The Beauty of Breakdown: Some Systems Deserve to Crumble

There’s a certain romance to watching something fall apart. No, really. If you’ve ever stood in the wreckage of a once-great system—be it a business, an organisation, or a team—you know what I’m talking about. The eerie silence after the last desperate attempt to patch things up, the collective sigh of exhausted survivors, the realisation that no amount of scrambling, shifting, or “modulating” (we’ll get to that) could have saved it. It’s a peculiar moment, a quiet yet profound reckoning where the truth—long denied, long buried under wishful thinking and desperate effort—finally makes itself known.

And why should it have been saved? Some things are simply not meant to go on forever. In fact, some things should not go on forever. The assumption that survival is inherently good, that a system deserves to persist simply because it exists, is a delusion. Survival is not a virtue at all costs—it is often a parasite's dream. When a system festers in dysfunction, relying not on genuine sustainability but on the exhaustion of a few, its collapse is not a tragedy. It is a correction.

Collapse is not always the end. Sometimes, it is the long-overdue reckoning for a structure that has outlived its legitimacy. Sometimes, the necessary release of resources, energy, and human potential had been locked into something that should have disintegrated long ago. Sometimes, collapse is the only way forward because what came before was never truly viable to begin with.

The Slow Death of Systems

Here’s how it usually unfolds: a system—a company, a movement, or an entire institution—starts with a grand vision. A leader (or a small group of competent, committed people) carries it forward and fuels it with energy, ideas, and relentless work. It’s an exciting time. Momentum builds, possibilities expand, and for a brief, shining moment, everything seems to be going exactly as it should.

And then, gradually, something begins to change. The system accumulates passengers. They don’t always look like passengers at first. Some are well-meaning, eager even. Some are just a little lost. Some have convinced themselves they are contributing despite doing little more than providing moral support from the sidelines.

At first, it’s barely noticeable. The leader (or the few who actually do things) simply takes on a little extra work, just for now. Just to keep things moving. But before long, the responsibility begins to shift—not because the system demands it, but because people realise that if they wait long enough, someone else will step in and do it for them.

Tasks that should be distributed organically instead become bottlenecked, piling onto the desks of the same few individuals—except not in a way that makes the system efficient, but in a way that makes those individuals indispensable. And that’s a dangerous place to be.

Because when an organisation’s survival depends on the endurance of one or two overburdened individuals, you’re no longer running a system. You’re running a candle factory, where your brightest flames burn at both ends—illuminating the way for the comfortably passive, casting a warm and reassuring glow that may seem lovely for a while—until, of course, they burn out entirely, leaving nothing but melted wax and the stench of exhaustion.

And when that happens? That’s when the real freeloaders—the ones who never carried the weight but happily enjoyed the ride—emerge from the shadows, clutching their pearls, gasping at the injustice of it all. How could this have happened? They wail.

It’s a mystery, truly.

The Cult of the Miracle-Worker Leader

It is often said—or rather, expected—that if a leader is a true leader, they should be able to fix things. Not just guide, strategise, or inspire, but fix. There is a peculiar, almost mythological belief that leadership is synonymous with miracle-working—as if a leader should be capable of divine interventions, parting the seas of dysfunction with sheer willpower, resurrecting enthusiasm from the dead, and singlehandedly bearing the weight of an entire failing system.

And so, when a system begins to crumble, the members—many of whom have spent years avoiding real ownership—often turn to the leader with an unspoken demand: Make it work. Fix this. Do something. They remain locked in an archetypical prophecy, expecting the leader to pull off the impossible, never pausing to consider that perhaps the failure is theirs, not just the leader’s. They see leadership as an act of rescue, not realising that their own actions—or inactions—are what created the crisis in the first place.

And then, if things don’t go as well as they somehow expected? Who is to blame? The leader! Of course! Because when all else fails, they need someone to point the finger at, a scapegoat to absolve themselves of their own negligence. But themselves? Certainly not. They conveniently forget the promises they broke, the responsibilities they abandoned without so much as a word, the countless moments of dilemma where they prioritised comfort over accountability, choosing not to address problems swiftly—or worse, choosing not to see them at all.

And when the leader did foresee the inevitable, they dismissed them. Disagreed, ignored, or—at worst—defied them outright. This is not mere oblivion. This is active rejection despite recognition (defiance)—not a lack of understanding, not a mere difference of opinion, but a deliberate refusal to engage with what they knew to be true. After all, it was inconvenient because it required something of them.

