Philosophical Foundation of Ecological Economics

Philosophical Basics of Ecology and Economy

In today’s world – despite the dramatic anthropogenic environmental changes – a proper understanding of the relationship between humanity and nature requires a certain detachment. The pressing problems in their whole extent will only be fully understood and solved with comprehensive and patient analysis. Accordingly, this book develops new perspectives on fundamental questions of biology, ecology and the economy, integrated within a framework of a terminology specially devised by the authors. By illuminating the epistemological backgrounds of ecological–economic research, the authors lay foundations for interdisciplinary environmental research and offer guidelines for practical action. On the basis of the findings of contemporary biological as well as economic literature, they demonstrate the fruitfulness as well as the shortcomings of modern science for the understanding of the proper place of humankind in nature. Frequently, current problems in the fields of economics, ecology, politics, philosophy and biology are discussed in a kind of ‘dialogue’ with thinkers and poets like Bacon, Quesnay, Kant, Goethe and Novalis. The book also offers traits of the Anglo-Saxon tradition of thought: a precise, analytical approach to theory and a pragmatic approach to action. Both approaches are used by the authors complementarily. Thus the authors lay the foundations for an ecological, economical and political practice that is able to tackle concrete environmental problems on an encompassing and long-term basis. This translated volume will be of great use and interest to students of ecology, economics and in particular environmental education, sustainable development and environmental ethics. Malte Faber is emeritus professor at the University of Heidelberg and since 2007 he has been a consultant for the Central, Province and Local governments of the People’s Republic of China. Reiner Manstetten is an assistant professor at the University of Heidelberg and, since 2004, has been working at the Helmholtz Centre for Environmental Research – UFZ in Leipzig.

Routledge studies in ecological economics

1 Sustainability Networks Cognitive tools for expert collaboration in social–ecological systems Janne Hukkinen 2 Drivers of Environmental Change in Uplands Aletta Bonn, Tim Allot, Klaus Hubaceck and Jon Stewart 3 Resilience, Reciprocity and Ecological Economics Northwest coast sustainability Ronald L. Trosper 4 Environment and Employment A reconciliation Philip Lawn 5 Philosophical Basics of Ecology and Economy Malte Faber and Reiner Manstetten

Philosophical Basics of Ecology and Economy

Malte Faber and Reiner Manstetten Translated by Dale Adams

First published 2010 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2009. To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk. © 2010 Malte Faber and Reiner Manstetten All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-87219-3 Master e-book ISBN ISBN10: 0-415-49455-9 (hbk) ISBN10: 0-203-87219-3 (ebk) ISBN13: 978-0-415-49455-7 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-87219-2 (ebk)

To John Proops, longstanding friend and co-author

Contents



Biographical notes Foreword Acknowledgements

ix xi xiv

  1 Introduction

1

  2 Environmental education: problems and possible solutions

5

  3 The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’

16

  4 Scientific logos and ignorance

25

  5 The essence logos

39

  6 The existence logos

53

  7 Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics

68

  8 The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life

80

  9 Stocks, stores, funds

97

10 Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking

108

11 Human beings, our world and our needs

125

12 The three interests of humankind

140

viii   Contents





Appendix: some remarks on the concepts of ‘environment’ and ‘environmental education’

158

Notes Bibliography Author index Subject index

165 180 188 191

Biographical notes

Malte Faber was born in 1938 in Düsseldorf, Germany. He studied economics, mathematics and statistics at the Free University of Berlin. He then took his MA in mathematical economics at the University of Minnesota, USA. His PhD was on stochastic programming from the Technical University of Berlin, where he also became assistant professor (Privatdozent) in economics. Since 1973 he has been professor in economic theory at the University of Heidelberg. He was director of the Interdisciplinary Institute for Environmental Economics from 1998 to 2004. Since 2004 he has been emeritus professor at the University of Heidelberg. He has published widely on capital theory, public choice, the role of the entropy concept in environmental economics, foundations of ecological economics, input–output analysis application to the management of water, waste and carbon-dioxide emissions. He has served as an adviser on environmental matters – for example, in the field of legislation concerning liquid and solid waste – to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) of the government of the USA, as well as to the Federal and State governments of the Federal Republic of Germany. Since 2007 he has been a consultant for the Central, Province and Local governments of the People’s Republic of China. Reiner Manstetten was born in 1953 in Würselen, Germany. He studied philosophy, German philology and music at the universities of Cologne, Freiburg and Heidelberg. He took his MA and his PhD on metaphysics and mysticism in the work of Meister Eckhart at the Department of Philosophy and his habilitation in economics and philosophy at the Department of Economics at the University of Heidelberg. From 1985 to 1998 he was Assistant at the Department of Economics in Heidelberg. Since 1998 he has been assistant professor (Privatdozent) in Heidelberg, and since 2004 he has worked at the Helmholtz Centre for Environmental Research – UFZ in Leipzig. He has published widely on the philosophical foundations of ecology and economics, ecological economics, history of economic thought, business ethics, and the philosophy of mysticism. In 2003 he received the Ernst-Bloch Award from the city of Ludwigshafen.

x   Biographical notes Malte Faber and Reiner Manstetten have cooperated for over a quarter of a century. They have written numerous papers and several books together. In particular they published, jointly with John Proops, the books Evolution, Time, Production and the Environment (1993/1998) and Ecological Economics: Concepts and Methods (1996/1998).

