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Where do great ideas come from?
We all know how it happened in our childhood cartoons: back against the wall, a bead of sweat swimming down their foreheads, our favorite heroes would suddenly burst out a spontaneous “Eureka!”, as a lightbulb appeared above their heads.
As a kid, I often wondered if that was all it took.
But as I grew older and followed the fascinating histories of great scientists and inventors, time told a different story.
Discovery is never a sudden spark from nowhere — it is always born from contemplating the world as it already is.
I began to realise that the secret to the greatest ideas lies not in the theatrical spark of momentary inspiration, but in the stillness and patience that precedes it.
Travel back in time with me a moment and I’ll show you what I mean.
Two brothers from a small town in the United States forever changed the phenomenon of travel in 1903. Whilst humans had remained chained to the ground for millennia, the Wright brothers looked to the sky for inspiration and observed the effortless flight of birds. By mimicking nature, they turned centuries of dreaming into reality, reshaping the course of history itself. Flight was already perfected in nature; the Wright brothers merely copied it.
Let’s cross the Atlantic to Europe, where in 1940 George de Mestral took a casual walk in the woods. He noticed pesky burrs fiercely clinging to his dog’s fur. For most of us, burrs are little more than an annoyance. But for Mestral, they became a doorway to invention. It sparked the idea for what we now know of as Velcro, changing the way we cling objects together in the world around us. Nature had solved adhesion long before engineers could even fathom the concept.
Now to Japan, 1994: Eiji Nakatsu enjoyed his hobby of birdwatching, especially his fascination with kingfishers. The little birds slice the surface of water smoothly without any disruption to attack their prey. Through his binoculars, Nakatsy discerned a hidden method — one that would reshape the bullet train and revolutionise modern transport. The kingfisher’s beak and its dive provided the blueprint for how the world’s fastest trains could smoothly pierce the air. The design lay bare, waiting to be read.
These visionaries, and many others like them, share a common thread: they listened to nature’s whispers and harnessed its secrets. By doing so, they became universally recognised as innovators and trailblazers. This gradual understanding of biomimicry – an artform whereby human intelligence humbly learns from the wisdom of the natural world – has inspired some of the most creative inventions in human history.
But while we marvel at the ingenuity of those who mimic nature’s masterpieces, a deeper question arises.
The wing that taught us to fly — who designed it? The burr that gave us Velcro — who conceived it? The kingfisher’s dive that reshaped a train — who gave it its form? And who, above all, fashioned the human mind with the power to observe, to imagine, and to recreate?
If those who borrow from nature’s blueprints are hailed as geniuses, how much more praise is owed to the Original Genius — whose work is no imitation, but breathtaking reality and originality. True genius leads us not only to admire human invention, but it ought to inspire us to seek the Source from which all ingenuity flows.
While divine creation and human innovation share a link, this connection may be misleading to some. Although we have observed this intellect, it doesn’t mean we should ignore the vast chasm that separates human innovation from our pristine universe. As the philosopher Hegel states in Aesthetics: “By mere imitation, art cannot stand in competition with nature, and, if it tries, it looks like a worm trying to crawl after an elephant.” [1]
Imitation reveals limitation.
Our copies remind us how much greater the original is. A painting may capture the silhouette of a mountain, but it cannot reproduce the awe that overwhelms you when you stand at its base. Artificial intelligence may simulate aspects of thought, but it cannot breathe the fire of consciousness or soul. The closer we come to imitation, the more starkly we perceive the infinite distance between us and the natural world.
And yet, even this distance is itself a signpost. For the same One who created the blueprint of nature also fashioned minds capable of reading it.
Biomimicry is more than just a tool for innovation — it is, knowingly or not, an act of worship. When humans strive to emulate the beauty, harmony, and function of creation, they are bearing witness to the One who made it all. Every human “Eureka!” is but a profound confession of God’s eternal genius.
About the Author: P. Ahmad is pursuing a Bachelors in English Language & Literature and has a passion for reading and writing.
ENDNOTE
[1] Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, trans. T. M. Knox (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975)
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