ACCELERATE PROGRESS

Four Billion Years of Solving Problems

For years, the American biologist Janine Benyus did something that, at first glance, seemed rather unremarkable. She read scientific papers. One described a leaf capable of remaining clean in the rain. Another analyzed the almost unbelievable strength of spider silk. Later, she came across research on African termite mounds capable of maintaining a constant temperature without mechanical cooling systems. Then there were studies on coral reefs, insect wings, seashells, and plants that could survive in some of the harshest deserts on Earth.

Each discovery belonged to a different discipline. The researchers barely knew one another, and none appeared to be part of the same scientific movement. Yet, as Benyus continued her research, she noticed a pattern that was impossible to ignore. All of these scientists were studying extraordinary solutions developed by living organisms, although none of them was explicitly asking the same question. That was when she realized that the real discovery was not any of those individual studies. The discovery was the pattern itself.

For nearly four billion years, evolution had been solving problems that engineering was only beginning to confront. The greatest innovation laboratory in history had been operating long before the first human being appeared. Perhaps the problem had never been our lack of creativity. Perhaps we had simply spent too much time trying to invent solutions without first asking how nature had already solved them.

That insight would eventually become a new paradigm. In 1997, she published Biomimicry: Innovation Inspired by Nature, a work that profoundly changed the way innovation was understood. Her proposal was not about copying trees, animals, or plants. It was far more ambitious. It invited us to change the question.

Until then, we had viewed nature primarily as a source of resources. Benyus proposed an entirely different perspective. Nature ceased to be a warehouse of raw materials and became a master designer. It was no longer simply something to use. It was something to learn from.

This shift in perspective completely transforms our understanding of progress. For centuries, we have associated innovation with creating something that has never existed before. Yet evolution has been experimenting for billions of years. Every living organism represents a solution that has survived countless tests. What remains is not what is most complex, but what has proven efficient enough to continue being part of life.

Nature does not pursue maximum energy consumption or maximum sophistication. It pursues efficiency. In ecosystems, virtually nothing is wasted. What is waste for one organism often becomes a resource for another. Every adaptation, every structure, and every behaviour has been refined over millions of generations through a vast process of trial and error that no human laboratory could ever replicate.

Perhaps that is why biomimicry is more relevant today than ever before. Artificial intelligence allows us to design new materials, explore millions of possibilities, and accelerate innovation at an unprecedented pace. But the greater our ability to generate answers, the more important it becomes to ask the right questions. Technology can multiply our possibilities. Nature continues to show us where it is worth looking.

Interestingly, this same idea also appears in some of the finest works of science fiction. Far from merely imagining impossible machines, many of them use fictional worlds to explore new ways of understanding evolution, intelligence, and cooperation between species.

A remarkable example is Semiosis by Sue Burke. A group of colonists arrives on a planet determined to conquer a new world. Gradually, however, they discover that the planet’s true intelligence resides in its vegetation, capable of communicating, adapting, and cooperating through strategies developed over millions of years. The protagonists come to understand that survival depends not on dominating the environment, but on understanding it. The novel resonates surprisingly well with Benyus’s vision: before attempting to change an ecosystem, we should first discover why it works so well.

Something similar happens in Hothouse, the extraordinary novel by Brian W. Aldiss. Set billions of years in the future, it portrays a world where plants have become the dominant form of life. Beyond its extraordinary imagination, the novel conveys a profoundly scientific idea: evolution never stops experimenting. While we tend to measure progress in years or decades, nature operates on timescales that are almost beyond imagination. Changing that perspective also changes the way we understand innovation.

History offers countless examples that seem to confirm this way of thinking. In 1941, Swiss engineer George de Mestral returned from a walk with his dog and noticed that small burdock burrs had become firmly attached to his clothes. Instead of simply removing them, he decided to examine them under a microscope. He discovered hundreds of tiny hooks capable of attaching themselves to almost any fibrous surface. Years later, that natural mechanism gave rise to Velcro. He did not invent the principle. He discovered it where it had always existed.

Decades later, German botanist Wilhelm Barthlott discovered why lotus leaves remain clean even when growing in muddy water. Their microscopic surface prevents water from spreading, causing droplets to roll off while carrying dirt away. Today, this principle inspires self-cleaning paints, glass, and materials used around the world.

Something similar happened with biologist Robert Full, who investigated how geckos could move across walls and ceilings without using glue. His research paved the way for a new generation of adhesives and robots capable of climbing vertical surfaces.

In Japan, engineer Eiji Nakatsu solved a completely different challenge by observing nature. The Shinkansen bullet train produced a loud sonic boom whenever it exited a tunnel. The solution emerged after studying the beak of the kingfisher, which dives into water with barely a splash. Inspired by its shape, Nakatsu redesigned the train’s nose, creating a quieter, faster, and more energy-efficient vehicle.

This approach continues to evolve today. Harvard scientist Joanna Aizenberg develops materials inspired by living organisms that can dynamically adapt to their environment. At MIT, Markus Buehler uses artificial intelligence and computational simulation to understand how proteins, bones, and natural silk achieve extraordinary levels of strength and efficiency while using remarkably little energy and surprisingly simple resources.

When we look at all these stories, a common pattern emerges. None of these breakthroughs began by trying to build something more complex than nature. They all began with a different question: How has an organism that has faced this problem for millions of years already solved it?

The same applies to our professional lives. When faced with a major challenge, our instinct is often to build an entirely new solution. Yet many of the most transformative innovations emerge by connecting seemingly unrelated disciplines, discovering patterns where others see isolated cases, or transferring knowledge from one field to another.

Accelerating progress is not simply about inventing more. Above all, it is about learning better. Janine Benyus never claimed that nature had all the answers. What she argued was something far more compelling: after nearly four billion years of evolution, nature had probably already asked many of the right questions.

Before rushing to build ever more complex solutions, it may be worth pausing for a few moments and observing more carefully. Because sometimes the most extraordinary innovation does not come from our ability to imagine something entirely new. It comes from learning to observe what nature has been refining for nearly four billion years and using that knowledge to drive smarter, more efficient, and more sustainable progress.