Foreword

On the methodology and content of this book In debates on environmental and sustainability problems, the call for immediate action is frequently heard with the rationale that ‘time is running out’. This implies, however, that an appropriate reflection on complex issues is scarcely possible. In contrast, we aim to demonstrate that in today’s world – despite the dramatic anthropogenic environmental changes – a proper understanding of the relationship between humanity and the environment is absolutely necessary. This, in turn, requires a certain detachment. The pressing problems will only be fully understood and solved with painstaking, comprehensive and patient analysis. Accordingly, we develop new perspectives on fundamental questions of biology, ecology and the economy. To this end, we have elaborated our own specially devised terminology that enables us to work scientifically but does not restrict us by the unavoidable narrowness of scientific discourses. Our termini, newly coined, do not belong to any particular science, but they permit us to connect them to the basic notions of ecology and economy. In particular, they are devised in such a way that they enable us to integrate experiences of everyday life. This is important in order to check whether our scientific analysis is really relevant for the environmental problem to be solved. In particular, we seek to illuminate the epistemological backgrounds of ecological–economic research (Chapters 4 to 6). We aim to develop foundations for interdisciplinary environmental research and, at the same time, offer guidelines for practical action. Our ultimate goal is to delineate a studium fundamentale that allows readers to participate in a synopsis of knowledge concerning humankind and nature, integrating natural, philosophical, political and ethical perspectives. A comprehensive presentation of the goals and methods of this book is given in Chapter 1. The chapters of this book build on one another so an understanding of new concepts as they are progressively developed over several chapters is a prerequisite for grasping the content of later chapters. At certain points it may be advisable to turn back to earlier to be reminded of the precise meaning of the terminology being used. For readers who wish to gain an initial impression of our approach without needing to delve fully into our argumentation and

xii   Foreword terminology, we recommend Chapter 7. Here we draw parallels between the vision of Francis Bacon with regard to the synthesis of science, technology and the common good and Goethe’s representation of the character Faust in the second part of his drama Faust. Goethe turns Bacon’s intentions into a ‘practical reality’ and demonstrates the consequences of such practices in the lives of human beings and in nature.

On the translation into English We are pleased to present our book Philosophical Basics of Ecology and Economy to an English-speaking audience. The title of the German edition is Mensch – Natur – Wissen. Grundlagen der Umweltbildung (Humankind –Nature – Knowledge: On the Foundation of Environmental Education). The topic of environmental education, however, albeit of no small relevance for our approach, is not its main goal; thus, the English title is more appropriate to our intention. The translation of this book has been a difficult task. For instance, the English word ‘reason’ can mean both Verstand and Vernunft in German. It is precisely these nuances in philosophical thought that are particularly difficult to retain in moving from one language to another. When we entrusted Dale Adams, who had studied economics and philosophy with us, with the translation of our book, we were uncertain about how this very German book would read in English. The translation took place over a three-year period during which the authors and translator remained in frequent contact. We feel that Dale has not only fully understood our sometimes complicated thoughts, but also managed to find corresponding English concepts and formulations, which comprehensively express the content of our thought. In a final revision, we made some minor changes to the text and shifted two more philosophically orientated sections of Chapter 1 of the German edition to an appendix.

Some remarks on the background of this book That this book has been developed on the basis of lectures given to Germanspeaking audiences is not the only reason it was originally written in German. Many of the book’s central concepts are rooted in a tradition whose origins go back to German philosophy and literature of the period covering the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century. We frequently discuss current problems in the fields of economics, ecology, politics, philosophy and biology in a kind of ‘dialogue’ with thinkers and poets like Kant, Goethe and Novalis, because we believe modern scientific theory may learn a lot from Kant’s thought, and biologists would sometimes do well to listen to people with the mindset of a Goethe or Novalis. A deep engagement with the philosophical tradition is a hallmark of continental-European philosophy and, in particular, of hermeneutics. This hermeneutic basic attitude provides perspectives rather than solutions, opens eyes, points in a direction and offers a ‘map’, rather than marking out a specific course. As an

Foreword   xiii economist (Malte Faber) and a philosopher (Reiner Manstetten) we have, during our more than twenty-year-old interdisciplinary collaboration, particularly been influenced by Hans-Georg Gadamer’s (1900–2002) teaching at the University of Heidelberg, in which modern-day debates pay heed to the words of great thinkers of the past and strive to learn from them. The strong ties to hermeneutics are, in a manner of speaking, what is specifically German (or at least Continental European) about our book. However, for us, hermeneutics is not an end in itself. It is, rather, a means to realise the ultimate goal of our book: to contribute to concrete problems of our times being better identified, comprehensively understood and tackled on a longterm basis. In this we have been significantly influenced, in particular in our environmental-policy consultancy, by experiences more characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon tradition of thought: a precise, analytical approach to theory and a pragmatic approach to action. In our view, the hermeneutical, Continental-European tradition and the analytical and pragmatic Anglo-Saxon approach are complementary. During our collaboration over many years with our friend and colleague John Proops, who has been one of the founders of Ecological Economics and served as president of the International Society of Ecological Economics for several years, we have experienced the way these two very different approaches fit together. This experience has contributed greatly to the pleasure that has characterised our association with John. To show our appreciation, we have dedicated this book to him.

