1.20 Environment/Organism

Section 17 (first updated 12.26.2020)

Aristotle suggests that there are virtually an infinite variety of species ranging from the simplest plants to the most complex of mammals.

At the very basic levels of life, it is very hard to distinguish between what is living and what is non-living. (On the Soul.I.2-3.Smith). Alfred North Whitehead reiterates this ancient idea in a more modern way. He argues that it is very difficult to distinguish between the body and environment at the microscopic level, he says:

“Our knowledge of the body places it as a complex unity of happenings within the larger field of nature. But its demarcation from the rest of nature is vague in the extreme. The body consists of the coordinated functionings of billions of molecules. It belongs to the structural essence of the body that, in an indefinite number of ways, it is always losing molecules and gaining molecules. When we consider the question with microscopic accuracy, there is no definite boundary to determine where the body begins and external nature ends. Again the body can lose whole limbs, and yet we claim identity with the same body.” (Nature alive 221)

At the “microscopic level”, meaning the domain of reality that cannot be perceived by ordinary direct perception, involves operations and processes that we do NOT know of existing. At this level, there are billion and billions of relations between infinite number of components. The process whereby an infinite number of components can be said to generate-into-being, and decay out-of-being, is NOT a well defined boundary at minute levels of space. At “smaller” areas of space, the opposite conclusion is made, that there are more and more numbers of differentiated parts. How can the smaller areas of space, contain the greatest number of variables? The answer could be that at this level of reality, the rate at which events start and end, is also at the most rapid of rate.

Here’s a polished version of your text. I’ve fixed grammar, smoothed the style, and added footnotes and incidental references (especially to Whitehead and mereology) that resonate with your ideas about scale, observer, and dimensionality.

Fallacy of Magnitude

The perception of the microscopic dimension of reality challenges our ordinary views about size and distance. The notion of size and distance appears relative to the observer—not in the sense that there is no objective large or small, but rather that our mode of perception is adapted to a world in which we are tiny relative to the cosmos, yet huge relative to our molecular and subatomic makeup. How are these two contrasting dimensions related? The answer is that the observer mediates between them. However, that does not explain why there is such a contrasting duality of realities.

Indeed, when we explore deeper into these contrasting magnitudes of reality, we notice that what we commonly associate with smaller domains and larger domains begin to invert roles as we recede farther from the observer. Closest to our evolutionary adapted senses, we tend to assume:

1. Larger regions contain the greatest quantities of matter, and
2. Smaller regions contain relatively little matter.

But this assumption is constrained by thinking in two-dimensional surfaces. From a surface perspective, expanding a boundary outward discloses more space and more objects; contracting inward seems to contain less. Yet this is a perceptual limitation. Our minds and perception often operate in terms of 2D extension, though extension can also be 1D or, ultimately, 0D, which are more difficult to intuit than surface expansion.

If extension is conceived as a tunnel forward within an object, many of our assumptions about size, mass, and weight shift. Then it becomes plausible that what appears to be the “smallest” regions of space might, in fact, hold a maximum density of objects and events—because extension is infinitely “forward.” This leads to a view in which large and small magnitudes are unified: they are the same duration, part of a tunnel of extension mediated by the observer. In other words, the observer is just one of these dimensionless points within the duration of extension pertaining to both space and time. The inverse view is that space and time (spacetime) are composed of an infinite number of zero-dimensional points.

A similar idea to the paradoxical distinction between macro and microscopic scales, mediated by the observer, is intuited in the biblical tradition where the phrase “As above, so below” suggests that the macrocosm and microcosm reflect each other—an idea central to Hermeticism and other philosophies, implying that the physical world mirrors the mental (abstract) world.

Footnotes

1. Whitehead argues against the notion of simple spatial points or instant boundaries. He critiques what he calls the “fallacy of misplaced concreteness”—treating abstractions like points or boundaries as if they were concrete reality. Instead, extension and relations are more fundamental. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)
2. His own metaphysical scheme uses extensive abstraction and a mereotopological approach to boundaries and regions, eschewing the idea that space is composed of dimensionless points. (Wikipedia)
3. In his philosophy, actual entities or occasions are occurrences—processes of becoming—rather than static substances, reflecting that the micro‑scale is densely eventful and bound by relation rather than mere parts. (people.bu.edu)

The most basic event of generating-into-being and degenerating out-of-being occurs the greatest number of times at the microscopic level. In this way, the boundaries that distinguish one object from another are not well-defined and can even appear unpredictable. For example, while the billions of molecules that form my hand are perceptibly unified at the macroscopic level, making it easy to trace where my hand ends and where the external environment begins, this clarity disappears at the microscopic scale. At that level, the beginning and ending boundaries of my hand are not precisely identifiable.

This lack of clarity in boundary distinction at the microlevel arises because any object, when magnified enough, becomes a macroscopic landscape, disclosing within itself a series of microscopic operations. The same entity that serves as a visible boundary at one scale also reveals within itself a set of smaller components, each of which can, in turn, be broken down into even smaller constituents. These components are themselves distinguishable only by disclosing other components within them. This process results in an infinite regress that continues downward into the infinitesimal levels of reality[^1].

At the micro-scale, the boundary between macro-scale objects is undefined because it is, in a certain sense, not “there”. In other words, the micro and macro are not just different sizes, but different dimensions, or rather, different modes of perception mediated by consciousness[^2].

For instance, when we zoom into a physical object in three-dimensional space, we magnify it. To magnify something means to make it appear larger than it is, typically using a lens or microscope. However, this very notion of “appearing larger” raises the deeper philosophical question: is any object inherently large or small, or are size and scale simply perspectival constructs, dependent on the observer’s mode of perception?

To make something appear larger, two steps must occur:

1. A particular point must be selected from the surface of the object.
2. That point must be brought closer to perception, while everything else is pushed away or abstracted into the background.

This illustrates that objects in one dimension are not in the same space or time as those in another dimension. Yet, paradoxically, objects in one dimension depend on those in other dimensions to persist and function within their own. This interdependence implies that dimensions are not independent structures, but rather nested perspectives within a continuum of conscious experience and relational being[^3].

Footnotes

[^1]: This idea aligns with the philosophical concept of infinite divisibility, explored in both pre-Socratic philosophy (e.g., Zeno’s paradoxes) and modern quantum physics, where particles like quarks and leptons are theorized to be among the smallest known units of matter—though whether they are truly indivisible remains unknown.

[^2]: Alfred North Whitehead and other process philosophers argue that reality is not made up of static substances, but of events and relations that change depending on scale and perception. See Whitehead, Process and Reality.

[^3]: The dependence between dimensional layers echoes phenomenological thought (especially Husserl and Merleau-Ponty), where consciousness is always embedded in and mediated by perception. In physics, this is loosely related to the principle of scale relativity and even the observer effect in quantum mechanics.

At the “micro” level, the boundary where one object ends and another begins is not well defined, because the rate at which events generate and degenerate may be tied to how any number of components can subsume positions on a plane. The claim can be clarified thus: the process of generating and degenerating (coming into and going out of being) might simply be the same process as changing the position and configuration of a figure.

Atomic theory suggests that because “atoms” are eternal, they never ultimately cease into non‑being. Even in radioactive decay, atoms transform into decay products until they reach stable states; in that sense, the atoms never truly cease to exist—they only transform into new forms that are stable.

