Let me paint a quick picture for you. It is the year 2046. Humanity has access to a limitless intelligence. A hypothetical AI so advanced it makes current models look like an ancient Commodore 64. If you dont know what that is, it’s basically the prehistoric grandparent of modern computers. A beige box of dreams and 8-bit misery. It taught the ’80s kids patience by taking longer to load a game than it does to cook dinner. And thought me to master a triple A B keyboard combination to win at Winter Olympics. Back to our supercomputer in 2046. With its help, we solve energy crises. Eliminate diseases. And maybe even hit the fabled Kardashev Scale’s Type 1 civilization status. We harness all the energy of Earth. Sounds idyllic, right? But here’s the catch: What standard of living do we aim for? Swiss perfection for 8 billion people? Even with AI and robotics working around the clock, my guess is the resources will not cut it. And, what if chasing this utopia (let’s call it the perfect objective) is the very thing derailing us?

On a personal level, we do the same thing. As entrepreneurs, and ambitious humans, we set bold objectives. “Scale my company to $10 million in revenue,” “Publish a bestseller,” or “Be the best in my industry.” And yet, sometimes the harder we chase, the further these goals seem to get away from us. Two fascinating books, Why Greatness Cannot Be Planned: The Myth of the Objective by Kenneth O. Stanley and Joel Lehman, and Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World by David Epstein, dissect why our obsession with objectives might not just be unproductive. It could be fundamentally misguided.

Let’s take a closer look.

The Problem with the Kardashev Dream (and Why AI Won’t Save Us)

Before diving into the books, let’s touch on the Kardashev Scale. The scale was conceived by Soviet astronomer Nikolai Kardashev in the 1960s. It categorizes civilizations by their ability to harness energy. Type 1? Planetary mastery. Think clean energy, fusion power, and sustainability. For all. Type 2? Harnessing the entire energy of a star. Type 3? We’re wielding the energy of galaxies. Like interstellar gods.

Right now, we’re not even at Type 1. And while AI promises to accelerate our technological progress, the dirty secret is that technology doesn’t inherently solve existential problems. It magnifies them. If we use AI to scale up unsustainable lifestyles, we could hit the Swiss standard for 8 billion people. And promptly run out of resources. What about fair distribution? What about consumption with 50% of all food produced ending up in the garbage can? The utopia implodes.  

But the deeper problem is our fixation on the objective itself. This singular focus blinds us to adaptive thinking and emergent solutions. Here’s where Why Greatness Cannot Be Planned enters the frame and gives as a different view than we would expect.

Kenneth O. Stanley and Joel Lehman take aim at a deeply ingrained belief in their book Why Greatness Cannot Be Planned: The Myth of the Objective. Their paradoxically premise: the relentless pursuit of fixed objectives can prevent us from achieving the greatness we seek. Their insights are drawn from years of work in AI and evolutionary algorithms. They challenge the idea that clearly defined goals are always the best way to achieve success. Instead, they propose that adaptability and following curiosity often yield more profound, and richer, innovative results.

They use a fascinating experiment to illustrate their point: the Picbreeder project. This initiative allowed people to evolve digital images by selecting and breeding designs that intrigued them. No one began with a specific goal, such as creating a butterfly or a car. Yet over time, these forms emerged. Not because they were deliberately pursued, but because participants followed what they found interesting. In each and every iteration. The images became increasingly complex and recognizable. Not through planning but through exploration. The lesson here? True creativity and innovation often arise not from strict adherence to objectives but from embracing the freedom to explore uncharted paths.

The implications of this are profound for entrepreneurs. Business culture often celebrates goal-setting as the holy grail of success. “Double revenue this quarter,” “Reach 100,000 users,” or “Get acquired by X date.” While having a vision is important, Stanley and Lehman argue that if we focus too rigidly on these end goals it can cause us to miss opportunities. Ones that lie just outside the periphery of our plans. The fixation on a singular target can blind us to the potential detours. Pivots, or serendipitous discoveries that could have lead to something even more extraordinary – all missed.

Consider the development of Post-it Notes. The now-iconic product was never the objective. It emerged as a byproduct of a failed attempt to create a super-strong adhesive. Instead of discarding the “failure,” 3M’s Art Fry and Spencer Silver explored its potential. Eventually they discovered a use case that revolutionized office supplies. This wasn’t a direct path to greatness. More a zigzagging journey of exploration and adaptability.

