Darwin and Deep Ecology

Author(s): Christian Diehm

Source: Ethics and the Environment , Vol. 19, No. 1 (Spring 2014), pp. 73-93
Published by: Indiana University Press
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.2979/ethicsenviro.19.1.73

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DARWIN AND DEEP ECOLOGY
CHRISTIAN DIEHM

This essay explores connections between Charles Darwin’s thinking and

the writings of theorists in the deep ecology movement. It begins by plac-
ing Darwin’s thought in the context of Western attempts to reject tele-
ological descriptions of nature. It then shows that while some authors
cite Darwin’s naturalistic view of human origins as a positive contribu-
tion to deep ecological thought, the fact that his work also helped elim-
inate teleological explanations of natural phenomena is problematic for
non-anthropocentric environmental ethics. Because of this, the argument
is made that the significance of Darwin’s work for deep ecology theorists
is not simply that it views humans as a part of nature, but that it asserts
a basic continuity between humans and other living things. The essay
concludes by suggesting that an outlook grounded in a Darwinian sense
of continuity does not necessarily issue in a strictly bio-centric under-
standing of nature’s value.

Upon first encountering the writings of deep ecology theorists, people

are sometimes surprised to learn that, despite its moniker, deep ecology is
not a branch of the natural sciences. It is, rather, a branch of the environ-
mental movement that was formally introduced to the English-speaking
world by Arne Naess in his essay “The Shallow and the Deep, Long-Range
Ecology Movement: A Summary” (Naess 1973). Naess’s goal in this ar-
ticle was, as its title indicates, to contrast more conventional, “shallow”
approaches to environmental issues with a new and ostensibly “deeper”
perspective that some environmentalists had been expressing. He did not
intend, however, to suggest that this emerging perspective was directly
associated with or derived from the scientific study of natural systems.

ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 19(1) 2014 ISSN: 1085-6633

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 For Naess, a deep ecologist was one who embraced a deeper sort of envi-
ronmentalism, not necessarily one who had deep ties to ecological science.
Nevertheless, it is true that many deep ecology advocates have voiced
interest in the science of ecology. As Naess himself explained in his intro-
ductory essay, scientific ecology has “suggested, inspired, and fortified” a
number of ideas about humans and nature that theorists of deep ecology
typically have been keen to promote (Naess 1973, 98). In light of this, it
is not surprising that the relevance of scientific ecology for thinkers in the
deep ecology movement has been widely discussed. The like relevance of
evolutionary biology, though, and specifically the work of Charles Dar-
win, has not received such close attention. Thus while it has become fairly
clear that there is, so to speak, something “ecological” about the perspec-
tives of various deep ecology supporters, it is less clear if there is anything
comparably “biological” about them. We are therefore led to ask: What
connection, if any, is there between Darwin and the philosophies of deep
ecology?1
This essay examines this question in detail. It begins with an extended
commentary situating Darwin’s work in the context of Western scientific
attempts to reject teleological accounts of nature. It then shows that while
some authors cite Darwin’s naturalistic view of human origins as a pos-
itive contribution to deep ecological thought, the fact that his work also
helped eliminate teleological explanations of natural phenomena is prob-
lematic for non-anthropocentric environmental ethics. Next, the writing
of Hans Jonas is enlisted to argue that the real significance of Darwin’s
thinking for deep ecology theorists is not simply that it establishes that
human beings are a part of nature, but that it asserts a basic continuity
between humans and other living things, the acknowledgment of which
can be regarded as vital to the development of non-instrumentalist envi-
ronmental attitudes. The essay concludes by briefly considering the ques-
tion of whether or not an environmental outlook rooted in a Darwinian
sense of continuity issues in a strictly bio-centric understanding of nature’s
value.

FROM ARISTOTLE TO MECHANISM

Darwin’s writings on the origins of species stand at the near end of
a long line of attempts by Western natural science to sever its ties with
Aristotle. Aristotle’s thinking about nature was thoroughly teleological,
and had as one of its central tenets the claim that certain kinds of motion

