We Can't Sustain It: Working Against Nature's Way, Turning a Blind Eye to the Cost of Progress

In our endless pursuit of solutions, we keep creating more problems to solve. Maybe there's something to that old saying: there are no solutions, only trade-offs.

I catch myself wondering why we're doing what we're actually doing. The more we build and "improve," the more energy it seems to take to maintain it all.

Consider a growing business: from solo to 10 staff, then 30, 50, thousands. Each expansion demands new processes and structures. The organization becomes like a tower needing ever-stronger support.

Think about our phones and apps—each version needs updates and patches. Our cities grow larger, demanding more infrastructure just to function. Each new thing seems to need more to keep going.

"Do you want to improve the world? I don't think it can be done. The world is sacred. It can't be improved. If you tamper with it, you'll ruin it." — Tao Te Ching, Chapter 29

But then I'm reminded that not everything we create follows this pattern of requiring more and more just to maintain itself. Some human innovations actually become stronger, more stable, or more productive over time - with less input, not more.

Roman concrete strengthens with age, unlike its modern counterpart, which slowly crumbles. Permaculture food forests become more productive over time, while conventional monocultures require constant external inputs to maintain yields.

These examples point to something interesting: when we work with natural processes rather than against them, what we create doesn't necessarily demand more and more from us to maintain. In fact, it might even get stronger over time.

So what if we've been asking the wrong question? Instead of "how much can we change," perhaps we should ask, "How are we changing?" Are we building towers that require constant maintenance, or are we planting gardens that grow stronger with time?

"The softest things in the universe. Overcome the hardest things in the universe. That without substance can enter where there is no room." — Tao Te Ching, Chapter 43

Water shapes mountains not through force but by following its natural path.

Looking at things differently now, maybe it's not change itself that creates all this waste and complexity. Maybe it's just how we're going about it.

Yes, letting go of our controlling, force-over-flow mindset would be challenging. The transition would be spectacular and difficult. But perhaps what lies beyond isn't regression at all but progression toward something more sustainable.

So maybe the real question isn't how much we can change but how we can change. Do we need to keep building things that require more and more just to maintain? Or can we learn to create in ways that actually work with, rather than against, the natural order of things?

Before we create something new, perhaps we should ask: What change is truly essential? What are we creating simply because we can? Most importantly, what solutions already exist in the natural world that we've forgotten how to work with?