The initial problem of inability to differentiate physical boundaries at the microscopic level introduces how the process of generation is in fact governed by a relation between symmetry and asymmetry. In other words, at the basic levels of nature, there is no perfect symmetry. This notion is deepened if we posit that asymmetry is the more fundamental condition than symmetry. First, we should see how generation relates to symmetry. We can make this connection if we assume that the basic role of substance (or being) is tied to the observer, and that the object is determined by the conception of the observer.

If the observer is indivisible from the phenomenon, then we must assume that “nothing” does not signify annihilation of the object and thus generation into being, but rather the way components combine and relate to form the conceptions of objects for the observer. What it means for an object to generate (and thereby degenerate) is tied to the process of new combinations of components in generation, and the deconstruction of an already-formed structure in decay. The process of the object outside the observer is the same process as the object occurring within and indivisibly with the observer. This is an objective claim: an object that is out-of-view for one observer may still lie within the conception of another observer. The observer is objective in that there is always some observer; otherwise no phenomena would be conceived.

At the atomic level, there is “no” perfect symmetry, because objects are fundamentally differentiated. Yet the relation among distinct objects can itself take on a form independent of the objects. The form that two or more distinct objects share is what we call symmetry. When distinct objects combine to present the same conception, that conception appears symmetrical to the observer. However, if the observer pays close attention to the environment, they will notice that nothing in nature is perfectly symmetrical: no two things are exactly equal, no lines exactly straight; there is always imbalance or deviation.

The environment is a compilation of rudimentary elements—fire, air, water, earth. Each element is an expression of a more general idea. “Fire,” for example, expresses heat; heat is an expression of energy; energy is an expression of matter; matter is an expression of time, etc. (On the Soul II.5) — number, shape, form/matter.

Footnotes

1. Aristotle discusses the difficulty of distinguishing between living and nonliving forms in On the Soul, especially in Book I and Book II.
2. The idea of atomistic transformations and decay is a modern development, but resonates with ancient notions of metamorphosis and persistence through change.
3. The philosophical conception that form or structure can outlast or be independent of parts is akin to Plato’s Forms and Aristotle’s hylomorphic metaphysics.
4. Process philosophers like Whitehead and more recent thinkers in mereotopology (the study of parts and boundaries) explore how boundaries become vague or indeterminate at fine scales.
5. The classical “elements” schema (fire, air, water, earth) is often used by Aristotle and Aristotelian tradition, and in On the Soul he relates them to qualities like heat, cold, dryness, moisture, etc.

Organism is the most primal universal embodied form of reason‑rationality.

(Image of atom; the colours illustrate the behaviour of an electron in a chemical bond)

The word “organism” is a sublate of the term organization.

An organism is a rational form of “organization” because the arrangements of the structure are connected into an entity (entirety) made for the achievement of a particular purpose (function). For example, skin cells combine together to form the skin organ, protecting the insides of an animal. However, a cell is not an organism, but rather a component of an organism; an organism at the basic level might be a single‑celled life form, and at higher levels, a complex mammal. An organism must be a self‑contained entity capable of self‑determination and direction within an environment.

An organism is similarly defined as a whole with interdependent parts constituting the same figure.

When we compare the common understanding of an “organ” with an “organism”, the difference is clear in the former case but difficult in the latter. It is easy to accept that organs have a specific function, but it is not so easy to conceive the function of the organism generally in its environment. The organ plays a clear role as part of the organism, i.e. the whole to which the part belongs. For example, the heart pumps blood throughout the body, the brain carries out motor operations and complex thinking, the eyes utilize refraction in order to see, etc.

The organism also carries out a function in the environment, but the function of the organism is not always known because of one of two reasons: first, the observer is limited in conceiving its function within the environment. In other words, the function of the organism can be beyond its awareness; it does something without knowing what for. Second, the function that the organism serves is always part of a greater functioning within the environment. In other words, the organism is always situated as an individual part of a species, and the function of the species is even less known than the roles of the individual members within it, just like the function of the organism is less known than the organs that make it up.

The reason why the function of an organism is less known is because a specific organ has a clear and discernible function in the body (like the heart pumps blood), but the function of the whole organism is unclear because its role belongs to a greater environment. Also, the idea that the role of the organism is reducible to the mere basic necessities of survival (like reproduction, consumption, etc.) does not fully satisfy the comprehensive depth of living experience. For example, animals fly, fight, swim, etc.—and each of these brings a subjective experience unique to that individual at that moment in time.

The species that define the individuals expressing the general notion in which they belong also carry out a specific function, like the organs belonging within themselves. The organs that belong as part of the organism are not the same in nature as organisms that belong to their environment. The function of an organ is universal and known across all individuals—even though each body carries its individual aspect within it. However, organisms only vaguely actualize the purpose set out by their species.

Individual organisms do not actualize the purpose of the species equally; there is an imbalance of power between individuals within a species. For example, not all primates are equal in strength and intelligence. As complexity of the organism increases—i.e. as they become smarter and smarter—variation between individual members of the species becomes more extreme (noticeable). For example, if we compare chimps with humans, we observe that chimps, although having a hierarchical structure of an alpha male and subordinate betas, generally share more similar strength and intellectual variability. The beta males unanimously agree to allow the alpha to rule them because the alpha exhibits more intelligence and bravery; although if the alpha over‑steps moral grounds, he may be opposed or ousted by the group of other male chimps.

Footnotes

1. Aristotle defines the organism in terms of form and function, especially in De Anima and Physics, where parts are arranged to fulfill the whole, and each living thing has an intrinsic purpose. See Aristotle, De Anima, and Physics II.1. (Encyclopedia Britannica)
2. The concept of entelechy (from Aristotle) refers to the actualization of potential in a living being, i.e. what makes an organism what it is, not just matter but matter informed by form. (Encyclopedia Britannica)
3. Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism considers actual occasions or entities as organisms, not only biological ones, but all entities (atoms, molecules, etc.) as active, self‑determining wholes. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)
4. In philosophy of biology, “function” is used to refer to the role a part or species plays relative to a whole, or the organism’s interaction with environment; but there are many debates over definitions of species, individuation, and function. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

Why humans fail to fulfil the role of the species?

A man is “rational” in two ways:

1. First, he can be rational by understanding the rationality in the world.
2. Second, he is rational by understanding the irrationality in the world.

The rationality in the world refers to the structure and order that nature exhibits, and the language man uses to apprehend a proper understanding of this nature. The irrationality refers to the element of chance, unpredictability, or asymmetry inherent in the world. One cannot use irrationality to explain the world, even though one must use rationality in order to explain irrationality[^1].

The conundrum is that, in order to be rational, one must recognize the irrational. Yet irrationality itself cannot serve as an explanatory framework for rationality. In other words, the very tools we use to recognize the irrational—language, logic, mathematics—are themselves rooted in rational structures[^2].

When we compare one human to another, the difference in the expression of personality becomes too variable to predicate a common kinship. Even within the same genetic family, human siblings often display vastly different personalities and capabilities. Moreover, if we take the human species in general, we see that only a few individuals can be said to have fulfilled human nature, which is to be a “rational animal”[^3].

