violence. In acute scarcity, violence is point-like, chaotic, survival-based. In abundance, but with concentration of the resource, violence becomes systemic, organized, and political.

Kasakela became cruel because they were doing better: there appeared something to lose — and along with it came the fear of loss. Fear is an effective mobilizer. It unites faster and stronger than attachment. The chimpanzees were afraid of being left without bananas, afraid of vulnerability. This fear transformed behavior and made organized violence possible.

But this story is not just about Goodall and bananas. It is about systemic nature: we ourselves regularly create similar conditions. Every time we concentrate wealth and protect it with walls of infrastructure; when we build structures where the win of one side inevitably means the defeat of another; when the accumulation of resources creates new centers of power and focuses vulnerability — we are building our own “banana plantations.” The difference is that the chimpanzees perceived the feeding as a gift, unaware of the consequences. We know, but we continue to support concentrated systems.

For the Observer, the connection between comfort and cruelty is critically important. Intuitively, it seems that well-being softens morals; Gombe shows the opposite. Satiety reduces the willingness to take risks, but simultaneously increases vulnerability to loss — and thereby enhances the aggressive defense of the status quo. Scarcity breeds despair; excess, when concentrated, breeds paranoia. Paranoia demands an enemy; if there is no external enemy, one is created or found within.

Chapter 3. A Demigod with a Stone Age Operating System

“We are 98% chimpanzee and 100% dreamers building cathedrals. Inside our DNA, a civil war is raging between the pack’s operating system and the architecture of a divine plan. Who will win?”

Prologue: The Library We Are Only Just Learning to Read

In every cell, about 3.2 billion nucleotide pairs are recorded — a massive library of life experience gathered by evolution itself over billions of years. To read it to the end, the Human Genome Project (HGP) was launched in 1990—an international program to completely sequence the human genome. Officially, a “draft” version was published in 2001, and the complete sequencing of all regions (including previously hard-to-reach centromeres and telomeres) was completed only in 2022. Among the key results is the estimate of the number of protein-coding genes: approximately 19,000 to 20,000.

This is the “genetic paradox”: humans have only slightly more genes than a much simpler organism — the roundworm C. elegans (which has about 20,000 genes). The wheat genome, for comparison, is many times larger (about 16 billion base pairs), but wheat does not build cities.

The paradox pushed science to an important conclusion: a simple increase in the number of genes does not explain biological complexity; regulatory networks, alternative splicing, and epigenetics are responsible for it. This means the matter is not in the volume of the code, but in how it is read: in regulation, timing, context. Genes provide the notes, but not the symphony. The performance is the environment, culture, choice.

Beacon: Genes provide the notes, but not the symphony. The performance is how we design the conditions in which these notes turn into meaning.

Evolution by Subtraction: The Architect of Silence

Humanity became what it is not because evolution added something, but because it turned things off, muted them, retuned them. It acted not as a blind watchmaker assembling parts, but as a subtle sound engineer who knows: to hear the melody, sometimes you need to remove the extra noise. Evolution regulated which genes turn on, when, and with what force — and thereby freed up space for something else.

Beacon: We are not what was added to us. We are what was slowed down and retuned in time. In this silence between signals, the human is born.

MYH16: Compromise as the Architecture of the Future

The MYH16 gene coded for a heavy myosin chain associated with powerful chewing muscles — the “armor” of jaws, appropriate in a world of coarse food and constant competition. At some point, its function was lost: it became a pseudogene due to a deletion that disrupted the reading frame. Estimates suggest this happened about 2.4 million years ago — around the time our ancestors showed changes in the skull and brain growth.

The weakening of the chewing muscles reduced the mechanical load on the skull and changed the biomechanics of the head. But this did not “free up space” in a simple sense: evolution does not work on the principle of “take one thing out, put another in.” It was one element of a complex of changes, where diet, heat treatment of food, new ways of obtaining resources, and skull biomechanics worked together. The compromise was profound: the loss of brute force for computational power.

Beacon: The price of intelligence is the loss of strength. For the brain to grow, the jaws had to shrink. And in this gesture is the entire logic of the “Architect”: to build something new, you must let go of the old, even if it once saved your life.