Acknowledgements

The ideas expressed in this book are the product of more than ten years of deliberation. They have been discussed with many students, co-workers and colleagues who helped us to formulate our thoughts more clearly. We would like to thank the Academy of the Saxonian State Foundation on Nature and the Environment and especially the Director, Hans-Joachim Gericke, for invaluable assistance in the publication of this book. Likewise, our thanks go to the City of Heidelberg Foundation as well as to the Heidelberg University Faculty of Economics. The financial support of both institutions provided the means that allowed us to pursue and develop our ideas. The persistent encouragement and active support of Rudolf Jansche, Honorary Senator of the University of Heidelberg, were significant factors for the lecture manuscripts eventually becoming a book. We are particularly grateful to Dale Adams for the translation of this book from the German. We thank Christian Becker, Carl Gillingham, Friederike Hofmeister, Rosa Huhn, Johanna Spratte and Christoph Vanberg for comments and corrections. For her kind and constructive supervision of the manuscript on its way to the original German publication, we thank Ulrike Gießmann-Bindewald of Vandenhoeck-Ruprecht Publishers. Finally, we are grateful to Robert Langham of Routledge for his continuous interest and encouragement on the way to this English edition.

1 Introduction

The style and goal of this book The following deliberations are based on the content of lectures that were held several times at the Faculty of Economics at the University of Heidelberg under the title ‘Philosophical Foundations of Ecology and Economy’ for students of various disciplines: economics, politics, laws, liberal arts, physics, biology. In their current form they correspond largely to a series of talks held at the workshop ‘Foundations of Environmental Education’ in Großbothen near Leipzig, which was organised by the Academy of the Saxonian State Foundation on Nature and the Environment.1 Although various changes were made on the way to publishing it in book form, the lecture style has been intentionally preserved. As a consequence, the book displays certain characteristics similar to those Sigmund Freud recorded in regard to the publication of his Introductory Lec­ tures on Psychoanalysis: Any particularities of this book which may strike its readers are accounted for by the conditions in which it originated. It was not possible in my presentation to preserve the unruffled calm of a scientific treatise. On the contrary, the lecturer had to make it his business to prevent his audience’s attention from lapsing during a session lasting for almost two hours. The necessities of the moment often made it impossible to avoid repetitions in treating some particular subject [. . .]. As a result, too, of the way in which the material was arranged, some important topics [. . .] could not be exhaustively treated at a single point, but had to be taken up repeatedly and then dropped again until a fresh opportunity arose for adding some further information about it.2 In this regard the subject matter lends itself to a means of presentation which to a certain extent dissociates itself from that which Freud called ‘the unruffled calm of a scientific treatise’. What we are dealing with here are the foundations of such a kind of environmental education which develops people’s ability to recognise themselves and their world, as well as to encounter nature. This requires a willingness to self-critically reflect on untried beliefs, prejudiced opinions and entrenched behavioural patterns.

2   Introduction Education is never finished or complete – neither for those who impart it, nor for those who receive it. Any call to educate includes the stipulation that the teachers remain learners and persuade their listeners or readers to ‘learn along’. Hence one of the most significant forms in which education takes place is a conversation. In this sense the following deliberations were conceived of as a conversation with the reader, one which picks up the kind of suggestions, thoughts and objections that emerged from the discussions resulting from the oral presentation. We do not picture our readers solely as researchers or students of science or the humanities, but also as anyone in the fields of politics, management, economics, education or the media who has an interest in ecological questions. We furthermore address all those who find themselves confronted with environmental problems in practice. Those we have in mind are essentially all and any who take an interest in the further development of our society, whereby nonhuman nature is granted its proper place. In other words we turn to readers who wish to participate in a studium generale or studium fundamentale with special emphasis on nature and the economy. Such a wide circle of addressees requires a special approach. Something which seems matter of course to a reader schooled in philosophy may seem new, strange or even alienating for an employee of an environmental administration. Basic elements of science as we present them may well appear trivial or oversimplified by a biologist’s standards, yet, on the other hand, assist, for example, an economist to discover completely new perspectives. We generally attempt to keep the standard of our argumentation accessible for those who might not be proficient in the particular discipline in question. In this manner we naturally subject ourselves to objections which we would like to address in advance: interdisciplinary research is generally viewed with a certain amount of suspicion. It is difficult to imagine that scientists who participate in the most advanced discourse of their individual disciplines can offer substantial contributions in another field. It is even less easy to accept that scientists with average skills in several different disciplines can make significant discoveries. The following deliberations might well meet with such suspicion that the competency of the authors might be restricted to economics, philosophy and literature. What right do they have to expect their thoughts and theses that fall into the province of other disciplines to be given attention? We can answer this in two different ways. First, besides having published in scientific journals together with experts from natural sciences, we have subjected much of that material relating to fields other than our own to extensive criticism from competent peers in relevant fields such as physics, chemistry and biology etc., as well as those from social science and the humanities. Second, apart from its interdisciplinary aspect, the distinctive characteristic of our approach is a new and comprehensive view on problems pertaining to the relationship between humans and nature, ones which belong as such to no particular discipline: environmental problems are not exclusively physical, biological, economical, political, social or cultural problems. They are all of these and more. One could

Introduction   3 perhaps most aptly refer to a perspective that fulfils such criteria as philosoph­ ical – as long as philosophy is regarded as the struggle to comprehend the foundations of our means of perception and behaviour. Such an endeavour will be undertaken in several of the following chapters, albeit focused on specific questions. We deem that the term ‘philosophical’ applies in particular to our effort to present causal correlations beyond the limits of individual disciplines in such a manner as to allow a glimpse of the problem in its entirety. Thus the independent accomplishment of the following deliberations does not consist of a presentation of brand new knowledge in any specific field of research. However, we regard the manner in which we accumulate knowledge from separate fields under common terminology and place it in an intelligible theoretical context as something new. The most significant aspiration of our book is to accumulate and terminologically structure the basics of knowledge concerning the interaction between human beings and nature – knowledge currently strewn throughout many separate disciplines – as well as to examine the extent and limitations of the same.