The reason for this is not because humans in general are stupid—even the least intelligent among us possess some form of intelligence, often in specific or niche areas. Rather, the failure lies in the deeper meaning of rationality, which also encompasses the ethical principle of being good. In this respect, people often fall short.

Humans are generally deficient in moral value because they choose to do what they ought not to do and fail to do what they ought to do[^4]. They are “smart” in many different ways and possess knowledge in a wide range of fields. However, when they apply their intelligence to living a good life, they often fail.

This is because they prioritize what is pleasant, immediate, and sensual. They suffer from weak focus, diminished attention spans, and a corrupt or fragmented consciousness. That is to say, the stamina of their consciousness—its endurance or continuity—is deficient.

In reality, we are mostly unconscious animals. Our moments of true consciousness are rare and fleeting. Most of the day is spent in unconscious behaviours, automatic actions, and transient whims or fancies[^5].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This echoes a long-standing theme in epistemology and metaphysics: that reason is both the means by which we comprehend order, and the lens through which we attempt to interpret chaos—despite chaos defying complete rational comprehension.

[^2]: See Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, where the framework of reason is what structures our experience of the world, even when the content of that experience includes uncertainty or disorder.

[^3]: Aristotle defines man as a “rational animal” (zoon logikon) in Politics and Nicomachean Ethics, suggesting that rationality is the essential function or telos of human beings.

[^4]: This recalls the ethical framework of deontology, where moral value is grounded in duty and obligation, not merely consequence. See also Paul’s lament in Romans 7:19: “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.”

[^5]: This notion is akin to what Gurdjieff and later mystics/philosophers like Krishnamurti called “mechanical man”—the idea that we live most of our lives asleep, and must awaken to consciousness deliberately and with effort.

Protoplasm

Matter is a Protoplasm

Just like the word organ, the organism is self-contained and has a specific function. When we consider these concepts, we typically understand them in biological terms. However, these concepts are not merely newly evolved properties within the universe, but expressions of a more fundamental way the universe operates[^1].

The strict division between specialized sciences has led to the confusion that certain concepts belong only to certain disciplines. For example, the concept of an organism is often regarded as applicable only to biology and not to physics. Yet any honest discussion of the sciences acknowledges the simple fact that each special science presupposes knowledge from the others; they serve as preliminary preconditions for one another[^2].

From the broader perspective of nature, the fundamental principles of each science are applicable across domains. Biology, for instance, is an advanced study of chemistry. We encounter new concepts in biology that are not found in chemistry, not because biology and chemistry are fundamentally distinct disciplines, but because the progression of biological knowledge corresponds proportionally to the development from chemical processes to living systems[^3].

The atom may be viewed as an organism in a loose or metaphorical sense. A material form like light, for example, is not simply a singular wavelength beam, as we might perceive it. Light is composed of a kind of “species” of itself, known as photons. Light is a species of photon particles organized or harmonized into a wavelength extended through spacetime. It exhibits such a degree of harmony that the species functions as a unified organism, where, to ordinary perception, individual photons become indistinguishable from the single physical wave[^4].

Matter, then, can be considered a living phenomenon, if by living we mean the capacity for growth, reproduction, and self-subsistence through internal contact and cohesion. Even at the subatomic level of so-called “inorganic” matter, we observe that it is contained, ordered, and determined by forces that configure matter into rational forms. What “hand”—or better yet, what “mind”—guides nature into these rational configurations?[^5]

The atomic state is abstract only in the sense that it exists as a fundamental layer of being—not in the sense that it lacks composition. In fact, the structure of the atom resembles a kind of protoplasmic nature. Protoplasm is the aesthetic character that the activity of matter assumes, exhibiting itself as the “colorless material comprising the living part of the cell.” It holds together and organizes cytoplasm, nucleus, and other organelles as part of a unified whole[^6]. At a fundamental level, the essence of matter is to be protoplasmic—to be internally structured, self-contained, and harmoniously ordered.

Footnotes:

[^1]: This idea echoes philosophical notions of cosmic holism, where structures like “organism” are not merely emergent biological concepts, but expressions of an underlying universal logic. Alfred North Whitehead and Hegel explore similar metaphysical views.

[^2]: The unity of science thesis, notably discussed by Otto Neurath and later philosophers of science, suggests that all scientific disciplines are interconnected and often depend on shared foundational principles.

[^3]: This reflects the concept of hierarchical integration in systems theory, where higher levels of complexity (like biology) emerge from but remain dependent on lower levels (like chemistry and physics).

[^4]: Quantum field theory describes light not merely as a continuous wave but as quantized packets of energy—photons—that behave collectively to produce wave-like effects. See Richard Feynman’s work on quantum electrodynamics.

[^5]: This raises teleological and metaphysical questions long debated in philosophy: does the universe have an intrinsic order, and if so, what is the origin of that order? See Aristotle’s Unmoved Mover or modern discussions in natural theology and cosmology.

[^6]: The term protoplasm was historically used to describe the living content of a cell. While now less common in scientific terminology, it symbolizes the holistic unity of structure and function in living matter. See T.H. Huxley, “On the Physical Basis of Life” (1869).

Environment challenges the Organism

Consciousness is often confused with self-consciousness, which is the freedom to understand and to act upon that understanding.[^1] However, consciousness possesses a primal nature in that it is merely the determinacy of what is unconscious—the immediacy of matter.[^2]

Take, for example, a lizard. It is necessitated by its habitat, whether that be a desert, forest, marsh, or rocky terrain. In being determined by its environment, the lizard, in turn, determines that environment. It eats, drinks, reproduces—thus contributing to the necessity of the environment to produce, change, and adapt. The organism aims to determine aspects of its environment, and the environment, in turn, provides the necessary conditions for the organism.[^3]

The environment is a kind of system that challenges the “rationality” of the individuals that inhabit it.[^4] How individuals relate to their environment—how they solve the problems it presents in accordance with their understanding—determines their as-ethical beauty (i.e., their physical or existential form).[^5] This is evident when self-consciousness begins to manipulate its environment according to its will.

At this stage, consciousness has developed not only in relation to the environment it has set as a challenge for its own reasoning, but also in how far it has succeeded in resolving that challenge. The extent to which it resolves the complexity of its reason—expressed outwardly—is the measure of its as-ethical development.[^6]

This second perspective is more subjective, because consciousness has implanted in its individuals the innate ability to attain a level of health within a given nature. This is what we mean by being healthy. In this sense, someone considered ugly by social standards, if healthy, is more beautiful than someone conventionally pretty but unhealthy. A dying “pretty” person makes less sense, aesthetically and ethically, than a robust, “ugly” one.[^7]

The development toward self-consciousness is a complex process, primarily because it involves an infinite form of logical relations with itself.[^8] Self-consciousness is not merely given—it is achieved. In the broader scope of nature—the universe—we witness the development of consciousness. Through evolution, consciousness applies itself to itself as self-consciousness.[^9]

The relationship between consciousness and self-consciousness is a complex one. It involves an environment set by consciousness itself—a systematic encapsulation of its logic, the rigid outline of its reasoning—and the individual as an object within that environment. This object is the seed by which that logic may be internalized and expressed as consciousness. The object is placed in the environment to make sense of it, to grasp it as an expression of its own identity. With this knowledge, the object begins to achieve knowledge of itself by manipulating the environment according to its will, testing how it operates in relation to itself.