But still, they demand their miracles. And when the miracles fail to arrive? When no sea is parted, when the dysfunction remains unyielding, when enthusiasm stays cold in its grave?

Then comes the reckoning.

In the end, they may even attempt to crucify the leader, casting blame with the same hands that once begged for salvation. They avert their gaze, unable—or unwilling—to witness the suffering they themselves created. And while the leader is left to bear the weight alone, they stand at a safe distance, lamenting how someone should have done something.

Anyone but them, of course.

One of leadership's most overlooked yet essential responsibilities is to hold up the mirror—to help people see themselves as they indeed are rather than the flattering projections they prefer to maintain.

But what if the mirror had been held up all along, yet they kept averting their gaze, finding it too confronting? What if rather than face their own reflection, they attempted to smash the mirror instead, attacking the truth rather than reckoning with it? No matter how much support they received or how many opportunities they were given to step up, they refused to look inward.

Or what if they weren’t just blind—but pretending to be blind?

Because at the end of the day, they can be woken up if someone is asleep. But if they are pretending to be sleeping, what then?

The truth is some people are not interested in change—they are interested in the illusion of change. They want the system to magically function while they continue to contribute as little as possible. They demand transformation, but not if it requires them to transform. And so, when collapse inevitably arrives, they act shocked. They weep over the ruin, lamenting how “someone” should have done something—never realising that someone was them.

A system’s viability depends not only on the leader’s competence but on the authentic engagement of its members. No matter how capable, a leader cannot carry the weight of an entire system alone—not indefinitely. A sustainable system is one where its members do not just exist within it but actively participate in its integrity.

However, participation is not uniform. People engage with reality in profoundly different ways, and these differences ultimately determine whether a system thrives, decays, or collapses. There are three fundamental modes of engagement—three existential choices—that shape how individuals interact with the truth of their circumstances.

1. Healthy Relationship with Authenticity—Alignment with How Things Actually Are

This is the gold standard—the foundation of sustainability. It requires a commitment to developing congruent, credible conceptions of ideas, constructs, and various aspects of reality, both material and abstract. Those who engage authentically do not simply accept reality—they seek to understand it, refine their perspective, and align their actions accordingly.

This mode is not just about seeing things as they are but about acting in accordance with that awareness. It requires individuals to stay true to themselves and to others, ensuring that self-image aligns with persona—that who they believe themselves to be is reflected in who they actually are.

The system thrives when enough people in a system engage in this way. Decision-making improves, dysfunction is kept in check, and progress is sustained. But when this mode of engagement is rare—when most individuals choose one of the following two paths—the system begins its slow march toward collapse.

2. Passive Unhealthy Relationship with Authenticity—Oblivion, Leniency, and Intellectual Laziness

This is where people engage with reality in a shallow, so-called ‘instinctive’, and passive manner. They operate at the level of immediate perception, gut feelings, and raw, unprocessed understanding. They stop at first impressions, mistaking surface-level observations for truth, failing to scrutinise, analyse, or refine their perspectives.

Mental shortcuts, cognitive ease, and intellectual laziness dominate this mode of engagement. It’s not necessarily malicious—it is simply inert. These individuals do not set out to sabotage a system, but their complacency, avoidance of complexity, and unwillingness to examine things beyond the obvious make them complicit in its dysfunction.

A system can sustain a handful of people like this—so long as the majority remain engaged with authenticity. But when too many opt for this effortless mode of existence, the system becomes top-heavy, reliant on fewer and fewer critical thinkers to carry the cognitive load. In this state of silent decay, collapse begins its slow, inevitable advance.

3. Active Unhealthy Relationship with Authenticity—Active Rejection Despite Recognition

This is the most insidious mode of engagement—and the most dangerous. Unlike intellectual laziness, where people fail to examine reality, individuals in this category do recognise the truth—but actively reject it.

This is not ignorance. This is defiance. It is a deliberate, conscious refusal to align with what is credible, accurate, and well-founded.

Why? The reasons vary—pride, envy, greed, an unhealthy relationship with ego, lack of vulnerability, ideological biases, shame, psychological safety, emotional comfort, false righteousness, self-interest, or even the lure of immediate perceived benefits. Some reject reality because it threatens their sense of control. Others reject it because it exposes their inauthenticity—forcing them to confront the gap between who they claim to be and who they actually are.