The structure of the book The structure of our book can be described as follows. In Chapter 2 we offer an overview of the questions and tasks confronting environmental education, and present categories of possible solutions to dramatic negative developments. We hereby emphasise the role philosophy has to play in facilitating a comprehensive observation and portrayal of environmental problems. In Chapter 3 we turn our attention to the two sciences of ecology and economics. An analysis of both of these, based on the original meanings of the ancient Greek terms oikos (house), nomos (law, regulation of allotment) and logos (word, term, order, meaning) leads us to the questions of which ‘house’ both the economically active human being and other forms of life inhabit, what the present state of this house is and how it must be ordered in the future. Since, as a rule, a crucial role in solving environmental problems is ascribed to science, in Chapters 4 to 7 we analyse the foundations of human knowledge. We differentiate between three basic forms of human knowledge: the scientific logos, as characterised by classical physics in particular, is joined by the essence logos, the field of the ‘last things’, and the existence logos, which we find in our surroundings. We shall see that scorning ‘reason and science’, as denounced as early as in Goethe’s Faust, is equally as foolish as assuming that science is the only valid form of knowledge. Inevitable forms of ignorance that lie in the shadow of all forms of knowledge are also examined in depth. How the different forms of knowledge with regard to the present relationship between humans and nature intertwine is described by means of a closer inspection of the utopian vision of Francis Bacon and of Goethe’s Faust in Chapter 7.3 Chapters 8 to 10 lay the philosophical foundations for a new perspective on nature and ecological questions by means of a critical application of the findings of modern evolutionary biology. Special significance

4   Introduction is placed on the teleological terminology of the three rationales of living beings (the three ‘tele’). The common conceptions of self-preservation and self-reproduction are supplemented by the concept of services, which living beings perform for other living beings or for natural communities, and which can even go as far as self-denial. The terminology of funds and services offers new possibilities of portraying nature’s household in the dynamics of its interactions with consideration to long-term developments. The concluding chapters, 11 and 12, are devoted to the basics of the human economy. This does not necessarily mean, however, that we go into standard modern economic theory in detail. Instead we deal thematically with problems to which, as a rule, a solution is a precondition to economics: the long-term effectuality of stocks, the greater or lesser valuation or significance of needs, the different weightings of interests in their individual orientations. The individual self-interest that is ascribed to people as their chief orientation in standard economic models is supplemented not only by an interest in the community in its different forms but also by an interest in the whole.

2 Environmental education Problems and possible solutions

Education and training We mentioned above (see Chapter 1) that our aim is to develop the foundations of a kind of environmental education that enables people to recognise themselves and their world, as well as to encounter nature. Environmental education is, as the name indicates, a form of education. But what is ‘education’? For many, the word may sound a little obsolete. It is more modern to speak of ‘training’, as economics and politics often do. ‘Training’ refers to the imparting of knowledge and skills in a specific field. A person is trained to become a salesperson, a nurse, a computer specialist, etc. But what is one ‘educated’ to become? You occasionally hear that someone is an ‘educated’ person, but that does not necessarily mean that he or she is suitable for a particular and clearly defined useful purpose. Thus one does not apply for a position because one is ‘educated’ but because one’s training matches the profile. Once again the question: what is one educated to be? The answer should be: a human being. Education is part of a programme that had its climax, at least in the German-speaking world, in the Enlightenment and Classicist period of the eighteenth century. Education in the sense of this programme means the advancement and accompaniment of a development, at the end of which a human being is truly a human being – that is to say, he or she has brought their personal talents to maturity, recognises themselves, understands the world they live in and knows where they have come from, what they are ordained to be and what they are doing. Training is also part of education. No one is educated who does not possess concrete learning and specific skills in special areas. Yet education is something fundamentally different from training: training is supposed to leave those who are trained basically the way they are, apart from the fact that they receive certain knowledge and skills. Training relates to only certain aspects of a human being. Education, however, relates to the whole human. Contrary to training, it is to change the person who is to be educated. The goal of the process of education is to form the person in such a manner that he or she becomes what he or she is according to the best parts of their potential – in the same way that a block of marble is changed by the sculptor until what is concealed in it, the complete

6   Environmental education statue, is revealed. The word ‘education’ includes the concept of ‘taking form’. In the educated human being, the truly human form has materialised, a form which previously existed in potential, but was yet concealed. Education is not completed until the human being has not only been educated (formed), but has also formed his or her world – that is to say, shaped it until it has become the beautiful thing that lies within its nature. Thus in the eighteenth century the concept existed of an ‘educated nature’, one which has been shaped according to its own inherent potential into a hospitable habitat for human beings.