However, prior to this stage, the development of the environment itself takes on infinite degrees and angles of logical relations, each carrying with it an inherent form of consciousness. With each kind of habitat comes its corresponding inhabitant.[^10]

Footnotes

[^1]: Self-consciousness, in philosophical terms, implies an awareness not just of one’s environment but of oneself as a distinct entity capable of reflection and agency.

[^2]: Here, consciousness is understood in a pre-reflective, almost physical sense—it is the “determinate” or active form of what is otherwise unconscious material. This mirrors early dialectical or phenomenological conceptions (e.g., Hegelian logic).

[^3]: This reflects a mutual determinism between organism and environment, which is also a foundational idea in ecological and systems thinking (cf. Uexküll’s Umwelt theory).

[^4]: The term “rationality” here seems to imply the internal logic or adaptive reasoning capacity of the organism—how it interprets and navigates its environment.

[^5]: The term as-ethical beauty appears to merge aesthetic and ethical value—suggesting that how an organism is (its physical form) expresses something about how it ought to be, through its harmony or dissonance with its environment.

[^6]: This can be interpreted as an externalization of reason: when an organism modifies its world successfully, it reveals the depth of its internal reasoning or structure.

[^7]: This idea challenges superficial aesthetics, replacing it with a deeper, more ontological notion of beauty grounded in health or the congruity of form and function.

[^8]: This reflects the dialectical development of thought—self-consciousness as self-relation through negation, reflection, and mediation (again, very Hegelian).

[^9]: Evolution here is not merely biological but also metaphysical: consciousness, through recursive application to itself, generates new forms (eventually producing self-conscious organisms).

[^10]: The final idea connects to the notion that every environment logically entails the possibility of a certain kind of life—form follows function, but also function forms out of logic implicit in structure.

Environment or Organism, what’s first?

The environment, in this sense, did not develop first and then subsequently give rise to its life form. Rather, the life form and the environment developed simultaneously. The environment and the organism are instantaneous aspects of nature, each presupposing and expressing the other. Every environment contains within itself the potential life form inherent in it, and each life form, in turn, serves as the environment for the potentiality of other life forms.¹

The environment itself, which appears “dead” to us—that is, a lifeless location in which living forms exist and which is distinguished from these life forms only by serving as the organic condition through which beings with self-determination may arise— upon deeper reflection, be seen as an abstraction.

When examined more closely, the main distinction between the environment and organisms lies in the fact that the environment is a collection of varying elements, an aggregate of diverse compounds coming together to constitute a total field of existence. A single living organism, by contrast, is usually distinguished on the grounds that it is singular, possessing a particular character and body. Yet even this distinction is an abstraction. For when observed microscopically, the organism itself also functions as an environment for other micro-organisms. Similarly, when we consider the general environment as an aggregate of things, we see that it is actually a collection of individual and independent organisms coming together to form what merely appears to be a lifeless plane.

Therefore, the distinction between environment and organism lies only in the degree and magnitude by which we conceive these determinations of nature.

This idea of organism versus environment can be further elaborated through the deeper distinction between what we mean by simply being a species and what Marx calls species-being.

The notion of being a species refers to how we distinguish each life form according to its particular and special relations to its environment, and by the rational elements it exhibits in relation to its habitat. For example, each life form is distinguished by its parts—its physical attributes such as horns, gills, feet, hands, or brain—but also by how these physical variations perform a rational function within the environment. To be a species, then, is to possess certain attributes that distinguish one life form from another.

By contrast, species-being represents the end, aim, and goal of being a species—that is, to actualize the essence of life itself: the ultimate purpose of evolution. Evolution, in its movement, tends always toward the development of a rational species—one capable of expressing its ideas in objective form.

Marx captures this when he writes:

“In his productive activity, man objectifies his species-life; he duplicates himself not only intellectually, as in consciousness, but actively, in reality.”
— Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts (1844)

Humans have the unique capacity to make their life activity itself an object of will and consciousness. Unlike animals, whose activity is determined directly by instinct, human beings can reflect upon their actions, plan them, and shape the world according to ideas or purposes.

However, with the positive end of those ideas also comes the negative means of actualizing them. During the process of transforming ideas into reality, these ideas undergo an evolutionary process—and not all ideas are good. History demonstrates that, as Hegel observes, the ideas of men are often destructive toward the species. Yet on the other hand, because humanity possesses the power of development through ideas, history is also marked by breakthroughs—moments of technological and moral advancement that create the environment and habitat for future generations.

When those future generations arrive, they in turn create a new set of ideas that are also evolutionary—and though many of them may be destructive, they still generate positive outcomes through the very process of their unfolding.

The process involves the connection of potentialities to form a particular actuality, and that actuality, once realized, takes the form of what it was potentially.² In the process of evolution, for instance, each life form manifests a specific logical relation of Reason.³ Every life form is thus an expression of a logical proposition, following a long chain of rational development.⁴

Through evolution, Reason reaches a stage at which it can project its logical expressions into objective forms, allowing these forms to interact both with their environments and with each other.⁵ Within this relation lies an implicit aim toward producing—by the most economical means—that one object encompassing all logical expressions: the object of all objects, the species-being.⁶

It has been explained earlier that each animal represents an ethical virtue, which in turn expresses a particular logical proposition.⁷

Footnotes

1. This conception parallels ecological holism and dialectical perspectives in nature, where environment and organism are viewed as mutually constitutive.
2. Compare with Aristotelian notions of potentiality (dynamis) and actuality (energeia).
3. The term “Reason” here may allude to Hegel’s Logos or dialectical rationality inherent in nature.
4. This reflects the idea that evolution can be interpreted as a rational unfolding of forms.
5. See also discussions on the self-consciousness of Reason in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit.
6. “Species-being” (Gattungswesen) recalls Marx’s adaptation of Hegelian concepts, referring to humanity’s universal essence.
7. Each animal as an “ethical virtue” could be interpreted as a symbolic expression of particular rational or moral qualities within the natural order.

Vulgar Darwinism

The actuality of the logical relation is expressed as an ethical feature.

The Ethical Trait Leading to Self-Consciousness

What ethical trait in nature led to the development of self-consciousness? Every ethical trait is closely linked to self-consciousness, for the exhibition of ethical behavior denotes the emergence of self-awareness.

In Darwin’s theory of evolution, it is well established that human beings share a common ancestry with apes.¹ In this sense, the human being can be traced back to the same genetic information as what we call today monkeys or chimpanzees. The fundamentalist religious view, on the other hand, automatically dismisses this fact, based on the observation that humans and monkeys appear very different to the naked eye. However, a closer look into their genetic makeup reveals that humans and chimpanzees share approximately 98.8% of their DNA.² The religious are, however, correct in observing that even a tiny difference in genetic and physical variation can produce vast psychological and rational differences. Humans have evolved technology, art, philosophy, and other higher forms of culture, and are therefore vastly distinct in their developmental trajectory. Thus, their abstraction—that humans share almost 99% of their physical genes with monkeys—means little when compared to the immense difference that mental development introduces into the course of historical evolution.

Why, then, do we share such close genetic similarity with chimpanzees, yet display such drastic differences in evolutionary development? If the body (genes) determines the proximity between species, then why are humans so much more advanced than chimps, when genetically we are nearly identical? The immediate answer seems to be that humans possess a more developed mind. The vulgar materialist would argue that the mind is simply part of the body, reducible to brain activity.