Stanley and Lehman’s core argument is that greatness emerges indirectly. The most groundbreaking ideas, whether in business, science, or art, are often the ones we stumble upon. When we allow curiosity to guide us rather than rigid goals. For you and me this means learning to embrace ambiguity. Paying attention to unexpected opportunities, paired with a dash of willingness to deviate from the original plan when the path forward calls for it.

It’s a counterintuitive mindset. Especially in a world that equates success with metrics, KPIs, and achieving predefined goals. Letting go of a fixed objective feels risky. Like wandering without a map. But Stanley and Lehman argue that this kind of exploration is exactly what allows creativity to flourish. When you remove the pressure of chasing the “perfect” outcome, you open yourself up to possibilities you didn’t even know existed.

This approach doesn’t mean abandoning goals entirely. It’s about redefining what success looks like. Instead of obsessing over a finish line, focus on the process: follow your curiosity and experiment freely. Allow the journey to shape the destination. Ironically, this detachment from objectives often creates the conditions for achieving greatness. Not because it was pursued directly, but because the freedom to explore allowed it to emerge organically.

David Epstein’s book titled Range questions the narrative that becoming the best requires single-minded focus from an early age. Instead, Epstein makes a compelling case for the power of generalists. Those who explore broadly, pivot when called for, and embrace a wide array of experiences. His argument challenges the ethos popularized by the “10,000 hours rule,” which suggests mastery can only be achieved through relentless, deliberate practice in a single field.

Epstein draws on a range of examples to illustrate his point. None as striking than the contrast between Tiger Woods and Roger Federer. On one side Woods, the poster child for specialization. Woods started playing golf as a toddler, meticulously sculpted into the sport’s most dominant figure through years of focused training. And on the other Federer, dabbled in multiple sports. Soccer, basketball, and tennis before eventually committing to the small yellow balls. Epstein argues that Federer’s broader athletic background gave him an edge. Fostering adaptability, creativity, and resilience that a more specialized path might have stifled.

The brilliance of Epstein’s thesis lies in its applicability far beyond the world of sports. In Range, he explores fields as diverse as music, medicine, and technology. Demonstrating how generalists often outperform specialists in environments defined by complexity and rapid change. It’s not that deliberate practice isn’t valuable. It’s that in a world where challenges are multi-faceted, the ability to synthesize knowledge across domains often trumps narrow expertise.

Now bring this into entrepreneurship. The founder who locks themselves into a single niche or rigid plan risks missing out on broader market opportunities. Failing to adapt to evolving trends, or burning out in their relentless pursuit of one specific vision. Conversely, the entrepreneur who embraces a “Federer approach” to business, dabbles in psychology, tries to understand customer behavior, explors design principles to craft better products. Or diving into philosophy to articulate a more compelling mission builds a versatile toolkit. This breadth not only equips them to tackle unforeseen challenges but sparks the kind of creative connections that lead to breakthrough ideas.

Epstein’s argument also extends to team-building. In business, as in life, diversity of thought is a superpower. Which suggests a team composed of generalists (people with interdisciplinary knowledge) are often better equipped to solve complex problems than teams of hyper-specialists confined to their silos. A startup that combines: a coder who’s also a musician; a marketer who studies behavioral psychology; and a designer with a passion for storytelling – can harness perspectives that no singular focus could achieve.

Epstein challenges us to reconsider what we value in expertise and achievement. Rather than idolizing the path of single-minded specialization, Range invites us to see exploration and variety as strengths. For entrepreneurs, this means shedding the fear of being labeled a dabbler or generalist. Embracing the adaptability that comes with casting a wider net of skills and interests. In an unpredictable world, it’s not the narrow specialists who thrive. It’s the curious, the adaptable, and the broadly skilled who find unexpected paths to success.

Pursuing fixed objectives, whether as an individual or as a society, often creates the opposite of what we intend.

Want to build the “perfect” startup? You might over-optimize for metrics at the expense of culture and innovation. Want to create a utopia with AI? You might exacerbate inequality and resource depletion. Or start to see Marx’s Creative Destruction as a tool to have less humans to deal with – in the long run – and lose your soul in the process. Want to master a skill quickly? You might burn out before you even get halfway.

The reason, Stanley and Lehman argue, is that objectives limit our ability to explore. They lock us into narrow paths. Blind us to unexpected opportunities, and create pressure to “succeed” rather than experiment. Similarly, Epstein shows how specialization narrows our perspective. Making us less adaptable in the face of complexity.

So, what does all this mean for you? Should you just abandon goals and wing it? Not quite. Instead, we need to rethink our relationship with objectives and create space for exploration.