The overabundance of knowledge and fundamental ignorance So, understood in this manner, what does the expression ‘education’ mean for environmental education? In a certain respect environmental education is training – namely in the respect that it aims to impart information and skills. In its true nature, however, it is education. Why we regard it in this manner will become clear in the course of the following deliberations. We would like to begin by giving a formal description of what environmental education is, or should be. In most cases, environmental education means that knowledge in regard to certain aspects of humankind’s dealings with nature is to be increased and deepened. Furthermore, it is expected to provide suggestions that contribute to solutions to problems caused by humankind’s dealings with nature. Both aspects are important. Special emphasis, however, is to be laid on a third. Environmental education is to create in people an awareness for who they are and what they do as beings who live in nature and with nature. Thus it is not only the task of environmental education to present and pass on existing knowledge in regard to the environment in an ordered, systematic form. Rather, those who receive such knowledge are also to become capable of dealing with it independently, developing it creatively and applying it in an appropriate manner. They ought to hereby develop a clearer sense of awareness of themselves and their immersion in their social and natural worlds. The knowledge environmental education imparts, therefore, is not an end in itself: it is, rather, a means of advancing an appropriate self-perception on the one hand, and presenting a foundation for correct behaviour on the other. Of course, this task could seem impossible. Knowledge about the environment is to be found within a large number of different disciplines. These include those sciences dealing with the processes that take place in nature such as physics, geology, chemistry, biology, ecology, medicine and geography. However, taking into account that the source of environmental problems is almost always the behaviour of humans, then – in order to understand what is taking place in our environment – it is necessary to draw upon those sciences that deal with human behaviour. These would be psychology, sociology, politics and law. These sciences and humanities differ greatly from one another in particular ways, be it in their terminology, or in their methods and approach.

Environmental education   7 Communication between the representatives of different disciplines often fails due to the fact that they may live in different worlds of thought and languages. The languages and methodologies of a physicist, an economist and a lawyer have so little in common that these three people can hardly find a mutual starting point for a conversation within the framework of their various terminologies. The issues become even more complex when one takes into account that scientific knowledge regarding the environment is often accompanied by the usually even more concrete knowledge of field workers in agriculture, forestry, process engineering, economics, law, administration and politics – the knowledge of those who experience environmental problems ‘on the spot’, so to speak. Even this practical knowledge is splintered – separate authorities such as those for waste, agriculture, health, environmental conservation, construction, traffic, waste-disposal plants, communal administration, etc. often cannot coordinate their directives properly. Above and beyond this, there are great communication difficulties between the administrators on the one hand and the environmental technicians in the various firms on the other. Communication between the practical field and science is also extremely limited. The task of monitoring the environmentally significant knowledge within the different disciplines and practical fields, let alone ordering it and systematically passing it on, is one that would overburden any individual. This means that, particularly when discussing environmental matters, people are often talking past one another, allowing half-knowledge and ambiguities to sneak in. If the apparently chaotic, unstructured overabundance of existing knowledge is already a deterrent to a systematically ordered concept of environmental education, then another aspect provides an even greater cause for concern: we know very little.1 This holds for (1) our knowledge about nature, and (2) our knowledge about humans. 1  Important atmospheric developments that are of great significance for global warming are beyond the knowledge of meteorologists and climatic researchers. Up to 90 per cent of the Earth’s animal and plant species are as yet unknown to biologists – and if the deforestation of the tropics, as well of Canada, Northern Europe and Russia, continues in the present manner, we will have brought many of them to extinction before we can discover them. The topsoil of an average pasture in Germany contains myriad micro-organisms, involved in sometimes highly complex interactions we know very little about. 2  Our ignorance about the beings which we ourselves are, and about the consequences of our actions, is even greater. Environmental damage generally arises due to humans intervening directly or indirectly in natural interrelationships. In the case of direct intervention it is through the reshaping of landscapes – extraction of resources, agriculture or the construction of motorways and living and industrial areas with supermarkets and factories, or the straightening or damming of rivers. In the case of indirect intervention, we are talking about the deposition of pollutants into the air, water and soil. How natural processes are changed by human intervention, especially in regard to which long-term effects can arise, is

8   Environmental education mostly unknown. For example, the extent of the damage to the ozone layer by chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) was only recognised after these substances had been used for roughly fifty years as heat-isolators and coolants in refrigerators and freezers, or as propellants in spray cans. Today we still know very little about the long-term effects on our ground water of pesticides, herbicides and fertilisers that were employed in the past. Something we know next to nothing about is the safe disposal of nuclear waste. Let us turn finally to the behaviour of humans towards the environment: how it will develop in the future in different cultures and economic regions, how and whether it can be steered towards more environmental care, which political and economical institutions would be required, how one could legitimately establish such institutions within the opinion-forming processes of a democratic state under the rule of law – we know very little about all these things. Let us summarise these thoughts: (1) the overabundance of knowledge in regard to the environment within different scientific disciplines and fields, (2) the lack of communication between those who have this knowledge, and (3) ignorance pertaining to the central questions about the environment and our ways of treating it, are three almost insurmountable obstacles on the way to developing concepts of a meaningful environmental education. This results in a special dilemma when dealing with the question of the right way to act with regard to the environment. It is generally accepted as a necessary precondition of correct behaviour that people who act must be aware of what they are doing. In this respect it does not suffice that the aim of the action be good and the means acknowledged as morally acceptable – although these conditions alone are difficult enough to satisfy. Above and beyond this, such a stipulation includes that those involved can roughly estimate the consequences of their actions and all their direct effects, simultaneously not neglecting the concomitants. At the same time, this means that the investment of means (costs) must stand in an appropriate relation to the desired result (utility). If, in principle, people can scarcely assess the effects of new technologies on the environment, if they can’t evaluate the influence of political regulations on the behaviour of people in advance, if they do not know how to practically implement into the political process regulations that have been recognised as good in theory, it would seem difficult to expect environmental education to advance our ability to act correctly within the relationship of humankind and nature.2