However, in philosophical terms, the term mind does not refer merely to the organ (the brain), but to the quality of that organ—its power of thought, its ability to determine reality into being, and ultimately its capacity for higher ethical relations. These include the development of technology, and its application in relation both to nature and to other human beings.³ It is precisely this power that distinguishes humans from other animals—something that Darwinian genetics alone cannot explain merely by comparing sequences of DNA.

The religious type, such as the Christian fundamentalist, is ironically also a vulgar empiricist in the sense that they judge by immediate appearances. Seeing that humans appear civilized while monkeys appear savage, they dismiss any familial link based on outward difference. They are correct to focus on the moral worth of beings, but their error lies in overlooking the genetic continuity between humans and apes—a continuity visible not to the naked eye, but at the molecular and subatomic levels.

If both humans and apes are, as religion maintains, made by God, then one must ask: are they merely different prototypes? Do the religious adherents consider that God may have created one form at one time, and a more advanced form at a later time? Or do they believe that God made all beings simultaneously and eternally, without development? If God is eternal, then He cannot be subject to time. But if creation develops over time, it would imply that God Himself improves or changes—which would contradict His perfection and immutability.⁴ This exposes a deeper logical contradiction within creationism: development inherently contradicts the nature of an all-powerful, perfect being. This doctrine, stripped of empirical grounding, represents a misapplication of induction—the false inference of universal laws from isolated appearances.⁵

The religious would say that we are made in the image of God, and that the image of God is eternal and unchanging; therefore, humans have always existed. Yet even if this is true—and it may well be true—what we experience in time as the absence of humans may, in fact, be merely lapses in time during which humanity itself is undergoing change.

On the opposite side, the Darwinian evolutionist asserts that humans and apes share a common ancestor, but who stops there, also misses the notion of development—though in the reverse way. Whereas the religious thinker fails to see any development at all, the Darwinian fails to explain the qualitative leap from ape to human, often invoking a “missing link” as an evasion of the deeper question of transformation.⁶

To truly explain the development of one from the other, we must look to the ethical trait that both apes and humans share. Is there an ethical trait common to both species—two beings distinguished only by a gap in advancement, yet nearly identical genetically?

Let us look at the nature of monkeys. Monkeys, by their very behavior, are curious and materially inclined—two traits that complement each other in the practical exploration of nature. They delight in hoarding and examining objects. This behavior foreshadows the later human ability to adopt and create tools, but more importantly, it laid the foundation for the development of omnivory. The risk of being an omnivore lies in consuming poisonous substances, which in turn requires heightened memory and attentiveness. The reward, however, is access to a wide range of nutrients, some of which may have contributed to the development of the brain and the early emergence of consciousness.⁷

The Relationship Between Life and Environment

It is not the environment that makes life, but rather life that makes the environment. This notion runs contrary to our perception, since we tend to believe that the environment endures while life comes and goes in a continuous cycle of birth and death. Moreover, the environment seems to nurture life, and thus appears as its sustaining cause.

However, Reason often operates inversely to ordinary understanding. If understanding tells us that the environment is the cause of life because it endures, while life is transient, then we must invert this assumption. Because life is ever-changing, self-determining, and developmental, it may be said to create the stability of its environment precisely to sustain its own continuity.⁸

Evidence for this can be found by examining the most primitive forms of life—the protocell, the seed of life that may even exist beyond Earth, migrating through space-time and shaping the conditions necessary for its own flourishing.⁹

To understand life, then, is to understand information. Life is the active determination of Reason in the world, while information is this very activity of Reason manifesting itself in material form.

Footnotes

1. Charles Darwin, On the Origin of Species (1859).
2. The 98.8% genetic similarity between humans and chimpanzees is established in comparative genomics; see Mikkelsen et al., Nature 437 (2005): 69–87.
3. G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of Nature, and Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844.
4. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I, Q9, on divine immutability.
5. Francis Bacon, Novum Organum, warns of the errors of induction based on limited experience.
6. Stephen Jay Gould, The Structure of Evolutionary Theory (2002), discusses the concept of “missing links” as a flawed metaphor for evolutionary continuity.
7. Richard Wrangham, Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human (2009), explores the link between diet, brain development, and human evolution.
8. This dialectical inversion echoes Hegel’s Science of Logic, where cause and effect are shown to be reciprocal determinations.
9. Research on protocells and astrobiology suggests that organic precursors of life (lipid vesicles, amino acids) exist in meteorites and interstellar dust; see NASA Astrobiology Institute reports (2020–2024).

(see related section, the soul is the body)

Ecology

In the science of ecology, which is the study of ecosystems, we learn that the organism is not simply an organism in an environment, but rather that the organism and environment form a unified field of behavior.¹ We can take this insight further and say that the organism is not in the environment, but that the environment is in the conception of the organism. In other words, the environment is the conception of the organism.

When we observe a particular ecosystem, we are, in fact, observing the conception of the organism. For example, the city is the environmental conception of human beings, because it is a production of human creativity. As a production, it exists objectively for any being capable of conceiving it. The ant, for instance, may scurry across the concrete city block, yet it has no understanding that what is before it is a city, even though it objectively exists as one and even though the ant thrives within it. Likewise, what we call the forest—from the standpoint of microorganisms—may appear simply as a collection of trees, yet it could, in a broader sense, be a more complex organism.²

Productivity is the objective manifestation of creativity. An idea becomes objective when it takes the form of a material production. The organism, therefore, is not merely a body among other bodies within an environment; rather, what we identify as the individual body of the organism is itself an abstraction of the environment.³

The term abstraction has various meanings that require qualification to fully grasp its conceptual depth. As a principle of Reason, abstraction universally refers to the simultaneity and instantaneousness of the intricate network of logical relations. More particularly, it denotes the specification of these logical relations as they appear to understanding, which divides them into discrete categories and phenomena.⁴

Consider the example of the fish and water. The fish is to the compound H₂O what the cell is to its physical substrate. The compound H₂O represents the physics of the cell, since it expresses the physical relation between hydrogen and oxygen. The physics is thus the relation between the compound and the cell—that is, between water and the fish. The water is maintained by the cells of the fish, while the cells of the fish are maintained by the compound water. Their mutual relation constitutes the consciousness that sustains them as distinct objects for perception. The water is unconscious of the fish, while the fish is conscious of the water. Yet both belong to one unified whole of life, which is active and self-sustaining.⁵

The internal relation between two principles maintains one as something external. The cell, which appears as an external object, involves within it the internal relation between physics and compound. These two—physics and compound—are of the same substance, even though the cell appears as something different. Observation perceives only external relations between objects, not their inherent internal relations, which are what truly sustain them.

Whenever we perceive a cell, we cannot simultaneously perceive the physics and the compound that constitute it; we only perceive the cell in relation to another cell. This self-relation is the internal relation between inverse principles. Similarly, when we perceive a compound, we do not perceive how it exists as cell in physics; and when we perceive physics, we do not see how the compound exists within the cell.⁶

Footnotes

1. Alan Watts, “The World as Self, The World as Emptiness,” lecture recording (YouTube, 1960s). Watts discusses the unity of organism and environment as a single behavioral field.
2. See James Lovelock, Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth (1979), which presents Earth as a self-regulating living organism.
3. G.W.F. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit (1807), on the relation between substance and subject as mutually determining aspects of reality.
4. Ibid., and Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason (1781), on abstraction as the operation of understanding that divides the manifold of intuition.
5. Jakob von Uexküll, A Foray into the Worlds of Animals and Humans (1934), introduces the concept of Umwelt, describing the world as perceived differently by each organism.
6. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality (1929), also explores internal and external relations as aspects of one processual reality.

