I didn’t sit down this morning with the expectation of writing about prehistoric predators. I also didn’t plan to discuss genome editing or the fragile state of the human imagination. Then I read the article in The Free Press questioning the legitimacy of Colossal Biosciences’ so-called “dire wolf” resurrection. Suddenly, I couldn’t not write about it. You see, it’s not just about wolves. It’s about the tired, cynical voices. They are risk-averse and can’t help but scream “fake,” “fraud,” or “folly.” They do this anytime humanity dares to try something bold. Something new. Something even remotely visionary. The article, which you can read here: https://www.thefp.com/p/is-dire-wolf-real-colossal-deextinction, didn’t set out to attack the science directly. It simply posed the question: Is this really a dire wolf or just a gray wolf with attitude? But in doing so, it opened a floodgate of naysaying. There was pearl-clutching and eyebrow-arching from every self-proclaimed expert. These experts cannot seem to tolerate the idea that science might, just might, be capable of redemption. Of resurrection. Of hope. That’s what this is really about. The real issue is not whether this creature meets some imagined purity test of dire wolf DNA. It concerns whether we, as a species, still have the courage. Can we still create something extraordinary in a world hellbent on destruction?

Let’s begin with what Colossal is actually doing. If you read the comments under the article, you’d think they were stitching together bone fragments. You’d think they are reanimating creatures with lightning bolts and bad intentions. Colossal isn’t “cloning” dire wolves. They’re using gene-editing tools. Tools like CRISPR are utilized to reintroduce functional traits of the dire wolf into a modern-day relative. This relative is the gray wolf. This is about rebuilding a living animal that uses living DNA as a blueprint. The goal is to create an animal that fills the same ecological role as the dire wolf once did. It’s not a one-to-one recreation. It’s not a CGI remake. It’s a new version of an old ecological idea—rendered through 21st-century science. And that, apparently, is what so many critics can’t stomach. But let’s take a moment. We should ask the real question. Why are we so quick to dismiss this work as illegitimate? Are we so consumed by our own despair? Can we not recognize progress unless it arrives wrapped in nostalgia and purity? The truth is, Colossal’s project doesn’t just resurrect the dire wolf in form. It brings back something we’re desperately losing. That is the willingness to dream. The willingness to solve instead of mourn. The willingness to imagine a planet where loss isn’t the final chapter. These aren’t just animals—they’re ideas made flesh. And that scares the hell out of people more comfortable building mausoleums than mechanisms for rebirth.

A particularly stale argument I’ve heard in response to this project is that de-extinction steals funding. They claim it takes attention from real, urgent conservation work. To that, I say: please. Sit down. This is the same zero-sum logic that’s held back innovation for decades. It’s the kind of logic that pits progress against progress. This logic doesn’t realize that they can co-exist, cross-pollinate, and even amplify each other. The idea that saving endangered species and reviving lost ones are mutually exclusive goals is laughable. In fact, Colossal’s technology has already begun to influence conservation strategies. Their work with the pink pigeon, a critically endangered bird, demonstrates the potential of gene-editing tools. These tools, used for “dire wolves,” can restore diversity in species on the brink in real-time. The dire wolf isn’t a detour. It’s a door. And behind it are techniques, funding sources, and public attention that traditional conservation efforts often lack. Projects like this attract tech investors. They inspire younger generations. They also make environmental science cool again. This is greatly needed in a time when we can’t even persuade people to stop littering their own front yards. The critics wag their fingers. They demand every dollar go to “existing animals.” They miss the forest for the DNA-sequenced trees. You can’t triage the planet by ignoring breakthrough tools. You can’t fix a sinking boat with duct tape when someone’s offering a blueprint for a new ship. And most of all, you can’t shame people into saving the world. You have to inspire them. The dire wolf does that in a way pandas and polar bears simply can’t anymore.

Let’s move to ethics—the last refuge of the professional skeptic. “Is it ethical?” they ask, as if daring to hope were a sin. “What if these engineered animals suffer?” they worry, as though the entire livestock industry wasn’t a never-ending symphony of institutionalized animal suffering. Suddenly, every armchair ethicist is clutching a copy of On the Origin of Species and scolding scientists for “playing God.” But here’s the thing: we’ve already played God. We’ve burned rainforests, slaughtered species, polluted oceans, and destabilized the entire climate. A few brave minds are asking how to reverse some of that damage. And now, we’re concerned about overreach? Give me a break. Colossal isn’t marching wolves into Times Square. They’re building ethical frameworks with biologists, ecologists, and geneticists. They’re modeling habitat viability. They’re anticipating ecological impact. This is science in dialogue with caution—not a Frankenstein fantasy. If you’re so concerned about animal welfare, then join the effort. Help to regulate, monitor, and guide the process. Don’t stand in the corner wringing your hands and quoting Mary Shelley. We don’t need more moral panic. We need moral vision. And if that vision includes giving extinct species a second shot at life, in a world we made uninhabitable? That’s not unethical. That’s justice.

Of course, beneath all the concerns about purity, ethics, and priorities lies something much darker. It is a calcified devotion to the status quo. The real threat, for many critics, isn’t the possibility that Colossal might fail—it’s that they might succeed. Because if this works—if we can actually bring back functional analogs of extinct creatures—then we’re forced to admit something uncomfortable. We’re forced to admit that we could’ve acted sooner. That extinction isn’t always permanent. That maybe the stories we told ourselves about irreversible loss were, at best, incomplete—and at worst, convenient. In short, if resurrection is real, then so is responsibility. And that scares people. It’s easier to preach doom than to engineer solutions. Easier to romanticize extinction than confront the possibility that we’ve let entire species die because we lacked vision—not ability. Colossal isn’t threatening nature. They’re threatening fatalism. They’re saying, “Maybe it’s not too late,” in a world built on the assumption that it already is. That’s what enrages the critics. Not the science. The implication that the future isn’t doomed after all.

So here’s where I land. I read this article and watched the predictable parade of naysaying responses. We have a choice. We can continue to play gatekeeper for a world that’s already burning. Or, we can open the gates to possibility. Let the dire wolf project be imperfect. Let it be experimental. Let it evolve. That’s what life does. That’s what nature does. The people who argue it’s “not a real dire wolf” because it’s not an exact clone are missing the point. Nature has never demanded perfection—it demands adaptation. And this, whether you like it or not, is adaptation at its boldest. A species gone for over 10,000 years may not walk the earth again exactly as it once did. However, something new will. We need to let it howl!