Three approaches to environmental education How should these problems be dealt with? We see three approaches: 1  The first approach is the pragmatic way of little steps. It consists of environmental education selecting and isolating certain aspects of the environmental dilemma that have been well researched. Generally, environmental education chooses this first approach. It limits itself to segments of non-human nature and

Environmental education   9 human behaviour towards it. We can offer a few examples: aspects of biodiversity in selected ecological systems, problems of ground water quality in a certain region, concepts of how to redevelop former brown coal strip-mining areas, technologies for the disposal or avoidance of pollutants, waste disposal costs, taxation of CO2 emissions, concepts of environment-friendly agriculture, questions of environmental pedagogies, environmental law and environmental economics. Environmental education should always address such detailed questions. Here, relatively reliable insights can be gained and pragmatically useful directives given – that is to say, indications as to what can be done here and now, even if the more comprehensive problem cannot be coped with in this manner. Of course, one mustn’t lose sight of the whole. 2  The second approach is that of large and comprehensive visions – the one of danger and salvation scenarios. It consists of conceptualising a general and comprehensive view of environmental problems, thematically discussing wide-­ ranging contexts and correlations, and designing development perspectives for the future. This approach was chosen, perhaps for the first time, in 1972 by the Club of Rome (1972) in its famous report ‘Limits to Growth’. In recent years there have also been publications such as those of the Wuppertal Institute for Energy and Environment.3 As a rule, such scenarios and visions contain threatening warnings and admonitions intended to shake people awake, as well as perspectives of hope intended to lend them the courage for wide-sweeping changes. It is not uncommon for them to climax in radical reform proposals for politics and the economy. Here it often has to be accepted that the presentation of details is often inexact or sometimes downright wrong, and that most wide-sweeping proposals often don’t appear particularly reliable.4 Sometimes when dealing with such designs one cannot help but get the feeling that they are not sufficiently grounded, even to the point where they could be used to arrive at the exact opposite result. On the one hand, choosing this second approach and applying it in a serious and responsible manner requires a certain boldness. Otherwise it is nearly impossible to scale the heights necessary to view environmental problems so comprehensively. Such viewpoints have their place in environmental education, if only to prevent us from getting ensnared in the thicket of details. This second approach, however, also requires a highly developed facility for criticism, most especially self-criticism on the side of its devotees. In general one has to warn against uncritically adopting all-too-wide-sweeping motions or proposals: in the fields of the conservation and preservation of nature, as well as the careful shaping of human living areas, while showing appropriate consideration for nature, there is no single path to deliverance. Proposing far-reaching regulations and measures imposes a special responsibility: a determined step in the wrong direction can turn out to be as irreversible as failing to make necessary changes at the right time. Both approaches, the pragmatic one of small steps and the comprehensive one  of great visions, have proven fruitful in the history of the environmental

10   Environmental education movement, both in Germany and on a worldwide scale. Many of the impressive achievements in the area of environmental conservation that the Federal Republic of Germany has accomplished since the 1970s were founded on great visions which (from the beginning of the 1970s to the mid-1980s) gave a continually growing environmental movement the stamina for change – we could mention the movement against atomic energy, citizens’ action groups, environmental associations or the Green Party in its beginnings. These applied a constant pressure on politics and the economy. This pressure led to important environmental conservation regulations being implemented with regard to the media of air, water and soil, despite great resistance from those who saw their profits, wages or positions threatened, or those who simply wouldn’t or couldn’t recognise that the problems existed.5 The fact that these regulations have indeed significantly improved the quality of air and water in many areas, and at least show promise of doing the same with the soil. is due to the persistent, often inconspicuous activities of those who have chosen the pragmatic approach of small steps – people working in the environmental departments of industries and firms, in various communal and ministerial administrative positions, as well as those who invested often unpaid effort into local or regional initiatives for infrastructure planning, ecological agriculture or environment-friendly energy production. As important as the application, continuation and development of both these approaches are and will continue to be for environmental education, one also has to admit that these approaches in themselves have not yet tackled many significant tasks of environmental education. Let us recall the obstacles standing in the way of a comprehensive and systematically structured environmental education outlined in the previous section: the chaotic abundance of knowledge in the different scientific disciplines, the lack of communication between scientists and field workers, and the ignorance about central questions of the environmental dilemma. If one takes these three obstacles seriously, one has to say: the second approach, that of great visions, simply skips over fundamental difficulties of a comprehensive environmental education, whereas the first approach, the pragmatic one of small steps, attempts to slip by them in a specific limited area. However, both approaches ultimately come up against these obstacles again and again. Not dealing with them means that fundamental problems in the area of the interactions between humankind and nature remain neglected. The fact that the environmental movement in Germany at the beginning of the twenty-first century seems to have lost its longterm perspectives can be attributed, among other things, to the fact that such fundamental problems have not been – at least not sufficiently – confronted. In order to develop new methods of tackling these problems, we propose a new approach to a form of environmental education which, in the long run, can teach society a responsible treatment of its natural foundations and offer suggestions for a new, more harmonious relationship with nature. 3  This third approach is the approach of fundamental reflection. It consists of: (a) a fundamental analysis of the basis on which we diagnose environmental