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or change were the result of tendencies intrinsic to things themselves. In-
deed, for Aristotle the term “nature” signified just such an inner impetus
to move or to act, and he used craftsmanship—that familiar human ac-
tivity so clearly driven by desire and guided by purpose—as the starting
point for understanding everything from the movements of the material
elements toward their proper places in the cosmos, to the growth and
development of living things (Aristotle 1991b).
It was this latter class of entities, however, that appeared to be most
in need of the sort of teleological explanation that Aristotle supplied. For
as he noted in his Physics, the only time that the generation of things with
complex, highly organized physical structures was observed to occur with
any regularity was when the generative process itself was informed by a
goal, or guided by some purpose. Thus it seemed quite impossible that
entities as structurally and functionally complex as living things could
come into being, time and time again, in the absence of some end or goal
actively informing their generation (Aristotle 1991b, Book II, chapter 8).
Aristotle therefore offered what many agreed was the only plausible ac-
count of the matter, and argued that just as an artisan uses the knowledge
of her or his craft to orchestrate the manufacture of artificial things, so too
each organism has within it a “form” or immaterial soul that guides its
coming-into-being, a soul that both prescribes the end towards which its
growth and development are oriented, and spurs it to change, move and
act in ways that allow that end to be realized.2
Aristotle’s compelling, intuitive way of looking at the natural world
dominated the intellectual climate of the West for nearly two millennia.
Of course, long before Darwin there had been a number of challenges
to its scientific authority. Among these was Copernicus’s substitution of
a helio-centric model of the solar system for the older geo-centric one, a
substitution that plainly contradicted the prevailing wisdom regarding the
natural movements of the material elements.3 But it was not until the sev-
enteenth century that one of the most serious blows to Aristotle’s physics
was leveled, and it came in the form of the new mechanistic philosophy
of nature.
The hallmark of the mechanistic view as developed by thinkers like
Marin Mersenne, Rene Descartes, and Isaac Newton, was the idea that
the motion of matter had nothing to do with an impetus or tendency in-
trinsic to matter itself. Instead, matter was regarded as inert, and whatever
movement it underwent was attributed to its having some external force

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 applied to it.4 Rejecting Aristotle’s claims about the inner motive powers
of the elements, the mechanists typically argued that a material body’s
movement was the effect of its being impacted by other material bodies,
bodies that could begin to move in the first place only by virtue of the
outside agency of God.5 In this way the universe came to be envisioned as
a vast machine, a realm of fundamentally lifeless particles that, once set
in motion by a divine craftsman, proceeded to generate nearly everything
one could encounter in the physical world.
The mechanists did not stop, though, at dismantling the Aristotelian
view of elemental motion. They also sought to replace teleological expla-
nations in biology with accounts that were more in keeping with the new
mechanical principles. Yet the study of living things raised two especially
challenging questions, and in neither case was there complete agreement
that simply referencing the machinations of matter would suffice as an-
swers. The first question centered on the problem of how to explain the
basic operations of organisms, a problem that forced one to ask whether
or not the full range of biological phenomena—including those associated
with consciousness, thought, and the sphere of the mind—could be under-
stood exclusively in terms of the causal interplay of material bodies. The
second question concerned life’s origins, a perennial problem no doubt,
but one made all the more perplexing by the immense difficulty of believ-
ing that entities as intricate as living things could emerge, unaided, from
the otherwise lifeless material stuff of the cosmos.
As one might suspect, different theorists addressed these questions
in different ways, but it was Descartes who set the tone for later debates
when he proposed answers that drew on his sharply dualistic conception
of mind and matter. Thus, in explanation of the operations and behaviors
of living things, Descartes argued that while non-human organisms could
properly be regarded as machines or “automata,” humans could not be
viewed in the same way, since their supposedly unique abilities of speech
and communication attested to the possession of an incorporeal mind
or soul that stood outside the mechanical order of things (1993, 32–33).
Moreover, in his account of the origins of organic life, Descartes made
a similar distinction between intelligent mind and mechanical matter,
claiming that although material causes could explain the generation of the
physical universe, they were insufficient to explain the appearance therein
of living things. Hence he suggested that the bodies of organisms had been
formed in an act of special creation by an intelligent deity, the same God

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who, not coincidentally, had placed rational souls within human bodies
and first set the universe in motion (Descartes 1993, 26, 32; 2000, 35–42).
The net effect of such answers to fundamental cosmological and bio-
logical questions was that they allowed thinkers like Descartes to restrict
the notions of desire, planning, purpose and agency solely to humans
and to God. Though there was still room within dualistic mechanism for
teleological description of certain distinctively human activities, and for
speculation about the ultimate purposes for which God had created liv-
ing things, the Aristotelian notion of “immanent teleology,” of purposive
activity emanating from within the natural world itself, was excluded en-
tirely. By virtue of the presence of mind there could be purpose in what
humans did, and by virtue of the intelligent craftsmanship of God there
was a purpose for the existence of living things. In every other respect,
however, life was operating blindly.

DARWIN AND CREATIONISM

Creationist ideas about life’s origins remained highly influential in
scientific circles well into the nineteenth century. In fact, the belief that
species were in one way or another God’s creations was one of the princi-
pal obstacles that Darwin had to overcome, and nowhere had this belief
been stated more convincingly than in William Paley’s Natural Theology.
First published in 1802, Natural Theology contains what is certainly the
most famous version of what has come to be called the “teleological argu-
ment” for God’s existence, the “argument from design” that asserts that
the apparent design of things in nature is evidence for the existence of an
intelligent creator-God. What is sometimes forgotten in discussions of the
theological dimensions of this text, though, is that it is also written as a
scientific treatise, one with a line of argumentation rooted in the mecha-
nistic natural philosophy.
Natural Theology opens with the example of a man who finds a watch
and, noticing its complexity, is compelled to infer that a craftsperson pro-
duced it with some end or purpose in mind. The comparison is then made
between the watch and the eye of an organism, the point being that the
intricate and functionally integrated structures of organisms, no less than
those of artifacts, require an inference to an intelligent designer (Paley
2006, chapters 1–3). In both cases, however, the inference is justified by
two key premises. The first is that, whether one is talking about artifacts
or organisms, material causes alone cannot account for the complex fea-

