If we pause for a moment and look at how humanity relates to the natural world today, we notice a strange paradox. We speak endlessly of "sustainability," of "saving the planet," of "green growth." Yet, the same societies that chant these words continue to prize economic growth above all else. Governments measure progress in GDP, companies compete to sell more, and individuals are urged to consume endlessly — all in the name of prosperity. Something about this equation doesn't quite add up. Can an economic system that depends on perpetual growth ever truly be sustainable?
To answer that question, we need to look at the foundations of modern economic thought — where it came from, what assumptions it carries, and how deeply those assumptions shape our collective behavior.
The Anthropocentric View of the World
Modern economics is built upon an anthropocentric worldview — one that places humans, particularly human desires, at the center of the universe. Nature, in this view, is not a living system but a backdrop, a warehouse of resources waiting to be used. The environment becomes an "externality," something to be managed or priced, not something with intrinsic value or spirit.
This way of thinking did not emerge by accident. It was shaped in the late eighteenth century by thinkers such as Adam Smith, whose influential work The Wealth of Nations (1776) laid the groundwork for modern capitalism. Smith's central idea — that individuals pursuing their own self-interest will, through competition and the "invisible hand" of the market, create prosperity for all — became the cornerstone of economic theory.
This might have made sense in an age of limited industry and abundant natural resources, when human activity seemed insignificant compared to the vastness of the planet. But as centuries passed, this logic of self-interest and endless competition began to dominate every sphere of life. Nature was redefined as "natural capital," forests became "timber reserves," rivers became "water assets," and even people were reduced to "human resources."
The result is a world economy that treats the Earth not as a community to which we belong, but as a set of assets to be exploited for profit.
Growth as the Holy Grail
At the heart of modern economics lies an obsession with growth. Every nation seeks to raise its GDP year after year, and every corporation aims to expand its market share. The health of an economy is measured not by the well-being of its people or the balance of its ecosystems, but by the rate at which it produces and consumes goods.
The logic seems innocent enough: more growth means more jobs, more income, and more happiness. But when growth becomes an end in itself, it leads to absurdities. We live in a culture where "buy one, get one free" is celebrated as smart shopping, and where disposable goods are cheaper than durable ones. The planet's finite resources are consumed as if they were infinite — trees cut faster than they grow, fish caught faster than they can reproduce, and fossil fuels burned faster than nature can replenish them.
Economists call this progress. Ecologists call it overshoot.
This obsession with growth reveals the core inconsistency of modern economic theory with sustainability. Sustainability requires limits, but modern economics abhors them. It thrives on expansion — of production, consumption, markets, and desires. The very measure of success, GDP, rewards depletion of natural wealth and pollution as long as they create monetary transactions. A factory that pollutes a river adds to GDP; the community that cleans up the mess adds even more.
How can a system that counts destruction as growth ever be sustainable?
The Separation of Man and Nature
At the philosophical level, the inconsistency goes even deeper. Modern economics rests on the assumption that humans are separate from nature — masters, not members, of the living world. This dualistic thinking is not unique to economics; it runs through much of Western modernity, from René Descartes' "I think, therefore I am" to Francis Bacon's idea that science should "conquer nature."
By contrast, many ancient and Indigenous worldviews saw no such separation. In these traditions, the human and the natural were not two opposing entities but part of a single, living web.
The Isha Upanishad, one of the oldest philosophical texts of India, expresses this unity in a verse of profound simplicity:
"That is whole; this is whole. From the whole, the whole arises. When the whole is removed from the whole, the whole remains."
This mantra reveals a vision of reality where nothing is truly separate — every part of the universe contains the whole, and the whole is never diminished. Such thinking leaves no room for the exploitation of one part (nature) by another (man), because both are expressions of the same reality.
Similarly, in Australian Indigenous culture, the concept of "Country" refers to much more than land. Country is not property; it is a living presence that includes people, ancestors, plants, animals, water, and spirit — all bound in mutual relationship. To care for Country is not environmental activism; it is a moral and spiritual duty, an act of maintaining balance in the fabric of life itself.
In Chinese Taoist philosophy, we find a similar sensibility. The Tao, or "Way," is the natural order of the universe, spontaneous and self-sustaining. To live wisely is to follow the Tao, to act in harmony with nature rather than trying to dominate it. Lao Tzu wrote, "Man follows the earth. Earth follows heaven. Heaven follows the Tao. The Tao follows what is natural." It is a gentle but profound reminder that humanity is not above the natural order but within it.
Sustainability as a Way of Life
True sustainability cannot be grafted onto an economic system that celebrates endless consumption. It requires a cultural shift — from having more to being more. It is not about managing resources more cleverly; it is about rethinking our relationship with the world.
In many ways, the modern crisis is not ecological but spiritual. We have lost the sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves. The forests are burning not just because of industrial greed, but because of a deeper alienation — a worldview that sees the Earth as "other."
The ancient wisdom traditions — whether Indian, Indigenous, Taoist, or even certain mystical strands of Christianity and Sufism — all remind us that well-being arises from harmony, not domination. St. Francis of Assisi, centuries before the modern environmental movement, spoke of "Brother Sun and Sister Moon," recognizing kinship with all creation. The Sufi poet Jalaluddin Rumi wrote, "The universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you already are." These words, like those of the Upanishads, dissolve the boundaries between self and world.
When we begin to see ourselves not as consumers but as participants in the great web of life, sustainability stops being a slogan and becomes a way of being. A culture rooted in such awareness would measure prosperity not by GDP, but by balance — between needs and resources, between human ambition and the capacity of the Earth.
The Way Forward
The irony is that economics itself, at its most honest, cannot escape the truth of limits. The Earth is finite. Infinite growth on a finite planet is a mathematical impossibility. To acknowledge this is not to reject progress but to redefine it.
What if we saw progress as the art of living well within limits? What if efficiency meant not producing more with less, but needing less in the first place? What if success was measured by the health of our communities, the purity of our rivers, and the resilience of our soils?
Some societies and thinkers are already moving in this direction. The "degrowth" movement in Europe, for instance, questions the obsession with GDP and advocates for economies centered on well-being, equity, and ecological balance. The Bhutanese concept of Gross National Happiness, though imperfect, offers another attempt to reorient policy around human and ecological flourishing rather than profit.
But perhaps the greatest transformation will not come from governments or institutions. It will come from a shift in consciousness — from a rediscovery of what the Isha Upanishad called "the wholeness of all things." When we act from that awareness, sustainability is not an effort; it is the natural outcome of harmony.
Conclusion
Modern economic theory, in its present form, cannot deliver sustainability because it is built upon a philosophy of separation — man versus nature, individual versus community, profit versus planet. Sustainability, in contrast, arises from a philosophy of unity. It invites us to remember that the world is not made of competing parts but of interwoven wholes.
As the Yajurveda prays: *"Peace be in the sky. Peace be in the atmosphere. Peace be in the earth… Peace in all things. Peace alone."*
These ancient words, spoken millennia ago, are not relics of the past. They are a message to our time — a reminder that peace with the Earth begins with peace within ourselves. Only when we rediscover that inner wholeness can humanity hope to build a truly sustainable future.
Because the Earth does not need saving — we do.
**References:** - Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations (1776) - World Commission on Environment and Development, Our Common Future (1987) - Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching - Isha Upanishad - Yajurveda 36.17 - Francis Bacon, Novum Organum (1620) - Rumi, Selected Poems - St. Francis of Assisi, The Canticle of the Sun