Infinitely indivisible – finitely divisible

The cell, compound, and space-time are universal forms of being; they share the same substantial nature, though our understanding distinguishes them conceptually. The content of their nature is infinite and indivisible. For example, the cells of amphibians differ from those of mammals, and even within a single organism there exists a vast diversity of cells—hair cells differ from organ cells, and so on. The indivisibility of these forms signifies that infinity itself is developmental. Every divisibility is a sign of advancement—that is, of infinity unfolding itself—and in every advancement there arises a greater degree of divisibility.

In mammals, for instance, there exists a greater variety and specialization of cells, reflecting a higher quality of organization. Infinity is measured not by quantity, but by quality; for there is quality within quality, and thus infinity becomes inevitable—each advancement in quality is itself an increase in quality. Mammals, in contrast to amphibians, exhibit a higher capacity for movement and thought, and therefore a greater potentiality of being.¹

Natural selection may be regarded as the ethical and aesthetic construction of the objective specimen.²

The adaptation of organisms is, in this sense, a rational acquaintance with the objects of mind. The objects in the environment are the reflections of the organism’s own ideas, through which the organism derives knowledge of itself.³

Evolution, then, is the development of the object toward the ideal of the idea—the progress of nature toward self-understanding. The advancement of organisms represents the perfection of their organ systems, through which nature increasingly manifests its rational design.

The dinosaur stage laid the foundation for the later physical species that would be perfected throughout the course of evolution. The era of marine life represents an early stage in which the lung organ was first developed for breathing. The gills of fish extract oxygen from the compound H₂O—a rational system of elemental differentiation. Once the fish was able to distinguish oxygen as a distinct element, it could transition toward life on land.

In mammals, the lungs are more passively receptive to oxygen than gills, for while water is denser than air and requires active filtering for oxygen, the lungs receive air with relative ease. This transition represents an evolutionary development of the organ system as a mode of processing the element of knowledge: in the gills, oxygen had to be differentiated from hydrogen; in the lungs, oxygen merely needs to be remembered.⁴

(Here, the process of breathing may be expressed geometrically: an oscillating motion of contraction and expansion—up and down, circular and rhythmic—representing the dynamic equilibrium of the organism with its environment.)⁵

Reptilian life on land marks the development of the digestive system—the refinement of swallowing, metabolism, and internal transformation.

Thus, we can recognize two simultaneous processes of development occurring throughout evolution. First, there is the evolutionary progression of species themselves—from fish, to reptile, to bird, to mammal. Second, there is the physiological development within each organism—the evolution of the internal organs, nervous system, and brain. These internal structures are themselves organisms of evolution—the environment within the organism, each developing through the expression of the individual species.⁶

Among mammals, there emerges a special emphasis on the development of vision—a heightened relation between organism and light.

Environment Within the Organism

From an evolutionary standpoint, we tend to perceive the organism as existing in its environment, and Darwinian thought limits this relationship to a simple interaction—the organism occupying a habitat.⁷ However, the deeper question of how the environment is disclosed by the organism is often overlooked. If we assume only that the organism exists in the environment, but not that the environment exists within the organism, we cannot adequately explain how organisms so precisely interact with vast and complex surroundings.

For example, it is not obvious how tiny insects can locate food sources across extensive terrain. It would be inaccurate to claim that they randomly stumble upon nourishment, for when food is available, a variety of insects rapidly organize around it. If one leaves out a half-eaten fruit, the next day it will be surrounded by a multitude of different species, each having somehow located it. How is this possible?

The answer must be that the organism possesses, at some level, an unconscious knowledge of its environment—a kind of internal map of its surroundings. The idea that the environment is disclosed within the mind of the organism can be understood through the principle of zero-point energy, which implies that all points in space and time are informationally connected.⁸

Thus, the environment that discloses all organisms is, in part, disclosed within each organism. The organism and environment are simultaneous constructions of one another—one serving as determination, the other as determinism. Evolution, then, is the mutual construction of environment and organism, each determining the other’s possibility.⁹

Each organism, at a given level of development, corresponds to a particular environmental field. The environment of bacteria is not the same as that of mammals: for microorganisms, the body of a mammal may itself constitute the environment. The skin of mammals, for example, functions as a harsh environment for bacteria—complete with its own microclimates of pores, oils, and folds. When bacteria penetrate the skin, the body produces eruptions (pimples), which resemble volcanoes on Earth—an environmental reaction ejecting intruders. The mammalian skin thus represents an adaptation to its broader environment, yet for the bacteria living within it, it constitutes only a partial, mock environment—a world within a world.¹⁰

As life develops, so too does its environment, each shaping the other. The cell itself may be viewed as an environment—a paradise of balance that forms the very basis of life.

Moral Analogy

Likewise, in moral philosophy, the means cannot determine the end unless the means is first adopted as an end in itself. The means must be determined by the end in order to function as the means. For example, sleep as the means to health must be embraced as an end in itself for it to truly serve health. The cycle of sleep and wakefulness is determined by the cosmic cycle of day and night—one of the most primal expressions of life.

The development of the eye began when primitive bacteria ascended toward light and descended again into darkness. This early rhythmic relation to light signaled the first stirrings of consciousness. Those that remained in darkness did not evolve; those that moved between light and dark developed vision and the capacity for motion, enabling them to pursue food and knowledge alike.¹¹

Footnotes

1. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book XII, on substance and potentiality; G.W.F. Hegel, Science of Logic, on the infinity of quality.
2. Charles Darwin, On the Origin of Species (1859); Friedrich Engels, Dialectics of Nature (1883), on nature’s ethical dialectic.
3. Jakob von Uexküll, A Foray into the Worlds of Animals and Humans (1934), on the organism’s Umwelt as a reflection of its inner structure.
4. Erwin Schrödinger, What Is Life? (1944), on the molecular differentiation that defines living systems.
5. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality (1929), on rhythmic process as the geometry of life.
6. Hegel, Philosophy of Nature, on the inner organism as the environment of its own development.
7. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man (1871), on adaptation and habitat.
8. David Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order (1980), on nonlocality and the enfolding of environment within the organism.
9. James Lovelock, Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth (1979), on the co-development of life and environment.
10. Lynn Margulis, Symbiotic Planet (1998), on the interdependence of microorganisms and hosts.
11. Michael Land and Dan-Eric Nilsson, Animal Eyes (2012), on the evolutionary development of vision from light-sensitive bacteria.