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 tures that such things so evidently possess. The second is that there is
nothing in the natural world equivalent to an Aristotelian “nature” or
“principle of order” governing the generation of things. As Paley put it,
the man who finds the watch “never knew a watch made by the principle
of order nor can he even form to himself an idea of what is meant by
a principle of order distinct from the intelligence of the watch-maker”
(2006, 9). Therefore, since matter itself cannot explain the elaborate con-
struction of organisms, and since planning and purpose are attributes of
mind and mind alone, Paley believed the only reasonable conclusion to
draw regarding the origins of living things was to say that they are prod-
ucts of the creative intelligence of God.
For many years after it initially appeared, Natural Theology was
regarded as an important text, so it is not surprising that Darwin was
exposed to it while studying at Cambridge in the late 1820’s. In his auto-
biography he recalls taking “much delight” in Paley’s work as he prepared
for his exams, and says that he was “charmed and convinced by the long
line of argumentation” that Natural Theology provided (Darwin 1958,
19). Nevertheless, the position that Darwin went on to develop ultimately
convinced him that both the teleological argument and the biological cre-
ationism it entailed were incorrect. “The old argument from design in
Nature, as given by Paley,” Darwin later wrote, “which formerly seemed
to me so conclusive, fails, now that the law of natural selection has been
discovered” (1958, 63).
The basic framework of the theory Darwin presented in On the Or-
igin of Species is well known. In short, Darwin contended that since all
living things will at times have to compete for limited resources or “strug-
gle for existence,” variations in their inherited traits will inevitably lead to
differences in their rates of survival and reproductive success. Beneficial
variations, then, will be passed from parents to offspring, and when this
cycle is repeated many times, certain variations will accumulate, causing
organisms to diverge from their remote ancestors. Thus identifying the
activity of “natural selection” as the means by which descent with modi-
fication could occur, Darwin was able to conclude that organisms do not
just have, once and for all, the characteristics that they do, but instead
gain them in successive stages over long periods of time. He was able to
conclude, in other words, that organisms had not been created; they had
evolved (Darwin 1996).
Contrary to what is sometimes assumed, this theory was not entirely

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disagreeable to all of Darwin’s scientific peers, though often their open-
ness to it was based on the belief that there remained within its broad out-
lines room for talk of design. Yet Darwin insisted that the process he had
described was non-purposive at its two most critical points. On the one
hand, he thought that inherited variations did not come about in order to
benefit the organisms that received them, but rather arose “accidentally”
or by “chance.”6 On the other hand, he did not think that some type of
intelligence oversaw the selective process itself, acting either directly with
an eye to improving organisms, or indirectly by structuring natural laws
to guide evolution towards pre-ordained ends.7 Hence the term “natural
selection,” while clearly loaded with teleological connotations, was re-
ally just a metaphor referring to the unplanned appearance of traits that
were either retained or eliminated from species’ lineages solely by virtue
of their ability, or lack thereof, to issue in reproductive success. Biological
complexity undoubtedly arose from relative simplicity, but the process by
which it did so was, in the end, aimless.
To be sure, one of the more controversial implications of the position
just sketched is that humans, too, have wholly naturalistic origins, and as
one might imagine, this was an idea at which some of Darwin’s contem-
poraries balked. Alfred Russel Wallace, for example, had independently
developed a theory nearly identical to Darwin’s, but was convinced that
the brain and associated mental, moral, and creative faculties of Homo sa-
piens could not be accounted for by the action of natural selection alone.
Consequently, he claimed that intelligent design must have played some
part in the genesis of humans (Gould 1980). In The Descent of Man,
however, Darwin clearly stated his opinion that both the “mental powers”
and the “moral sense” of humans were products of the same evolutionary
process that shaped the rest of the living world.8 Rejecting appeals to de-
sign or supernatural causes, as well as the residual dualism they implied,
he asserted that “the difference in mind between man and the higher an-
imals, great as it is, is certainly one of degree and not of kind” (Darwin
1981, 105).
Surely much more could be written here, but what we have said
suffices to show how Darwin’s work contributed to eliminating what
Francisco Ayala has called the “conceptual schizophrenia” of nineteenth
century science, a condition brought about by scientists’ steady commit-
ment to describing nonliving nature in terms of material causes, while at
the same time enlisting entirely different sorts of causes to explain the

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 origins and structures of living things (2007, 8567). Evolutionary theory
eliminated the perceived need for teleological explanations in biology, and
even though its appearance did not immediately put an end to the search
for design in nature, it did at last lend intelligibility to the idea that all of
nature, animate as well as inanimate, could be understood in terms of the
non-purposive interactions of the physical stuff of the universe.9 It was in
this way, then, that Darwin helped Western natural science divest itself of
one of the last remaining vestiges of its Aristotelian heritage. In Ayala’s
words, “Darwin’s greatest contribution to science is that he completed the
Copernican revolution by drawing out for biology the notion of nature
as a system of matter in motion governed by natural laws” (2007, 5867).