HAR: Accelerators of Consciousness

Human Accelerated Regions (HAR) are segments of DNA that evolved anomalously fast in the human lineage. They did not create new organs. They rebuilt the architecture of the cortex, slowed down brain maturation, and increased the window of plasticity. One striking example is HAR1: a DNA segment that is transcribed into non-coding RNA and expressed in Cajal-Retzius neurons during the active formation of the neocortex (between the 7th and 19th weeks of gestation).

Childhood lengthened, vulnerability increased, but along with it, the potential for learning grew. We as if “got stuck” in a state of plasticity — and this is exactly what gave us the chance to turn biology into a project.

Beacon: We became smarter not through new parts, but because the brain remained “clay” for longer. And in this prolonged softness lies our strength and our responsibility: plasticity requires an environment that teaches, not one that traumatizes.

FOXP2: Not the “Speech Gene,” but a Switch of Possibilities

Two amino acid substitutions in FOXP2 (in positions significant for its function as a transcription factor) unlocked motor control for speech and the ability to process syntax. Without them, we would remain in a world of growls and gestures — effective signals of danger and belonging, but not tools for agreements and abstractions.

Important: FOXP2 does not create language by itself. Language arises from the environment, learning, and agreements. FOXP2 is a transcription factor regulating hundreds of genes; it is critical for early neurodevelopment and motor control. Key mutations occurred about 1.8—1.9 million years ago; the same variants were present in Neanderthals and Denisovans — showing that the neurobiological basis for complex communication formed gradually and in parallel in different branches.

Beacon: Speech is the switch from which civilization began. But flipping the switch does not guarantee we will talk about the stars rather than fear.

The Fate Timer: Approximately 300 Milliseconds

In practice, this fine-tuning runs into a physiological limit. The amygdala reacts to a threat in about 150—200 ms; the prefrontal cortex kicks in closer to 300—500 ms. The difference is about 300 ms (and variability depends on context, attention training, and individual characteristics).

During this time, the hormonal cascade is already launched: the body finds itself at the “run” or “fight” point. We react first, then invent a justification — and often so convincingly that we believe in our own rationality.

This pause is not a technical detail. This is the “island” of choice you asked for: the zone where civilization can either slip into automatism or take a step toward maturity.

Beacon: In this pause fits our entire choice: to run from the shadow or raise our heads to the stars. And how much we learn to hold this pause determines whether we can pass the Great Filter.

The Four Horsemen of the Ancient Code

Evolution has sharpened four basic drivers that helped us survive for millions of years. In the new environment, they have mutated, turning from survival tools into traps:

— Fear: then — a lightning dash from a predator; now — chronic anxiety before an endless news feed.

— Aggression: then — defense of territory; now — verbal and digital toxicity.

— Hierarchy: then — reduction of conflicts in a small group; now — bureaucracy and the cult of the “right report.”

— Accumulation: then — a bag of provisions for a lean year; now — an endless race for status that never saturates.

Every instinct has a “viability corridor.” Too little fear — vulnerability; too much — paralysis. The task is not to suppress, but to retune: not to extinguish the fire, but to build a furnace where the heat becomes warmth and light.

Beacon: If we do not retune the ancient drivers, they will retune us — through stress, fatigue, and a meaningless race.

We Are Open Ecosystems

The environment gradually shapes the expression of our genes through DNA methylation, histone modification, and non-coding RNAs. Who is around us, what we eat, what level of stress we experience, how the space around us is organized — all this leaves stable marks on the “operating mode” of the genome. We do not just carry the history of life within us; we participate in editing it daily.

Modern data shows that some epigenetic marks can persist for several generations (transgenerational epigenetics), although the scale and mechanisms in humans are not yet fully understood; even within a single lifetime, the environment can noticeably change the gene expression profile — and this makes social institutions, education, and the urban environment factors of biological significance.

Beacon: Social institutions rewrite your biology day by day. School, work, city architecture, interface design — all this becomes part of your physiology.

The Microbiome: A Second Brain in Dialogue with the First

The microbiome synthesizes serotonin, GABA, dopamine, and directly affects emotional state through the “gut-brain” axis (immune, endocrine, and neural pathways). We do not control it directly, but we shape the environment in which it lives: diet, routine, lifestyle. Your mood is not just “you”; it is a dialogue of trillions of bacteria with your brain, where words are molecules and sentences are metabolic pathways.