Environmental education   11 problems. This entails exposing our elementary observations and fundamental assumptions, and self-critically reviewing and questioning them; and (b) considering on which basis, with which criteria, values and expectations we design directives and solutions for humankind and nature. Only after such fundamental reflection and on the basis of its insights are far-reaching measures in the field of human–nature interaction meaningful. To explain what we mean by this, we draw upon the example of medicine: the first two approaches of environmental education are comparable with the curing of individual sicknesses and symptoms on the one hand, and the loud promises of progress-orientated representatives of school medicine or miracle healers on the other. Both can help people on occasion, but both also often fall short of what is necessary if not supplemented by something else. If medical practitioners would make do with simply curing individual symptoms and offering great promises – wherever they might be coming from – one would have to ask them: what are you actually doing? Shouldn’t you first be making principal reflections before turning to operational methods? Such reflections could, among other things, be the following: what is sickness? On what basis and according to which dependable indications can one even establish a sickness, i.e. diagnose a sickness? And what does each individual diagnosis entail for the future of the patient? The latter would be the question of a prognosis. Furthermore, medicine would have to reflect upon what health actually is – to this end, further criteria would have to be developed. In particular, however, it would require a framework, similar to a perimeter, within which its research approaches would gain meaning. Such a framework could, for example be the (scientifically difficult to grasp) idea of ‘a healthy soul within a healthy body’. Another, far narrower, framework would consist of limiting a definition of ‘health’ to solely organically describable circumstances. Each would lead to different orientations in diagnosis and therapy. Only after the clarification of correlated problems could medicine meaningfully seek comprehensive criteria for dependable therapies to, if at all possible, restore the patients to health. Reflections of this kind would be the basis for the creation of diagnostic and operational instruments for medicines and healing procedures. However modern-day medicine might solve these problems; when we transpose these reflections onto the environment, we are forced to ask: what do we mean when we speak of an ‘environmental problem’? How and in what manner can we establish that such a problem exists? How can we achieve a sensible diagnosis of the present-state or believable prognoses? For far too long the environmental movement in the Federal Republic of Germany did not address such questions because its members believed that any reasonable person would automatically recognise and accept that modern-day humanity is plundering their stock of raw materials and causing catastrophic environmental damage; that it is, as it were, ‘shortly before the hour’. It was, however, by no means the case, that every reasonable person shared this view. In regard to global warming, for example, the so-called greenhouse effect, American economists calculated several years ago that the costs of

12   Environmental education avoiding or decreasing the greenhouse effect would be far greater than the cost they expect global warming to entail. Thus these scientists practically declared: the state of humankind and the environment is not as ‘ill’ as people want to tell us, and therefore it seems on the whole best to do without therapies at all. Against this view it was argued: those scientists must have been bought by the American government or at least put under massive pressure. Far better than engaging in such polemics would be to ask: on the basis of which observations and arguments can the position of those who don’t view the development of the global climate as a problem for the continued existence of humanity be weakened? On the basis of which observations and arguments do we assume that said development is truly an increasingly grave problem for humankind? Above and beyond this, we are dealing with the horizon of our interpretations: which questions do we consider meaningful? What do we relate them to when considering humankind and nature? How does the manner in which we pose this question influence how our orientations are formed? With such an attitude, we actively deal with the obstacles facing a successful environmental education, we confront the chaotic structure of our knowledge as well as our fundamental ignorance, and we accept that the basis of our activity seems rather fragile in many regards. This also entails looking closely at what we truly do know, how we can communicate what we know and how we can achieve reasonable, meaningful directives. But how can we adopt such an approach?

The role of philosophy for environmental education A reasonable, critically examinable basis for diagnoses and directives in the field of environmental education cannot belong to any one science, technology or political theory. Particularly if it is to be the common basis of all knowledge in regard to environmental problems, it will not be able to be found in one single branch of said knowledge. If we wish to achieve such a foundation, we will have to break through the overabundance of knowledge and enter a new, initially undefined horizon in which we can seek the hidden common roots of all the different scientific languages and methods. Such a procedure is uncommon. For, if we are to seek a framework and basis for environmental education beyond the fragmentation of the different disciplines, then none of these disciplines will be able to help us. What is needed is an approach that is well founded and, if at all possible, rooted in experience (or at least not opposed to it), one which is furthermore open to and receptive for practical discoveries and insights, but which is ultimately formulated in such a manner that it is not affected by the communication barriers between the disciplines. Within this third approach we are seeking a productive foundation for environmental education within a meaningful horizon. If we could possibly manage to gather the splintered, detailed insights of the different disciplines, as well as our various practical experiences, and place them all within an ordered context,

Environmental education   13 then we would become capable of recognising the merits of the approach of little steps and seeing through the exaggerated salvation and horror scenarios. For such an approach there exist templates in a discipline which, although not a science in the usual sense of the word, is nevertheless by no means unscientific. On the contrary it is a discipline that offers contributions on which every form of science depends. This discipline is philosophy. We do not, however, have in mind philosophy in the usual sense of ‘university philosophy’. Here it generally presents itself as one specific discipline among many. Such a discipline can, among other things, formulate fundamental problems of metaphysics, logic, ethics, aesthetics and natural philosophy as precisely as possible and, in addition, can help to develop our ability to sensibly interpret important texts of the philosophical tradition. But many departments of university philosophy share – for good reasons – with other scientific disciplines the trait that they have a one-sided viewpoint and limit themselves to a very small segment of the problems of the world. There exists, however, another definition of philosophy, one that conceives of it in the manner expressed by the ancient Greek word ‘philosophy’: Philo-Sophia is ‘the love of wisdom’. Wisdom is that truth which allows us to live our lives in harmony with ourselves, our fellow human beings, nature and our origins. Whoever searches for such truth in all earnest, deploying all of his or her faculties of perception, is a philosopher in the sense of the ancient Greeks. Such a philosophy does not dedicate itself to any individual, narrowly defined problem, but rather to the totality of life, the totality of human existence on Earth. Good university philosophy is always rooted, however much specific specialisation may be necessary, in philosophy in the sense of Philo-Sophia. One of the greatest philosophers of modern times, Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), formulated the fundamental questions of a philosophy in the sense of the love of wisdom in the form of the following questions: 1 2 3

‘What can I know?’ ‘What ought I to do?’ ‘What may I hope?’