BELONGING TO NATURE AND THE DILEMMA WITH DARWIN

Without question, evolutionary biology has had a profound impact
on contemporary thinking about the environment. However, as we turn
to examine the connections between the preceding and the work of theo-
rists in the deep ecology movement, we would do well to recall what we
mentioned at the outset, which is that when these thinkers have looked to
the sciences, ordinarily the science to which they have looked has not been
biology. Rather, it has been ecology, and if we take a moment to consider
why this is the case, we will not only gain a better understanding of what
some theorists in the deep ecology movement are saying, but also a better
idea of where their thinking intersects with that of Darwin.
Perhaps the best place to start this examination is to note that, in
accord with Naess, many deep ecology theorists contend that one of the
root causes of environmental problems is that we in the West have become
largely “alienated” from nature (Naess 1985, 261; 1995, 227), adopting
what Frederic Bender has characterized as “dysfunctional notions of self
and false ideas about humanity’s place in the order of things” (2003,
393).10 They contend, that is, that we have come to regard ourselves as
beings who are fundamentally disconnected from the natural world, on-
tologically discrete entities who somehow stand outside and above bio-
spheric or ecological realities. Of course, the trouble with this way of
thinking is not simply that it seems patently false metaphysically, but that
it can also be linked to a number of environmentally destructive attitudes
and behaviors, among which is a strongly instrumentalist or anthropo-
centric value orientation. Hence, in part due to its conceptual inadequacy,
and in part due to its highly undesirable ethical implications, these deep

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ecology supporters encourage us to replace this vision of ourselves with
one that is significantly environmentally-expanded, to develop our nar-
row, alienated sense of “self” into a far more comprehensive ecological
“Self” (Naess 1995, 227).11
As a corrective to alienation, therefore, the development of our eco-
logical Self involves recognizing the true extent to which we are a part of
the natural world—a recognition that deep ecology theorists usually claim
is the result of a process of “identification” with nature (Naess 1985).
Such identification, in turn, entails an existential affirmation of our em-
beddedness in and belonging to the natural environment; it requires culti-
vating a lived sense of ourselves not as discrete entities or substances, but
as beings whose very identity is a product of relationships to the more
encompassing natural world. As Warwick Fox succinctly expresses it, to
identify widely with nature is to come to a “deep-seated realization that
we and all other entities are aspects of a single unfolding reality” (1995,
252). Consequently, to achieve an ecological sense of Self via the process
of identification is to move away from the mistaken notion that human
beings are self-contained, isolated individuals, and towards an apprecia-
tion of the ways in which we are intimately connected to the more-than-
human natural world, members of biotic or ecological communities that
are constitutive of who and what we really are.
These points could be summarized by saying that many deep ecology
theorists have viewed reality in terms of an “interconnectedness thesis”
(Mathews 1994, 239), and given their over-arching interest in the met-
aphysics of interconnection, it is not difficult to see why they would be
drawn to the science of ecology. As J. Baird Callicott explains, not only
has ecological science “made plain to us the fact that we are enfolded,
involved, and engaged within the living, terrestrial environment…” (1989,
101), but it has done so in a way that is as philosophically suggestive as
it is scientifically compelling. Ecologists regularly depict natural systems
as webs of trophic relations, interactive communities of life, or streams
of energy flowing in and between organisms, and all of these models
make some use of, and thereby lend some degree of scientific credibility
to, broader notions of interconnectedness, interdependence and the rela-
tional character of things. Indeed, scientific ecology has emphasized these
themes so effectively that Bill Devall and George Sessions cite it as one of
the principal wellsprings of deep ecological attitudes in the West. “The
major contribution of the science of ecology to deep ecology,” they say