1. Focus on the Process, Not the Prize
   Instead of fixating on outcomes. Prioritize processes that foster creativity and learning. For example, rather than setting a rigid sales target, focus on creating a culture of experimentation and customer empathy.
2. Embrace Adjacent Possibilities
   Think of your journey as a web. Not a straight line. Be open to ideas, partnerships, or pivots that might not align with your original plan. They could lead you to something even better.
3. Value Generalist Skills
   Build a team with diverse skills and backgrounds. Encourage your specialists to explore adjacent disciplines. Hire generalists who can connect the dots between different areas.
4. Let Metrics Inform, Not Dictate
   Metrics are useful, but they shouldn’t be the sole driver of decision-making. Use them as indicators. Not absolutes. If a metric isn’t serving your deeper mission, question whether it’s worth chasing.

Mastering the outside world and harnessing AI, colonizing other planets, scaling the Kardashev ladder toward a Type 1 civilization sounds all like the apex of human achievement. But what good is building a utopia of unparalleled technological sophistication if the creators themselves remain deeply fractured. Unable to coexist peacefully. Unaware of what truly drives them forward? Carl Jung’s sobering words echo through dusty pages on the bookshelf: We need more understanding of human nature, because the only real danger that exists is man himself. He is the great danger, and we are pitifully unaware of it.

The Kardashev Scale offers an enticing roadmap. A Type 1 civilization would master all the energy available on Earth. Sounds great on paper, right? But what’s glaringly absent is the most critical metric of all. Humanity’s ability to master itself. If history has taught us anything, it’s that no amount of external progress can fix the chaos that comes from inner turmoil. No stockpile of supercomputers or endless supply of clean energy. A world of robots and omniscient synthetic AIs is of little use if we’re still at war with ourselves. Our planet. Our deepest fears being projected without our knowledge onto others. This is where we need a shift in priorities. The outside world is fascinating to conquer, yes, but it should be a secondary goal. The primary challenge lies within. Humanity doesn’t just need an upgrade in technology. It needs an upgrade in consciousness. Imagine the potential if each individual could reach higher levels of self-awareness and emotional intelligence. Shedding destructive patterns and learning to cooperate. Not out of fear or necessity, but out of understanding.

The problem isn’t our ambition. Ambition is what propels us forward. The problem is the way we define success. In the rush to achieve lofty objectives, whether it’s mastering AI or building billion-dollar companies, we risk creating systems and societies that lack soul. And in a very real sense humanity and sustainability. Fixating on ambitious goals often blinds us to the unexpected paths and adaptive processes that could lead to greater outcomes. The same is true on a global scale. A relentless drive to “achieve” can become counterproductive when it ignores the creative and exploratory nature of our human spirit.

Entrepreneurship provides a perfect microcosm of this dilemma. Many founders are laser-focused on metrics like market dominance. IPOs. Exponential growth. But as David Epstein explores in Range, those who allow themselves to dabble, pivot, and explore beyond rigid objectives are the ones who truly thrive in complex and unpredictable environments. It’s not about abandoning ambition but reframing it. Success isn’t hitting one massive milestone. It’s building something adaptable and meaningful.

If we apply this philosophy to the Kardashev Scale, perhaps our goal shouldn’t just be to climb the rungs of technological advancement. It should be to ensure that every step forward reflects an elevation in human consciousness. Imagine a Type 1 civilization where sustainability, emotional intelligence, and global empathy are as prioritized as energy consumption and technological sophistication. Imagine entrepreneurs building companies that not only revolutionize industries but also redefine what it means to contribute to human flourishing. 

We must face a fundamental truth: The path to a brighter future isn’t through domination of external forces. Its achieved through understanding and mastery of the internal ones. Technology can only take us so far. True greatness lies in our capacity to evolve. Not just technologically, but spiritually, emotionally, and collectively. As Jung warned, the origin of all coming evil is man himself. If we don’t address that, the world we build may be nothing more than a well-lit dystopia. Powered by artificial intelligence and devoid of genuine humanity.

Both Why Greatness Cannot Be Planned and Range challenge us to rethink how we approach goals, achievement, and innovation. They remind us that greatness isn’t something you force. It’s something that emerges when you give yourself the freedom to explore.

As entrepreneurs, leaders, and dreamers, we’re often told to “chase our goals.” But what if the real secret is to follow our curiosity. Embracing creativity and uncertainty. Trusting that the best outcomes often come from the paths we never planned to take?

Remember this: It’s not about the boulder you’re trying to push uphill. It’s about how you embrace the climb. Let curiosity guide you, and you might just end up somewhere even better than where you thought you were headed.