Beacon: If you want to change the tone of the conversation, start with the conditions in which it takes place.

Cultural Epigenetics: A Working Metaphor for the Speed of Meaning

Here it is convenient to introduce a term as a working metaphor: culture is our external, extended genome. Language, myths, laws, food habits change faster than genetics (over decades, not millennia). They are able to screen, amplify, or retune ancient drivers.

Control over information flows and food systems is not just politics. It is an element of biological power: this is how we shape the reactivity of entire generations. Research in cultural evolution shows that norms can become fixed faster than any genetic adaptations and at the same time noticeably affect people’s health and behavior.

Beacon: Culture is a way to accelerate the evolution of meaning without waiting for the slow brute-force of genes.

Technology as a New Regulator

Technologies are an external regulatory tissue. Writing changed memory by moving it outward. The internet transformed attention by fragmenting it and lowering the switching threshold. Our ancient operating system is not adapted to instant digital rewards, so algorithms easily capture attention, amplifying the drivers of fear and accumulation.

But technology can also become a tool for retuning — if we consciously choose its design: interfaces that encourage depth, systems that train attention, educational environments that develop empathy. In this sense, the design of digital systems also becomes an engineering of conditions that affects the biology of attention and the stress response.

Beacon: Technology is a mirror. It reflects what we put into it, and can become a tool that helps hold the pause.

Ethics as the Engineering of Conditions

Ethics here acquires an engineering dimension. These are not abstract ideals, but a design of an environment where “good” becomes easier and “bad” becomes harder. This is the design of regulatory networks at the societal level:

— Education as training for the prefrontal cortex: attention, empathy, critical thinking.

— Political institutions as a reduction of background uncertainty: predictability and feedback reduce chronic stress.

— Economy as a retuning of the accumulation instinct: circular economy and long-term investments turn the “bag for a rainy day” into a sustainable system.

Beacon: Ethics is the engineering of conditions in which people more often choose meaning over fear.

The Great Filter Inside the Skull

The silence of the cosmos may not be emptiness, but a diagnosis. The Great Filter may be internal: in the gap between what we can do technologically and who we are biologically and culturally; in those very 300 ms that we have not yet learned to hold.

If civilizations are reset, the reason may not be external catastrophes, but that their “operating system” cannot keep up with the power of their tools. Technologies grow exponentially, while the ability to comprehend them grows linearly, at the speed of human maturation and institutions.

Beacon: To pass the Filter means learning to hold the pause between stimulus and reaction. This is the maturation of the species.

Conclusion: The Maturation of the Species

The question is not whether we are alone in the Universe. The question is whether we will manage to mature before our own power makes the pause meaningless. And to understand why the “civilization counter” might reset again and again, we need to stop looking through the telescope and look in the mirror — where choice is born.

Beacon for the Reader: About 300 ms separates you from your wisdom. Don’t let the ancient code make the choice for you. The pause is not weakness. It is the only thing that distinguishes the observer from the automaton. And out of thousands of such pauses, the maturity of civilization is assembled.

Chapter 4. The Civilization Counter: Why Does It Reset?

“The universe prepared trillions of chairs, but the hall is still empty. Where is everyone who belongs in these seats? Or does a ticket to the ‘galactic club’ cost more than we think?”

Prologue: The Question That Shifted the Optic

In 1950, during a lunchtime conversation with colleagues at Los Alamos, Enrico Fermi suddenly asked a simple yet fundamental question: “Where is everybody?”

Enrico Fermi (1901—1954) was no mystic or science fiction writer. He was an Italian-American genius, one of the architects of the nuclear age, a 1938 Nobel laureate in Physics, and a central figure in the Manhattan Project. He understood probabilities, physics, and the scale of the universe better than almost anyone alive. That is precisely why his sudden question, tossed out over a cup of coffee, was no joke.

It was a verdict delivered by intuition colliding with mathematics.

Why did this question become a paradox? Fermi’s logic was relentless and built on facts: if there are hundreds of billions of stars in our galaxy; if many of these stars have planets (today we have confirmed over six thousand exoplanets, with general estimates numbering in the billions); if a fraction of these worlds lie in the “habitable zone,” where physical conditions allow for liquid water and suitable temperatures — then why is space empty? Why do we see no traces of other civilizations?