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 straightforwardly, “has been the rediscovery within the modern scientific
context that everything is connected to everything else” (Devall and Ses-
sions 1985, 85).
Thus deep ecology theorists have regarded ecology as significant in-
sofar as it encourages identification with nature—specifically that form
of identification that I have referred to elsewhere as “identification-as-be-
longing” (Diehm 2007)—and recognizing this leads back to Darwin, since
Darwin, too, is sometimes cited as one whose work encourages us to see
ourselves as part and product of the natural world. Sessions, for example,
counts Darwin among those scientists who, like contemporary ecologists,
have helped “to ‘decentralize’ humans from their preeminent centrality”
in the Western worldview (1988, 67). This is because Darwin rejected
the idea that we Homo sapiens have separate, super-natural origins, and
advocated instead a thoroughly naturalistic perspective, insisting in The
Descent of Man and elsewhere that we come about in the same ways as
every other living being. Hence Sessions and other deep ecology support-
ers rightly believe that Darwin’s work points away from a conception
of ourselves as distinct, privileged entities, and towards a metaphysical
vision in which we are embedded within the more-than-human order of
things (Sessions 1988; Haq 2009). As Bender encapsulates it, “Darwin’s
greatest philosophical breakthrough” was “his reframing of humans as
thoroughly natural beings…” (2003, 94).
In addition to this interest in the naturalism of Darwin’s view of hu-
mans, Bender also stresses the egalitarian or non-hierarchical conception
of organisms that he believes is conveyed by Darwin’s work. As Bender
explains, Darwin did not view human beings as “evolution’s apex or goal,”
and he clearly asserted that evolution “displays no telos towards humans”
(2003, 94). For this reason, Bender links Darwinism to what Naess and
other theorists of deep ecology have called “biospheric egalitarianism”
(Naess 1973, 95–96). On the evolutionary model, organisms “are neither
higher nor lower than, nor superior or inferior to, one another.” Rather,
every species “simply is what it is: a life form adapted to its ecospheric
niche and valuable to the extent it contributes to ecospheric integrity”
(Bender 2003, 94).
Now, it is unquestionable that Darwin counted humans among the
natural kinds. The problem with leaving things at this, though, particu-
larly for non-anthropocentric environmentalists, is that it glosses over

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the fact that Darwin’s explanation of the origin of species was aimed at
overcoming what had been, to that point, one of the chief impediments
to developing a non-teleological, fully materialist natural science. Darwin
did situate Homo sapiens squarely in nature, yet it was a nature in relation
to which talk of striving, purpose, and planning was deemed out of place,
since even its most complex achievements could be accounted for without
them. It appears unremarkable, then, that the evolutionary process would
display, as Bender put it, “no telos towards humans.” With Darwin, finally,
nature displayed practically no teleology at all.12
Framing the issue this way, we may very well think that theorists like
Bender and Sessions would want to qualify their assessments of Darwin’s
great idea. For although the theory of evolution surely undercut argu-
ments for human exceptionalism, it also assisted in purging from nature
notions of agency, desire, and purpose, a move that many eco-philoso-
phers believe is aligned with attitudes of human arrogance, domination,
and control of the more-than-human world. Val Plumwood, for example,
contends that when nature is conceived in mechanical, non-agentic terms,
it “lies open to, indeed invites the imposition of human purposes and
treatment as an instrument for the achievement of human satisfactions”
(1993, 110). Likewise, Andrew McLaughlin says that the reductive mate-
rialism of Western science has “created an image of nature that makes the
project of its domination appear to be a reasonable response to a mean-
ingless reality” (1993, 99).13
It seems, therefore, that insofar as Darwin’s way of situating humans
in nature also participated in the project of situating nature outside the
sphere of purpose and agency, theorists of deep ecology would have, at
best, a somewhat ambivalent relation to his work. Still, despite the gen-
uine tension here, I believe that if we step back to consider additional
aspects of both the position advanced by Naess and of Darwinism, we will
find not only that the difficulty we have highlighted can be resolved, but
that evolutionary theory itself can play a lead role in doing so.

THE CONTINUITY OF KINDS

At the outset, it should be observed that Naess does not always de-
scribe alienation from nature as a matter of denying our connectedness
to the more-than-human world. On the contrary, in many places he char-
acterizes alienation as a matter of seeing ourselves as fundamentally “un-

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 like” or different from other-than-human entities, something that, like the
lack of a sense of belonging, can be a serious impediment to developing
morally sensitive environmental attitudes (Naess 1995, 227). The reason
for this, he suggests, is that regarding others as basically dissimilar from
ourselves inhibits our ability to make empathic connections with them,
which consequently also inhibits our ability to think of them in moral
terms similar to those that we apply to ourselves. Thus Naess holds that
being alienated from nature in this way leads both to instrumentalist
views of other-than-human beings, and to the careless, destructive behav-
iors that those views can motivate (Naess 1985, 261–62; 1989, 171–73).
In order to redress this situation, Naess again proposes that we “iden-
tify” with nature, though in the present context this does not refer to
making an existential affirmation of our ecospheric belonging. It refers,
instead, to affirming the commonalities or similarities that exist between
ourselves and other-than-human beings. As he puts it, this form of identifi-
cation involves experiences in which “we recognize something of ourselves
in the other creature, or something of the other creature in ourselves”
(Naess 2002, 114). Hence this second type of identification entails coming
to a deep-seated awareness that human and other-than-human beings are
alike in certain respects, an awareness that not only facilitates empathetic
and sympathetic responses to our other-than-human kin, but also fosters
the moral insights about intrinsic value that such ways of relating to them
afford.14
Usually, Naess is somewhat vague about what, exactly, is the com-
monality that this “kinship identification” recognizes (Diehm 2007). The
suggestions he does make, however, are not hard to connect back to the
sorts of teleological notions we have been discussing. In “Identification as
a Source of Deep Ecological Attitudes,” for example, he says that we often
identify strongly with others when we witness their suffering, presumably
because this powerfully conveys to us that their lives, no less than our
own, are imbued with feeling and purpose (Naess 1985, 264). Similarly, in
Ecology, Community, and Lifestyle he describes a scene in which children
are killing insects with bug spray, but experience an “instance of momen-
tary identification” when an adult points out to them that “those animals
might, like you, prefer to live rather than to die” (Naess 1989, 171–72).
Expressing an idea readers often encounter in his texts, Naess writes in
Life’s Philosophy that identification leads us “to regard other living crea-
tures as genuine fellow creatures with a need for self-development” (2002,
115).