Symbiotic

The symbiotic relation between life and environment is the primordial expression of the unity of organism and world. The three classical forms of friendship, as described by Aristotle, may be understood as a sublation (Aufhebung) of this primordial symbiosis.¹

Just as there are three kinds of friendship—utility, pleasure, and love (philia)—there are likewise three corresponding forms of symbiosis:

• Mutualism, which corresponds to love,
• Commensalism, which corresponds to pleasure, and
• Parasitism, which corresponds to utility.²

The term symbiosis (from Greek συμβίωσις, “living together,” from σύν “together” and βίωσις “living”) refers to any type of close and long-term biological interaction between two different species—whether mutualistic, commensalistic, or parasitic.³

However, symbiosis does not occur merely between two organisms, but always involves the environment in which their relation unfolds. For example, if water is the environment of two fish species, the water may have a commensalistic relation with each—affording them the capacity to move and breathe—while the interaction between the fish themselves may be parasitic, as one preys upon the other.

The question arises: can the organism and its environment ever possess a mutualistic relationship? Why is it more natural to ask how the environment affects the organism than how the organism affects the environment?

It is obvious that the fish cannot exist without water, and that water existed long before fish. Yet, when we consider the relation between life and environment in general, the priority reverses. It is not that the environment precedes life, but rather that life is the conception of the environment—its final cause—whereas the environment is its efficient cause.⁴

Life determines the form and function of its environment as much as the environment conditions life. Every organism, through its metabolic, behavioral, and reproductive activities, constructs its environment, and thus life and environment exist in mutual determination.⁵ This is the symbiotic logic of nature: the organism and environment are not two independent substances but two aspects of a single process.

Ethics and the Hierarchy of Friendship

This moral activity, which actualizes the right conduct of means, is predicated by ethics. According to Aristotle, ethics is a scientific discourse (epistēmē) concerned with the good as the end (telos).⁶ The means presuppose the end, and therefore the end determines the means.

For instance, friendship as love (philia), when adopted as the end, necessarily encompasses the aspects of utility and pleasure. One who truly loves serves another of their own will, because the good of the other is their own good. In such friendship, both derive pleasure in the presence of the other because the beloved is inherently pleasant to them.

By contrast, friendships based merely on utility or pleasure do not necessarily presuppose love. Their aim is to gain something that may exist independent of the moral good of the other. For example, one may seek pleasure even at the expense of another, or pursue utility (such as wealth or status) without any mutual benefit. These forms of relation are asymmetrical, rooted in advantage rather than reciprocity.

It is not that utility and pleasure are evil in themselves—they are natural and necessary aspects of social life—but when they exist without reason, that is, without love as their ground, they become predatory in nature. When love is the base reason, however, both utility and pleasure become positive and productive expressions of it.⁷

In nature, this duality of value is vividly displayed: the lion, which devours its prey, is also the same being that loves and reproduces. We do not condemn the lion for killing the deer, for it acts from the necessity of life, not from moral awareness. The question arises, then: is there a force within certain forms of life that can be called evil, as distinct from the good? This inquiry requires that we consider self-consciousness, for only where reason reflects upon itself can good and evil appear as categories of action.⁸

Ethics and the Phenomenology of the Elements

In one sense, pragmatism introduced a form of process thinking that sought to explain how properties interact dynamically in experience.⁹ Charles Sanders Peirce, for example, conceived of pragmatism as a method for clarifying ideas through their practical consequences—an idea that aligns with the relational ontology of living systems.¹⁰

While this is the correct beginning for understanding the object in accordance with its reality, it requires a phenomenological complement—an explanation of the kind of experience the element arouses in consciousness. It is this experiential quality that reveals the essence of the object, for it discloses not only the object’s particularity but also its relational being—what the object is in its connection to other things.¹¹

In this way, ethics and phenomenology converge: ethics interprets the value and direction of relations, while phenomenology explicates the structure of their appearance. Together they form a dialectic of being and knowing, through which both the life of the organism and the life of thought are seen as modes of one and the same symbiotic process.

Footnotes

1. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Book VIII, on the three forms of friendship (philia).
2. Cf. Lynn Margulis, Symbiotic Planet (1998), on the three main symbiotic relationships in nature.
3. Anton de Bary, Die Erscheinung der Symbiose (1879), where the term “symbiosis” is first introduced.
4. Aristotle, Physics, Book II, on the four causes—especially the relation of efficient and final causes.
5. Jakob von Uexküll, A Foray into the Worlds of Animals and Humans (1934), on the mutual construction of organism and environment (Umwelt).
6. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Book I.
7. G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of Right (1821), on love as the unity of particular and universal will.
8. Immanuel Kant, Religion Within the Boundaries of Mere Reason (1793), on moral evil as self-legislated deviation from reason.
9. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality (1929), on the organic interrelation of properties and processes.
10. Charles S. Peirce, The Essential Peirce (1893–1913), on the pragmatic maxim and experiential relations.
11. Edmund Husserl, Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology (1913), on the constitution of essence through experience.

Water, Life, and the Ethical Dialectic of Being

When we ask what water is as a natural element, we may answer that it is a liquid substance necessary for life. But when we ask why it is necessary for life, the answer is usually hydration—that is, the absorption and retention of H₂O molecules as an energy source. Yet even at this point we have not arrived at an adequate understanding of what water essentially is for consciousness, because we must first determine the function of H₂O molecules for the organism, and second, the kind of energy state they represent.

To call water merely an “energy state” only tells us that it possesses a kind of activity, but not the nature or purpose of that activity. There is, however, a deeper answer that completes our inquiry: water is a conductor. This conception brings us closer to the truth because it explains water in relation to something else. And to understand an element in relation is to understand its reason and purpose, for as Aristotle notes, “the essence of a thing is its end.”¹

Yet even this definition remains incomplete. Water as a conductor in relation to electricity simply allows energy to pass from one body to another, presupposing that both are capable of reception. However, the way water operates as a conductor within living organisms is far more complex. Within the organism, water functions not only as a conductor but also as a cleanser—a medium that expels substances not integral to the harmony of the whole body. It purifies the organism by restoring equilibrium, even at the microscopic level.

The feeling of water itself—its refreshing and revitalizing quality—manifests this same process on a macroscopic scale. Water thus plays an ethical role in life: it excludes what is harmful in order to make way for what is potentially good. In this sense, water is not only physical but moral—it enacts purification, renewal, and restoration of order.²

Air and the Clarity of Mind

Air serves as a purifier, complementing water’s cleansing function. Together they form the elemental basis of clarity—of both mind and body. Water cleanses; air purifies. In their synthesis, consciousness achieves lucidity.³

Now, one might distinguish between water as conductor and water as filter within the organism, but this only expresses a quantitative difference—the same essence manifesting differently across contexts. They are also qualitatively related, for the very nature of development consists in such differences of expression.

Water as a conductor of electricity reveals its elementary nature; water as a filter within the organism expresses its higher function as an ethical mediator. The former serves energy, the latter serves life.

Air clarifies the mind; that is why breathing is good. The act of breathing is not merely a biological necessity but also a metaphysical process that links the body to consciousness. When we inhale, we are not simply drawing in oxygen — we are partaking in the world’s living motion. The circulation of air mirrors the circulation of thought: both require openness, flow, and renewal.

Physiologically, oxygen purifies the blood and nourishes the brain, allowing clearer mental function and heightened awareness. But beyond this, air symbolizes the element of spirit — in many ancient traditions, “breath” and “soul” were interchangeable concepts: the Greek pneuma, the Hebrew ruach, and the Sanskrit prāṇa all mean both “breath” and “spirit.” Thus, to breathe deeply is to re-align the mind with the vitality of life itself.