The Fermi Paradox is not just an astronomical riddle about distant stars. It is a question about the survival of complex systems. If intelligence can not only emerge but also survive to reach technological maturity, why is its presence not cosmically obvious? And if civilizations are indeed rare, what exactly makes them so? Is it the low probability of birth? A short lifespan? An internal self-destructive mechanism where technology outpaces ethics? Or something else — an invisible barrier, a filter, a selection process?

The inevitable conclusion we arrive at is this: The Fermi Paradox is a question about how the survival of complex systems is structured, and whether a civilization can reach cosmic maturity without destroying itself.

The Paradox of Abundance and the Limits of the Search

When we look up at the night sky, we do not see chaos; we see order stretched across a terrifying depth of time. Starlight reaches us from different eras, sometimes telling us about events that have long ceased to be imaginable on Earth. The sky only appears static because our human scale is too small. In reality, the cosmos is constantly moving, restructuring, birthing, dispersing, connecting, and tearing apart structures. It is not literally silent. It simply speaks on too vast a timescale.

Yet, the first obvious conclusion remains: there are incomprehensibly many stars. Just in our galaxy, there are hundreds of billions of them. This alone shifts our optic of thinking. A star ceases to be an exception; it becomes a standard element of cosmic architecture.

Let us take the facts without sugarcoating. Today, the existence of over six thousand exoplanets is confirmed — and this is just the beginning. Astronomy no longer says “possibly.” It says: there are many planets, and conditions for life occur regularly. Therefore, the problem is not in the initial data. The problem lies in the chain of transitions: from simple molecules to cells, from cells to complex forms, from complex forms to technology, and from technology to a resilient civilization capable of announcing itself in space. Somewhere in this chain, almost everything is lost.

This leads to a nearly inevitable thought. If there are so many stars, so many planets, and a fraction of them are in zones where liquid water can exist, then life must arise not once or twice, but repeatedly, in the most diverse corners of the cosmos.

In a vast universe, biology does not look like a miracle of a single specimen. Rather, it resembles a recurring experiment of matter that, under certain conditions, begins to complexify, organize, and eventually arrives at comprehending itself.

This is where the first point of tension arises. We live in a cosmos that is mathematically full of possibilities but empirically almost silent. The formula promises a richness of worlds, while observation reveals a strange restraint. There is light, there is chemistry, there are planets, there is time and distance, but we see no convincing trace of another intelligent culture. There is no universally recognized signal. There is no indisputable artifact. There is no obvious sign of technological expansion. Between probability and observability lies a giant, terrifying gap.

SETI and the Boundaries of the Search

For over sixty years, we have been trying to catch an alien voice. Radio telescopes scan the sky, algorithms sift through the noise, and scientists look not just for signals, but for the signatures of technology: strange fluctuations in light, unusual atmospheric compositions, signs of large-scale engineering projects. We have learned to look cleverly — not through a single slit, but through hundreds at once.

But the result so far is singular: there is not a single indisputable trace of intelligent activity. There have been “anomalies,” there have been bursts that awakened hope — and each time it turned out to be nature playing with its forces, not someone calling us by name.

This does not mean we are alone. It means that distinguishing a civilization’s signal from cosmic noise is monstrously difficult. Or that the signals themselves are almost nonexistent.

The Great Filter: Not a Wall, but a Series of Forks

The silence of the cosmos can be explained not by emptiness, but by selection. Imagine a staircase with dangerous steps. On each step, a fraction of those ascending slip and fall. In the end, only a few reach the top. This is what the universe might look like: not a hall full of guests, but an exam that almost no one passes to the very end.

What do these steps look like?

— Stable chemical reactions leading to life fail to ignite.

— Life emerges but gets stuck at the level of simple forms.

— Intelligence appears but is incapable of accumulating knowledge due to the instability of its societies.

— A civilization achieves a technological leap — and destroys its environment faster than it learns to protect it.

— It creates powerful tools but fails to develop the institutions capable of managing the risks.

The Filter is not a single wall. It is a collection of points where complexity turns into fragility.

Turning Inward: What If the Filter Is Us?

The most unsettling thought of the Fermi Paradox is not about distant stars, but about the mirror. If almost all civilizations disappear at some stage, where are we?