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 Comments like these illustrate Naess’s belief in the importance of rec-
ognizing the subjective or agentic character of other-than-human entities,
and his related concern about over-exaggerating their differences from
ourselves to the point where we come to view them as mindless material
things lacking goals of their own. We have yet to see, however, what Dar-
win might add to this conversation. In fact, given what was said above,
we might suspect that Darwin’s work would be more a bane than a boon
to Naess on this particular point. But evolutionary theory does have a
significant contribution to make here, and the writings of Hans Jonas help
us to understand just what it is.
In Jonas’s remarkable text The Phenomenon of Life he notes that,
since natural philosophers like Descartes conceived of mind as wholly
discontinuous with material nature, they were able simply to set aside
the question of how the latter could produce the former. Indeed, the most
pressing question for dualists was not how matter engendered mind, but
how an immaterial mind could interact with something as foreign to and
fundamentally dissimilar from itself as physical matter (Jonas 1966, 53-
6). In the wake of Darwinism, though, such dualism became as scientifi-
cally untenable as it had been metaphysically suspect: the human being in
its entirety was now to be viewed as a product of natural selection, which
meant that the human being as a whole had to be understood as contin-
uous with the rest of biological nature. Hence, by showing that Homo
sapiens had its genesis not in an instant of creation but in natural history,
Darwin “made it…impossible to regard…mind, and mental phenomena
in general, as the abrupt intrusion of an ontologically alien principle in the
total stream of life” (Jonas 1996, 63).
Darwin thus established “qualitative continuity” among living things
as the rule (Jonas 1996, 63), and in so doing presented a choice: either
extend the realm of mindless matter and eliminate even the seemingly tel-
eological dimensions of human existence, or take the existence of purpose
and striving in humans as evidence of their presence in the larger biolog-
ical order out of which humans had evolved (Jonas 1966, 37). Now the
first option, to be sure, has always been regarded as problematic insofar as
it requires denying some of the most salient features of human self-experi-
ence. The latter option, on the other hand, had traditionally resulted in the
charge of “anthropomorphism.” Yet overweening concern about anthro-
pomorphism was itself largely a product of the same dualism that evolu-
tion had supplanted; it made sense only on the presumption of a radical

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 discontinuity between mindful humans and mindless nature. In mending
this split, evolutionary theory tacitly readmitted what Jonas aptly calls the
“evidence of common sense” (1996, 63). That is, it lent credibility to what
many had suspected all along, which was that the sphere of mind—with
its associated capacities of feeling, desire, striving and purpose—could
not be denied, in varying forms, all throughout the branching tree of life.
As Jonas puts it, with evolutionary theory “the province of ‘soul,’ with
feeling, striving, suffering, enjoyment, extended again, by the principle of
continuous gradation, from man over the kingdom of life” (1966, 57).15
Of course, that evolutionary theory could operate in this way is, as
Jonas reminds us, “in opposition to the theory’s own tenor” (1996, 63),
since its scientific success was due in large part to its ability “to credit
the automatism of material nature with the generation of the branching
and ascending life forms” (1966, 53). Nonetheless, in speaking against
human-nature dualism and for human-nature continuity, Darwin’s work
ultimately supports, and even encourages, our native sensibilities about
the “mindfulness,” conation, and purposive character of other-than-hu-
man beings.16 Truly, it is not too much to say that an understanding of
the continuity between human and other-than-human life forms is funda-
mental to the Darwinian world-view, and that evolutionary biology there-
fore represents one of the major intellectual forces in the West capable of
fostering the kinship-identification that Naess considers essential to the
development of non-anthropocentric environmental attitudes.
Accordingly, Jonas’s commentary puts us in a position to see that Dar-
win’s work is indeed able to contribute to deep ecological thought, even if,
as we have already said, this is not simply because it confirms that humans
are a part of nature. Its contribution lies, rather, in the fact that by virtue
of its insistence that we belong to nature, it validates a basic sense of kin-
ship between ourselves and others who are other-than-human—a sensibil-
ity that runs counter to the material reductivism that, perhaps ironically,
Darwin himself helped to advance, and that characterizes much of the
modern scientific enterprise.