When the breath is shallow or disturbed, the mind becomes clouded; thoughts grow restless and fragmented. But when breathing is calm and deliberate, the inner atmosphere becomes clear, like a still lake reflecting the sky. Air, then, does not only sustain the physical organism — it also maintains the balance of the inner world.

Breathing consciously is therefore an ethical and spiritual act. It teaches the mind to return to equilibrium, to find lucidity within movement. The purity of air corresponds to the purity of thought: as the lungs filter impurities from the body, so deep breathing filters confusion from the mind.

Footnotes:

1. Aristotle associated air with the faculty of sense and movement among the elements (On the Soul, II.4).
2. Heraclitus also implied that the soul is a form of fire and breath, saying: “A dry soul is wisest and best.” (Fragment 118 DK)
3. In Stoic philosophy, pneuma was regarded as the active principle animating the cosmos — the rational breath of life permeating all beings.
4. Eastern traditions such as yoga and Taoism hold similar views: controlled breathing (prāṇāyāma, qìgōng) purifies the mind and harmonizes it with the natural order.

The Ethical Relation Between Life and Death

The relation between life and death is the most profound ethical relation in nature. We instinctively call light good and darkness evil—an apparently arbitrary moral projection. Yet, we may justify this distinction logically: light signifies life, and darkness signifies death.

The question then becomes: why is life better than death?

The answer lies in the essential difference between activity and passivity. Life is good because it is the active determination of being; death is passive because it remains in non-being. Life takes the step to become something other than itself, and in this self-transcending movement it becomes the principle of the good. Death, by contrast, refuses such determination, remaining void of being.

However, this distinction is not absolute. If life is the determination that becomes other than itself, it produces two potential outcomes:

1. The movement toward the other may become a relapse into death, since death is that which life is not; or
2. The movement toward the other may reproduce life as a duplicate of itself—a self-relation that affirms its own identity.

The latter constitutes self-generation, the foundation not only of organic life but of the universal principle of life in the cosmos. Life thus develops through self-relation, by producing an “other” that remains essentially the same. Death, on the other hand, never achieves this self-relation; it remains pure negation, the void being of life’s identity.⁴

Paradoxically, death depends on life—it can only exist as the negation of life. Life, therefore, must first identify with death as non-being before surpassing it into being-for-itself. This reveals that non-being is itself a mode of being—the necessary polarity through which life realizes its continuity.⁵

Thus, the ethical distinction between life and death is not a rigid dualism. Both are the same substance in inverse determinations. Within life itself lies the principle of death, and within death the potential of life. The ethical question is not whether life or death is good or bad, but whether a given life-form advances toward greater development (the good) or falls back into stagnation (the void of death).

The universal life is eternally good because it possesses the determination of development, while individual life-forms continually perish. This contradiction—between the immortality of life-in-general and the mortality of individual lives—finds resolution in their relation: the individual expresses the universal, advancing or retarding its evolution.

Life, Death, and the Process of Becoming

As Alfred North Whitehead notes, “The law of fatigue is the law of death; the law of novelty is the law of life.”⁶ Every living process tends toward entropy and renewal simultaneously. Death is not the opposite of life but its moment of rest, the necessary condition for novelty to arise.

Alfred North Whitehead (1861–1947) developed a metaphysical system called process philosophy, where the fundamental units of reality are “events” or “actual occasions” rather than static substances. In this view:

• Reality is dynamic, always in flux.
• Every actual occasion arises, experiences, and perishes.
• Change is the primary feature of the universe, and permanence is derivative.

Within this framework, Whitehead formulated principles describing how events evolve, including the law of fatigue and law of novelty.

1. Law of Fatigue

The law of fatigue refers to the tendency of an actual occasion to decay, exhaust, or dissipate its energy over time. In simple terms: all processes naturally lose intensity or order if left unchecked. This is analogous to entropy in physics, but applied metaphysically to events, experience, and life processes. The law of energy states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed from one form to another. These moments of change in energy, or more physically, fluctuations, are abstractions of fatigue in nature, that decay as entropy states, and are an end result of any ordered system in nature. Example in life:

• A living organism expends energy, and over time, cellular processes degrade.
• Without renewal, life succumbs to death; systems “fatigue.”

Fatigue represents the passive or conservative aspect of reality, a pull toward stasis or non-being. It ensures that no actual occasion persists indefinitely—it perishes, making space for novelty. In other words, “fatigue” is, as the ancient Heraclitus says, “flux.”

2. Law of Novelty

The law of novelty is the opposite principle: the capacity of actual occasions to introduce new forms, structures, or patterns. It represents creative evolution—the generation of something genuinely new from past occasions. Novelty can also represent the quality of change in energy, but the inverse side, as contrasted with fatigue; change is represented in energy as continuous durations of energy, or the fact that energy cannot be created or destroyed, but always exists, only in different forms. Example in life:

• A cell divides and differentiates, creating a new organism.
• Ideas in consciousness combine to produce new insights.

Novelty embodies activity, creativity, and advancement. It’s the active principle that moves reality forward. The quality of being new or original may be a physical feature in the world, as everything appears slightly different, and there are infinite variety in nature. However, it is also not so, as things in nature generally take on the same homogeneous form, and there are species of similarity. Therefore, being new in this sense finds greater success as a feature of the mind than as merely a physical quality. When a mind conceives something new in the world, it is changing its perspective. The change of conception, as a feature of the mind, defines novelty as the true essence of being new. With each look, man sees the world differently.

The relation between non-being and being is therefore the most logically complex, for it seeks to demonstrate how being can emerge from nothing—or, more accurately, how nothing is always already something.⁷ In this dialectic, death and life are not two separate forces but the oscillation of one creative process, eternally renewing itself in the rhythm of existence.

 life vs. death as active vs. passive determination.

Whitehead’s laws formalize this idea: Life = law of novelty (active, creative determination). Death = law of fatigue (passive, dissipative tendency).

The ethical aspect comes in when life maximizes novelty while mitigating fatigue, i.e., development, flourishing, and ethical self-actualization. This is not just physical: it applies to experience, consciousness, and the evolution of life. Life persists by navigating between these two laws: avoiding complete fatigue while generating novelty. Death corresponds to fatigue, and life to novelty. Take this Visual metaphor as example: Imagine a flowing river, fatigue is the slowing current, deposition of silt, resistance. Novelty is the river carving new paths, creating waterfalls, changing the landscape.

Both are necessary: without fatigue, there is no contrast; without novelty, nothing evolves.

Footnotes

1. Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book VII (Z), 1031a–b, on essence as the “what-it-was-to-be-that-thing.”
2. Heraclitus, Fragment 12: “For souls it is death to become water, for water it is death to become earth; but from earth comes water, and from water soul.” This cyclical transformation parallels the ethical notion of cleansing.
3. Empedocles, On Nature, fragment 17, on air and water as elements of perception and vitality.
4. G.W.F. Hegel, Science of Logic (1812), Book I, “Being,” on the dialectic of Being, Nothing, and Becoming.
5. Ibid., Phenomenology of Spirit (1807), Preface, on self-relation through negation.
6. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality (1929), on the rhythm of concrescence, fatigue, and novelty.
7. Martin Heidegger, What Is Metaphysics? (1929), on “the Nothing” as the ground of Being.