This mode of engagement corrodes a system from within. It manufactures dysfunction, creating resistance, obstruction, and sabotage. The worst part? These individuals are not clueless. They see the same cracks and failings as those engaging authentically—but instead of working toward integrity, they exploit, manipulate, or dismiss them.

When a system is riddled with too many individuals in the latter two categories, collapse is no longer a possibility but an inevitability. A structure can only lean so far before it topples, and when the weight of denial, avoidance, and outright defiance grows too heavy, no leader, miracle, or last-ditch effort can hold it together. It will crumble.

And perhaps, in such cases, that is precisely what it deserves.

The Great Modulation Delusion

Some will try to "modulate" their way out of this. They will introduce layers of processes, shift responsibilities on paper, and conduct yet another round of team-building exercises, convinced that if they just restructure the dysfunction enough times, the dysfunction itself will somehow disappear.

They will tweak policies, introduce new reporting chains, reorganise departments, assign different titles, or—if all else fails—bring in an outside consultant with a PowerPoint presentation promising optimisation. The illusion of action becomes the action. The real problems, however, remain untouched.

Because here’s the catch: modulation only works when the underlying structure is sound. If a system still possesses its core integrity, refinements can improve it. But when that integrity has eroded—when a system is being propped up by nothing more than the sheer will of a few exhausted individuals—no amount of restructuring, rebranding, or morale-boosting initiatives will save it.

It’s like rearranging furniture on a sinking ship, convinced that if you place the chairs just right, the water won’t rise. The system is still sinking—it just looks slightly more organised while it goes under.

At this stage, the inevitable is not prevented. It is merely delayed, dragging out the suffering of those still invested in keeping the illusion alive. And in many cases, this delay only deepens the collapse, ensuring that when the final reckoning does arrive, it is far messier than it ever needed to be.

Sustainable Transformation and Sustainable Coaching

Sustainable Transformation is not about quick fixes, surface-level optimisations, or temporary morale boosts—it is about deep, structural renewal. It requires understanding and addressing the root causes of dysfunction rather than simply rearranging visible elements. Real change happens when the underlying dynamics, belief systems, and sense-making processes are transformed in a company, an organisation, a relationship, or an entire economic or political system.

Sustainable Coaching plays a critical role in this process. It is not just about performance enhancement or behavioural adjustments—it is about shifting how individuals and systems engage with reality.

Leveraging Metacontent Discourse and Being Framework, sustainable coaching helps individuals and organisations navigate invisible forces—mental models, biases, and systemic patterns—that shape visible dysfunctions. By working with a structured methodology, transformation tools, and trained coaches, sustainable coaching ensures that change is profound, authentic, and enduring—not just another fleeting attempt to hold a failing system together.

In such cases, sustainable transformation and coaching is the only viable way forward. The issue is not merely surface-level dysfunction—not just processes, procedures, roles, and responsibilities that have become inefficient or corrupted. The very foundation upon which the institution is built has been compromised. And this is true whether the institution in question is a company, an organisation, a romantic relationship, a family, an entire economic system, or a political structure.

True transformation requires leveraging Metacontent and the Nested Theory of Sense-Making—understanding the invisible forces, mental models, and underlying causes that shape what is visible on the surface. Sustainable change does not happen by merely tweaking symptoms; it requires working at the root level of meaning, perception, and engagement.

This is where the Being Framework comes in—providing a structured methodology for transformation, tools for deep introspection, and a practical pathway for systemic renewal. Sustainable coaching is not about cosmetic fixes; it involves addressing the fundamental ways in which individuals and systems engage with reality—how they interpret, respond, and evolve.

When combined with the expertise of trained coaches, this approach ensures that transformation is not only deep and authentic but also lasting. Because if a system is to endure, it must be built on something more than crisis management, quick fixes, and sheer exhaustion.

Why Collapse is Sometimes a Gift

There’s a universal law at play here: when a system is no longer sustainable when it no longer deserves to continue—when it has become a breeding ground for entitlement, passivity, and misplaced expectations—it must disintegrate, not as a punishment, not as a failure, but as a natural consequence of its own dysfunction.

Even biological life follows this rule. When a body is no longer viable—when its organs cease to function as a coherent whole—it dies. The body does not cling to existence for sentimentality’s sake. It does not negotiate or attempt last-minute restructuring. It simply reaches its endpoint. But this is not the end—it is merely the release of what once was, allowing the very elements that composed it to return to the world to become part of something new.

The same principle applies to failing teams, organisations, and institutions. When they are no longer fit to exist in their current form, their resources, talents, and opportunities must be freed—so that they can be reassembled in a way that actually works.