Perhaps we have already passed the earliest barriers: life emerged, intelligence appeared, technology began to grow. But ahead lies the main exam: learning to manage our own power.

Here, the science of complex systems offers a sobering picture. Resilience does not grow alongside complexity. Sometimes it falls: the more connections there are, the higher the risk of cascading failures. The more powerful the energy, the more dangerous the mistake. The faster the information, the easier it is for distortions to spread. But this is not a death sentence. In nature, there are examples where high complexity is maintained precisely through balance — distributed feedback loops, redundancy, and the autonomy of nodes.

Civilization is not “more technology = better.” It is the ability to hold the balance: expanding capabilities without losing resilience; accelerating while preserving meaning; connecting people without turning unity into blind obedience.

It is exactly here that two flows collide: the ancient biological code and the new technological capabilities. Our brains evolved in an environment where “fight or flight” saved lives, and competition for resources was a matter of survival. Today, those same instincts operate in a world where a single mistake can have planetary consequences. It turns out that the task of civilization is not simply to amplify instincts with technology, but to retune them for long-term objectives.

Note: SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) is an interdisciplinary astronomical and astrophysical project aimed at detecting and identifying signs of technologically advanced civilizations beyond Earth through the analysis of electromagnetic signals of cosmic origin.

Three Scenarios: Not Prophecies, but Choices

Recognizing these forks, we see not fortune-telling about the future, but three types of decisions we make every day:

— Scenario: “The Filter is Behind Us.” We believe the worst is over and bet on the long game: we invest in science, education, ecology, and institutions — even when it yields no quick profit.

— Scenario: “We Are Taking the Exam.” We acknowledge that resilience is not yet guaranteed, and we train the skills without which the system will collapse: empathy, self-restraint, the ability to foresee consequences, and the skill to negotiate amidst deep disagreements.

— Scenario: “We Are Just Statistics.” We live on inertia, choosing the easiest and fastest options, and postponing systemic risks for “later.” In this scenario, civilization becomes a hostage to its own growth: the more powerful the machine, the more terrifying the crash.

We are at a bifurcation point — where small actions alter massive trajectories. In complex systems, this is like the moment a drop of water decides which side of a leaf to slide down. The drop itself is small, but the choice of direction dictates the entire subsequent path.

The cosmos does not judge us. It merely shows us the limits: the laws of physics, the finitude of resources, the lifespan of stars. The rest is our work.

Beacon for the Reader: Understand your body, stay in rhythm with the Earth, and look at the Sky. Your body is not just a set of cells and organs. It is an ancient, finely tuned instrument calibrated to the vibrations of the planet, to the change of day and night, to the cycles of water, light, and temperature. When you live in rhythm with the Earth — waking with the sun, resting with the dark, eating in accordance with natural seasons — you stop fighting the cosmos and start utilizing the internal laws of health, clarity, and resilience.

Chapter 5. Our Unique Window

“Imagine a sky without stars. Not because of clouds or city lights, but because they are no longer within reach. This is our actual future. This is not science fiction.”

In a hundred billion years, everything beyond our Local Group of galaxies will vanish beyond the event horizon. Astronomers on Earth will see only one galaxy in the sky — our own, merged with Andromeda. The cosmic microwave background radiation will stretch to a state indistinguishable from noise. The physics of future civilizations will be locally correct but incomplete: it will describe what is visible nearby and will know nothing of the grand scale of the whole.

We were born at the right time. This is a resource. And it is running out. Only now, in this rare epoch, can we gather data that others will never have. The map of the cosmic microwave background is the echo of the very birth of the universe. The spectra of supernovae that showed expansion is accelerating. The distribution of galaxies across billions of light-years. Data from the James Webb Space Telescope suggests that the first galaxies may have formed earlier and been more massive than models predicted. This means the window in which complex systems have time to form and understand something may be narrower than we are used to thinking. This is not a reason for panic. It is a question of tempo.

Inside us, two modes are at work. The first is the Autopilot: fast, narrow, focused on individual survival. It reacts instantly, amplifying fear, status anxiety, and consumption. In the savanna, this saved lives; in a planetary civilization, it leads to catastrophe. The second is the Observer: slow, broad, capable of seeing interconnections, acting from a long-term perspective and care for the system. It requires a pause, effort, and maturity.