CONCLUDING REMARKS
With this, we have reached the end of our inquiry. We began by asking
what connections there might be between Darwin’s thinking and that of
theorists in the deep ecology movement. To that end we have argued that
evolutionary biology, like scientific ecology, surely can serve to suggest,

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inspire, and fortify some of the core ethical and ontological ideas that
deep ecology theorists have promoted. More precisely, we have shown
that Darwinism’s potential to contribute to the development of deep eco-
logical attitudes does not lie solely in the stress that it places on humans
belonging to nature, but also in its related emphasis on human continuity
with our other-than-human kin.
One of the more provocative questions that this conclusion raises,
however, has to do with exactly what type of environmental outlook such
a comprehension of kinship might motivate. If identification is, as Naess
contends, a “source of belief in intrinsic values” (1985, 259), then what
environmental value orientations are supported by an evolutionary sense
of “qualitative continuity”? The most likely answer, it seems, would be
some form of “bio-centrism,” a kind of “reverence for life,” since affirming
the relatedness of living things would presumably result in one’s placing
moral focus on just that: living things. But is this the only, or the fullest
response one can give to this question? Could an existential acknowledg-
ment of biological kinship and shared origins somehow result in height-
ened respect for more than just what is living?17
While a complete examination of this issue cannot be provided here,
it is fitting to bring our discussion to a close with a brief comment on it,
and to do so we can again take our cue from Jonas. As we have seen, Jonas
accepts that evolutionary processes produced Homo sapiens. He also ac-
cepts that, at some point in the earth’s history, life emerged from abiotic
matter, and in his estimation all of this is occasion to re-consider not only
how we conceive of living things, but how we regard the physical stuff of
the universe as well. As he explained in an interview conducted near the
end of his life:
My own conjecture is that everywhere within the depths of matter
there is a kind of waiting for the opportunity to also unfold the po-
tentiality for life.... [T]he fact that [this] opportunity...opens itself has
been demonstrated here on earth, and there is no reason to assume
that it is not something for which there is original readiness in the
nature of substance itself, in the nature of matter itself, but in that
case matter is not merely that which physical science confines itself
to describing. It has, from the beginning, something more to it than
what is necessary for its description as long as life is not there. But
it must have this something more so that, given the opportunity, life
will come forth from matter, and with life will open up a dimension
of subjectivity. (Scodel 2003, 356)

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 Certainly, Jonas’s use of the word “conjecture” cautions us not to make
too much of this statement. Yet even a cautious reading shows that, for
Jonas, the fact that matter is related to life and to subjectivity suggests that
it is “something more” than physics describes. Matter, as the foundation
on which the realities of organic existence are built, is no mere mechanical
stuff. It appears, instead, to be the bearer of a creative nisus or tendency
towards life.
Interestingly enough, Jonas is not alone in pursuing a line of thought
like this. Holmes Rolston, for one, suggests in several places that our ideas
about matter-energy and the characteristics of the physical universe may
need to be updated in light of the two “big bangs” of life and mind (2010;
2006). Even more directly to the point, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin asserts
unequivocally in The Phenomenon of Man that re-thinking the nature of
matter is positively required by a scientific view of life and an evolutionary
understanding of human origins. “Taken at its lowest point,” he writes,
“…primitive matter is something more than the particulate swarming so
marvelously described by modern physics. Beneath this mechanical layer
we must think of a ‘biological’ layer that is attenuated to the uttermost,
but yet is absolutely necessary to explain the cosmos in succeeding ages”
(Chardin 1961, 56–57).
Assuredly, these very preliminary remarks do not allow us to start
drawing any firm conclusions on this subject. Yet they do at least leave
open the possibility that, beyond biology, the implications of evolutionary
theory extend to our ways of conceiving of material nature, the stuff from
which life has come and of which we and all our living kin are made. It
may be, therefore, that a deep affirmation of evolutionary kinship really
does urge something more than a strictly bio-centric ethical orientation,
or a respect only for that which is biologically alive. If so, then we could
say, borrowing from Darwin and in the spirit of so many supporters of the
deep ecology movement, that there is more “grandeur in this view of life”
than even Darwin himself imagined (1996, 396).
NOTES
1 Commentators usually point out that the term “deep ecology” refers to a
branch of the environmental movement, and not to any particular environ-
mental philosophy. For this reason, most writers distinguish between deep
ecology as a philosophically pluralistic social and political movement, and the
individual “ecosophies,” or eco-philosophies, of various thinkers. Through-