And yet, in our desperation to "save" failing systems, we often resist the very thing that would set us free. We mourn the collapse instead of recognising it for what it truly is: a necessary correction. We cling to structures long after they have lost their viability, hoping that another adjustment, another sacrifice, another round of modulation will somehow turn things around.

But some systems—no matter how much effort is poured into them—are not meant to be saved. And when that is the case, collapse is not a tragedy. It is a mercy.

Even on a grand scale, we see this instinct to preserve at all costs override the wisdom to let things go. Take the 2008 financial crisis, when major banks and corporations that had long operated on unsustainable models were deemed "too big to fail."

One of the most well-known cases was General Motors's (GM) bailout under Barack Obama’s administration. GM, drowning in debt, inefficiency, and outdated practices, should have collapsed and reconfigured naturally. Instead, the U.S. government pumped billions into propping it up, justifying the move as necessary to protect jobs and stabilise the economy. Similarly, having gambled recklessly on bad debt, major banks like Citigroup and Bank of America received massive government bailouts rather than facing the full consequences of their failures. These interventions may have averted immediate disaster, but at what cost? The dysfunctions that led to collapse were not eliminated—they were merely patched over, reinforcing the idea that failure comes without consequence.

This is modulation at scale—instead of allowing unsustainable systems to disintegrate and give way to something better, they are propped up through intervention, extending their lifespans but not their viability.

And yet, in our desperation to "save" failing systems, we often resist the very thing that would set us free. We mourn the collapse instead of recognising it for what it truly is: a necessary correction. We cling to structures long after they have lost their viability, hoping that another adjustment, another sacrifice, another round of modulation will somehow turn things around. But some systems—no matter how much effort is poured into them—are not meant to be saved. And when that is the case, collapse is not a tragedy. It is a mercy.

Leadership: Knowing When to Let Go

A system that depends on the overextension of a few and the passivity of the many is not worth preserving. It is, by design, unsustainable. It survives not through true resilience, not through shared commitment, but through the sheer force of will from those who refuse to let it fail. And yet, when it inevitably crumbles, those who benefited most from its inefficiencies will be the first to cry foul, insisting that something more could have been done. But here’s the truth: If a system requires heroic effort from a few just to remain viable, it does not deserve to continue.

It is not the job of a leader to carry the weight of an entire system indefinitely, nor is it their duty to perpetuate dysfunction just because others refuse to engage authentically. Sometimes, the most responsible, courageous thing a leader can do is let it collapse.

Because of that collapse—when the weight is lifted, the resources are freed, and the exhausted are finally relieved—something new, something better, something genuinely sustainable can finally emerge.

At the end of the day, “the house which is built on sand will never stand the course of time.” Collapse is not always the end—it is often just an iteration. Whether we perceive a collapse as a disaster or a stepping stone depends entirely on the level of analysis we apply.

Imagine a society making a grave mistake, electing political figures who lead the nation into crisis. It may seem like an outright catastrophe from the perspective of immediate suffering. But in the eyes of history, it is merely one iteration—a failed round that, ideally, elevates collective wisdom and helps shape better decisions next time.

The same is true in entrepreneurship. Most startups "fail," but only in the eyes of those who see failure as absolute—as a binary outcome of success or failure. The reality is far more nuanced. The most successful entrepreneurs in history rarely saw failure as an endpoint; they treated it as a round in an iterative approach—execute, track, learn, refine, and execute again (what the Transformation Methodology of the Being Framework suggests). And each time, they measured progress, not in absolute terms, but in the momentum they built, adjusting their course without losing sight of the larger journey.

So, let’s not mourn every failed system. Some were never meant to last. Some were only ever kept afloat by the exhaustion of a few. And when those finally collapse?

It is not the end of the story. It is simply the end of a chapter.

And that is something worth raising a glass to.

References

General Motors (GM) Bailout:

Goolsbee, A. D., & Krueger, A. B. (2015). A retrospective look at rescuing and restructuring General Motors and Chrysler. Journal of Economic Perspectives, 29(2), 3–24. https://doi.org/10.1257/jep.29.2.3

United States Government Accountability Office. (2023). Final report on the Troubled Asset Relief Program. https://www.gao.gov/products/gao-24-107033

Bank Bailouts:

United States Department of the Treasury. (n.d.). Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP). U.S. Department of the Treasury. https://home.treasury.gov/data/troubled-asset-relief-program