Recently, I embarked on a four-day hiking adventure that covered approximately 80 kilometers of the 1171-kilometer National Blue Trail in my small nation. This journey allowed me to immerse myself in a series of podcasts I had previously downloaded but never had the chance to listen to. Among them was an extensive discussion that proved to be incredibly enlightening. One concept that truly resonated with me was the difference between regenerative and degenerative technologies. While this may initially appear to be an abstract idea, it reveals significant insights about our history, current state, and future trajectory.

To begin, let’s examine degeneration, which refers to the gradual decline or deterioration of objects. It is a well-known fact that everything we create eventually deteriorates. Paint chips away, metal oxidizes, and machinery parts wear down. Components such as brake pads and batteries require periodic replacement. Water infiltrates concrete, causing rebar to rust and dislodge large sections of it. Without regular upkeep, both structures and machines become not only ineffective but also hazardous, ultimately leading to their collapse.

In contrast, regeneration signifies the restoration or renewal of living entities. Note that the term itself references ‘living beings’ rather than inanimate objects. Nature operates on a continual cycle of growth and decay, where nothing goes to waste, and every organism has a role to fulfill. This stands in stark contrast to our so-called 'sacred' technologies, which are essentially lifeless constructs that cannot regenerate or fit within the natural cycle. We extract resources from living systems or unearth dead materials and transform them into objects that we attempt to insulate from natural processes.

The act of food production has transformed into a destructive endeavor, straying far from a natural nutrient cycle. We seize land, eliminate its inhabitants, and “sanitize” the soil, only to cultivate commercial crops that are incapable of surviving without our interventions to eradicate weeds and pests. In nature, these so-called “pests” serve to eliminate weaker life forms, including our over-cultivated crops. Yet, we resist this natural order in our relentless pursuit of “progress,” effectively waging war against nature. Mining operations that extract minerals and metals similarly devastate ecosystems, leaving behind toxic waste and emissions. We take from the Earth without giving anything back, operating under the misguided belief that this planet exists solely for our benefit.

Life, with its complexity and unpredictability, challenges our mechanistic worldview. It is perceived as untamed and chaotic, leading to a desire for control, which often results in further destruction of the very systems we seek to manage. This mindset explains the allure of indoor farming and lab-grown meat: sterile environments devoid of weeds and natural messiness. Why strive to cultivate healthy ecosystems when we can control every variable in a laboratory setting?

The troubling reality of our current approach is that the materials we rely on for these processes cannot be regenerated locally. They depend on long-distance transportation and a constant influx of new resources. Not only do we fail to return anything to nature, but we also require a continuous supply of metals, lumber, and other inputs, feeding a global supply chain that is unsustainable.

This ongoing degeneration of our high-tech artifacts benefits businesses, creating a cycle of replacement and profit, thus fueling economic growth. We have constructed a precarious system that consumes the planet’s resources, generating profit and waste at an alarming rate, all while labeling this destruction as “progress.”

To many, the sight of high-speed trains or renewable energy installations symbolizes advancement. However, I see the environmental costs: forests razed, mountains destroyed for tracks, and resources mined at great ecological expense. The so-called “renewables” add to the existing chaos rather than replacing it.

For instance, solar panels, while touted as a sustainable option, are products of extensive mining and processing that require fossil fuels at every stage. The production involves extracting lifeless minerals and transforming them through energy-intensive processes. Although solar panels may produce less CO2 over their lifetime compared to coal, their creation still relies heavily on fossil fuels, making them part of the problem rather than a solution.

The notion that solar panels could be created through regenerative methods is as unrealistic as imagining a mythical creature. I wish I could believe they represent a solution, but I perceive them as mere lifeless objects that degrade over time. As they age, they become hazardous waste, leaching harmful substances into the environment. We might recycle some of them, but the efficiency of recycling diminishes with each cycle, leading us toward a low-tech existence.

As fossil fuels become increasingly difficult to extract, our dependency on them will expose our vulnerability. Renewables alone cannot support the complex infrastructure we have built. We will need to reimagine our relationship with nature and develop local, regenerative technologies.

One alternative model can be found in the humble termite mound, constructed from locally sourced organic materials. This stands in stark contrast to our dependency on manufactured products that require extensive energy inputs. Not long ago, people lived in adobe homes built from clay and natural materials, a practice that seems foreign today. While these structures demand hard work to maintain, they represent a regenerative approach to living.

However, our current economic systems, whether capitalist or communist, prioritize exploitation over sustainability. Simply wishing for a greener future does not halt the ongoing destruction of our ecosystems, which continue to decline at an alarming rate. From nature's perspective, our technological progress has been a rapid descent toward devastation.

Some advocates of technological advancement may argue that we can simply colonize other planets if Earth becomes uninhabitable. Yet, I would prefer a life connected to nature, even in poverty, rather than existing in a sterile, lifeless environment.

Ultimately, our reliance on technocracy—the belief that experts can manage everything—has led us to this point of crisis. The ruling elite has lost sight of the intricate systems they govern, leading to an inevitable downfall.

Strangely, I hope we do not find a viable replacement for fossil fuels. If we do, history suggests we would only hasten our destruction. The gradual decline of fossil fuel systems will compel humanity to adopt simpler, more sustainable lifestyles, moving away from the complex infrastructures of the past century.

To survive, we must first repurpose what we have, then innovate using locally available resources. We will not be recycling solar panels but rather using solar heat for cooking and heating water. Yes, the future may be low-tech, demanding hard work and a reduction in our population, but it could also lead to a more fulfilling and ecologically balanced existence.

Until next time, B

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