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 out this essay, I have attempted to use terminology that maintains this dis-
tinction, acknowledging both that there are diverse theorists who identify
themselves as deep ecology supporters, and also that there is some conceptual
convergence among their views.
2 See Aristotle 1991b, Book II, chapters 1–3; Aristotle 1991a, Book II, chapters
1–4.
3 Concise discussions of this topic are found in Henry 2001 and Dingle 1959.
4 The historical development of this viewpoint is described succinctly in
Mathews 1991, chapter 1, “Atomism and Its Ideological Implications.”
5 As Carolyn Merchant points out, not all mechanists resorted to God to ac-
count for the initial motion of matter. Pierre Gassendi, for example, held a
view of material motion much more like Lucretius and other early atomists,
who saw movement as intrinsic to matter (Merchant 1983, chapter 8, “The
Mechanical Order”).
6 For discussion of this notion in Darwin’s thought, see Gillespie 1979, chap-
ter 6, “Variation and the Problem of Design.”
7 Quite the opposite, Darwin felt that postulating such an intelligence was, at
best, unnecessary, and at worst, an affront to the scientific adequacy of his
theory. As he wrote to Charles Lyell shortly after On the Origin of Species
was published: “I entirely reject as in my judgment quite unnecessary any
subsequent addition ‘of new powers, & attributes & forces’; or of any ‘prin-
ciple of improvement,’ except in so far as every character which is naturally
selected or preserved is in some way an advantage…. If I were convinced that
I required such additions to the theory of natural selection, I would reject it as
rubbish.… I would give absolutely nothing for [the] theory of nat[ural] selec-
tion, if it require miraculous additions at any one stage of descent” (Darwin
1991, 343).
8 Chapter II of Darwin 1981 contains Darwin’s analysis of “mental powers,”
and chapter III provides his discussion of “moral sense.”
9 The significance of this was not lost on Darwin himself, who appears to have
struggled personally to come to grips with the notion of a purposeless natu-
ral world. In The Descent of Man he acknowledged the great difficulty that
people had in accepting non-teleological explanations of biological events,
writing that “[t]he birth both of the species and of the individual are equally
parts of that grand sequence of events, which our minds refuse to accept as
the result of blind chance. The understanding revolts at such a conclusion…”
(Darwin 1981, 396). Years earlier, in a letter to botanist Asa Gray dated May
22, 1860, he explained his belief that there was no design in nature, but im-
mediately followed his comments with the remark that “On the other hand I
cannot anyhow be contented to view this wonderful universe and especially
the nature of man, & to conclude that everything is the result of brute force”
(Darwin 1993, 224). In another letter to Gray dated July 3, 1860, he ex-

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 pressed the same point, writing that “If the death of neither man or gnat are
designed, I see no good reason to believe that their first birth or production
should be necessarily designed. Yet as I said before, I cannot persuade myself
that electricity acts, that the tree grows, that man aspires to the loftiest con-
ceptions all from blind, brute force.” He signed this letter “Your muddled and
affectionate friend, Ch. Darwin” (Darwin 1993, 275).
10 It should be reiterated here that these remarks are not about the deep ecology
movement (i.e. the social and political movement outlined in the eight-point
platform of deep ecology), but about aspects of the eco-philosophies of some
of the theorists who have voiced support of it.
11 Though Naess himself does not always do so, many commentators distin-
guish between the more narrow, individualistic sense of self and the wider,
more expansive sense of Self that Naess promotes by capitalizing the “S”
when referring to the latter. In what follows I have followed this convention.
12 As is well-known, near the end of On the Origin of Species Darwin makes
some suggestive remarks about the role that God may have played in creating
the original life forms from which all other species have evolved. See Darwin
1996, 391, 396.
13 In her oft-cited formulation of this idea, Merchant claims that the historical
rise of mechanism signaled “the death of nature,” rendering it “effectively
dead, inert, and manipulable from without” (1983, 214). It should be men-
tioned that it is probably not an accident that many thinkers who convey
this idea focus on the ways in which mechanism stripped nature of purpose
and agency, and not on how Darwin’s work may have done so. Arguably, the
mechanistic contribution to this view of nature is more substantial than is
Darwin’s, yet as we have shown in the second section of this essay, Darwin’s
thinking has played an important role here as well.
14 For more detailed discussion of this point, see Diehm 2007, section IV.
15 Summarizing this same cluster of ideas, McLaughlin writes that “evolution
provides a single framework for understanding humanity and the rest of na-
ture” (1993, 148), and that because of this more unitary framework we are
able to “remain faithful to our own experience of ourselves as centers of
action, and we can, in our approach to the rest of nature, be open to the ex-
istence of other comparable centers of experience and agency” (1993,149).
16 For discussion of the historical import for the natural sciences of the evolu-
tionary notion of continuity, see Rollin 1989, chapter 2.
17 I should emphasize here that I am not trying to address the very broad ques-
tion of how evolutionary biology in general, or Darwin’s work in particular,
can be used in the context of environmental ethics. I am addressing the much
more narrow question of whether or not the sort of kinship-identification
that Naess describes, taken in conjunction with the evolutionary emphasis
on the relatedness of living things, necessarily results in an outlook that is
focused only on living things. That evolutionary biology can be used in ways

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 that outstrip this discussion is, I think, beyond question. For an excellent
example of what this more broad application of evolutionary biology to en-
vironmental ethics might look like, see Rolston 1988.

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