The impacts of human overpopulation on the natural world have been widely studied and intensely debated. We are witnessing its effects firsthand as ecosystems collapse around us. Less examined, however, is how overpopulation influences social values such as democracy, equity, and social organization. Rarer still is the exploration of its psychological and spiritual consequences at both individual and community levels.
In my previous blog post for PMC, "Population Growth and Wealth Inequality Are More Entwined Than We Thought: Here’s Why," I discussed how rapid population growth exacerbates inequality, entrenches overconsumption, and dilutes both democracy and innovation. These areas warrant further study and discussion.
The recent decline in political and social cohesion underscores my concern that our globalized society has grown too vast and complex to adequately meet the diverse and individual needs of 8.2 billion people.
Research suggests there are cognitive limits to the number of social relationships the human brain can sustain. In Sapiens, Yuval Noah Harari argues that beyond relationships (what is referred to as Dunbar’s number), societies must rely on abstract symbols such as branding, myths, and bureaucracies to maintain cohesion. Similarly, in Collapse, Jared Diamond suggests that civilizations throughout history have ultimately crumbled under the weight of their own size and complexity, unable to adapt to disruption. Sound familiar?
While modern technology has temporarily allowed us to function within an increasingly vast and globalized system, it has done so through the rapid transmission of communication, transactions, and most notably, advertising and propaganda. This has turned most of us into participants in a ‘one size fits all’ deregulated, ever-expanding system that accelerates its own growth while consuming the living world at an ever-faster pace.
For many in the Global North, standards of living have arguably peaked, stagnated, or even declined, at least if we use GDP per capita as a measure. Yet the invisible forces driving our growth-based economy have convinced us that this system is both inevitable and natural, with deregulated, trickle-down economics framed as an unquestionable law of progress.
Unlike the kings and emperors of old, today’s ruling classes have until recently, hidden behind the illusion of democracy. Politicians, funded by billionaires, serve as their public enablers and apologists, while election cycles in most Global North nations force us to choose between two parties offering increasingly indistinguishable policies. Yet the real power remains out of reach, untouched by the ballot box. As their dominance grows more absolute, billionaires have become increasingly brazen—just ask Elon Musk.
This intricate, self-perpetuating system has, until now, been flexible enough to bind together 8 billion people. But several fault lines are beginning to crack. The cost-of-living crisis is one example driven by the natural limits to growth, a speculative economy built on inflated property prices rather than real productivity, and worsening wealth inequality. The result is a hollowing out of society, eroding the middle and working classes. History suggests that such conditions often precede the decline of once-mighty empires.
Before COVID, I believed the political left was winning the ‘culture wars’ but failing the ‘climate wars.’ On principle, I support social justice and equity and recognize that the left has sought to amplify diverse voices and perspectives. However, in practice, the movement has sometimes fostered a culture of censorship. Discussions on population sustainability, for instance, are often met with knee-jerk accusations of ‘ecofascism’ or ‘racism.’ Instead of fostering broader understanding and tolerance, this dynamic has fuelled new ‘us vs. them’ divisions, pushing many working-class conservatives, already disenfranchised by neoliberalism, further away.
Post-COVID, we have witnessed the rise of political diagonalism, a phenomenon Naomi Klein explores in Doppelgänger. She describes a strange alliance between the far right and the alternative wellness community, a ‘mirror world’ whereby conspiracy theories flourish in place of systemic analysis. These narratives are seductive precisely because they simplify complex global crises into digestible hero-villain stories. They provide an easy scapegoat, often liberals or minority groups, allowing followers to deflect both personal responsibility and an honest reckoning with cause and effect.
Now more than ever, critical thinking is essential in distinguishing truth from post-truth. Yet, as education systems erode, particularly in lower socio-economic communities, many are left vulnerable to misinformation, fed a steady diet of sensationalist, oversimplified media. In this climate, disinformation spreads like wildfire, even as the world quite literally burns.
Human societies have always existed within relative truths. Money, economics, hierarchy, even morality, are constructs of our collective subjectivity, shaped through language. Language, while a necessary tool for navigating complexity, becomes dangerous when our egos become entangled in the ephemeral world of narratives. Today, as communities corrode—due in part to austerity and in part to sheer overpopulation we find ourselves increasingly fragmented, living in close quarters yet unable to organize cohesively. As our worlds become more insular, myopic, and self-absorbed, our narratives spin further out of control.
In my experience, the biosphere and the natural world exist (generally speaking) beyond human storytelling. It is the closest thing we have to an objective reality, a physical truth unmoulded by human interpretation. For most of history, the natural world vastly outweighed the human world. Even as civilizations rose and fell, nature provided a grounding force, a check and balance against our self-created illusions. But today, that balance has been obliterated. Wild mammals now account for just 4% of global mammalian biomass. For many, access to the natural world has been reduced to curated, artificial experiences, a trip to the city zoo or a national park, often more about aesthetics and Instagram posts than genuine reconnection.
The ratio of human-made to natural environments has inverted so dramatically that we are now almost entirely subsumed by our own creations. Physically, we are enclosed by sprawling suburbs, towering apartments, and endless urban landscapes. Virtually, we are consumed by screens and social media; an echo chamber of human narratives. With little access to nature, is it any wonder we have entered a post-truth era, where so many feel unmoored and lost?
The psychological scale of this crisis is staggering. How can a globalised society truly address 8.2 billion individual narratives, each with unique needs and grievances? The only common thread seems to be that no one feels fully heard or understood, not even billionaires, who often appear more insecure and unhappy than the rest of us. The more people there are, the more each individual voice is drowned in an ocean of noise. This weight, though intangible is deeply felt. I compare it to Atlas, bearing the literal weight of the world on his shoulders.
No one can sustain this burden alone. In confusion and desperation, many seek simple solutions to complex, unfathomable problems. This is when the temptation arises to rally behind the loudest, angriest figure in the room; the one who projects unshakable confidence and offers the illusion of easy answers. History has shown us where this path leads: fascism, oligarchy, tyranny, scapegoating, and, inevitably, dystopia.
Yet complex problems require complex, multi-layered solutions. There is no single fix, only a collective effort. Our bloated, unsustainable societies must embrace planned degrowth, scaling down economies to levels that do not literally cost the Earth. We must rewild—restoring balance between the human and natural world, reviving biodiversity, and making space for life beyond ourselves. And we must finally confront the population issue with maturity and seriousness. This is not a matter for conspiracy theories or reactionary outrage, it is a fundamental issue of human rights, environmental stability, and long-term well-being. Expanding global access to family planning not only curbs overpopulation but also empowers women, strengthens communities, and fosters economic resilience. In the Global North, choosing to have fewer children has a greater impact on carbon emissions than multiple lifestyle changes combined. A stable or declining population should be seen as a success, not a crisis, regardless of what Elon Musk might claim.
Ultimately, the only way to escape this dystopian spiral is to let go of our self-absorbed narratives and re-establish our relationship with the natural world. To do means actively working to look for connection and common ground among those we disagree with as a pathway towards constructive discourse. For this reason, new activist movements such as Holistic Activism are becoming increasingly important. However, the more of us there are, the harder this becomes both physically and psychologically. Population sustainability is not just an environmental necessity; it is a human rights imperative and I believe, a psychological one as well.