The root of all these questions is, according to Kant, the question: ‘What is man?’6 Philosophy must not claim to have binding answers to all these and similar questions. It is not the proprietor of wisdom, but rather a path to wisdom – one in regard to which it will always remain open as to whether or not it will ever lead to actual possession of wisdom. In respect to wisdom, philosophy is much more a longing and searching than a finding and appropriating. This does not mean, however, that on such a path nothing significant can be found or achieved. For philosophy teaches us to continually test our knowledge anew, to reject halfknowledge and error, and to systematically sort and arrange that which remains with the claim of being true knowledge. It also teaches us to deal sensibly with inevitable ignorance, to transform it into knowledge if possible and to soberly accept it if not. In this manner philosophy protects us equally from the arrogance

14   Environmental education of a faith in the possibility of human omniscience, as well as the despair of universal scepticism, which doubts everything without ever gaining a footing or hold. Instead, philosophy shows us what we truly know and can depend upon, as well as what we only approximately know and can only place wary trust in, and finally what we can and cannot know. At the same time philosophy can teach us to organise the points of view according to which we orientate our behaviour – both as individuals and social beings, especially as participants in the political decision-making processes of a democracy. It challenges us to independently reflect on what we truly hold for good and just, what absolutely must be done and what is to be refrained from, without blindly subjecting ourselves to the tenets of a religion or Unitarian party, without mindlessly following the common behavioural rules of our social class or culture, without allowing ourselves to be distracted by the fluctuating opinions of the media. In particular, philosophy schools us to assume comprehensive responsibility.7 It reminds us that all human activity can only be understood before the background of following questions: what is a good life? What do I consider to be a good life in respect to my own person? How do I bring my concepts of a good life into harmony with the different concepts of other people? What is a good life in which non-human nature is given its right? How can we achieve a maximum of justice within a democratic state with no compulsion other than that of the better argument?8 We would like to summarise the arguments for why philosophy in the sense of the striving for wisdom is so essential for the foundations of environmental education under four aspects: 1

2

3

Philosophy assists us to properly assess the basis and scope of our knowledge and to recognise our ignorance. Thus it is helpful in light of two of the hurdles that originally made further progress in environmental education appear unfeasible: the overabundance of our knowledge and the inevitability of our ignorance. Philosophy helps us to clarify the horizons and categories in which we can seek a solution to environmental problems. It shows us that we are not dealing with merely technical questions of a specific production or consumption process, but rather with a much more fundamental question: the one of how a good life in justice can be achieved in regard to the use of resources and distribution of products, not only for the people in affluent countries, but also for those in the whole world; not only for the people alive today, but also for future generations; not only for human beings, but also for all sentient creatures. Philosophy reminds us that environmental education does not deal first and foremost with the environment itself, but rather with that being which intervenes harmfully or mitigatingly into it, or else refrains from such intervention. Environmental education, in so far as it is education at all, deals with human beings as the perpetrators of these problems, and human beings as those who seek to solve them – we are dealing therefore with the question

Environmental education   15

4

which, according to Kant, underlies all philosophy: what is a human being? This question is, however, channelled by environmental education into a specific direction: what is a human being that it can often only satisfy its needs by intervening more or less drastically into its natural environment, changing it and sometimes radically transforming it? What is a human being that it, in its current stage of development, acts and satisfies its needs in such a manner that massive damage to its natural environment is caused, thus endangering the health of itself and its fellow humans? What is a human being that, living in a rich country, it irreversibly plunders the foundations of the existence of future generations in order to satisfy trivial desires? What is a human being that it – at least as represented by certain members of its species – observes and recognises all this but has not yet reached a significant turning point? Finally, philosophy deals with the entirety. Narrowed down to environmental education, this means that it does not only regard people as individuals or even in connection with their fellow humans, but rather as beings which must be viewed in the context of the whole of nature. A human being is a living creature that shares significant characteristics with animal and plant life so that a question pertaining to humans in their environment simultaneously leads to the questions: what is nature, in that through evolution over millions of years, it continuously expresses itself in new forms of life? What is nature, in that it continues to develop itself in the struggle of living creatures for existence, as well as in their cooperation among themselves? What is nature, in that its evolution has led to a being – namely the human being – which is capable of a special perception of nature, which is creative in a manner only outdone by the creativity of nature itself, which is uniquely able to destroy nature, and even to eventually endanger all life on this planet, and yet is also equipped with the unique gifts of potential sympathy and affection towards all that it encounters?

3 The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’

Concerning the term ‘economy’ – the oikos and its nomos No individual scientific discipline can make the claim of being able to autonomously lay the foundation for environmental education. Nonetheless, there are two disciplines that occupy a particularly prominent position: ecology and economics. This position does not fall to them for reasons of their terminology, their axioms or their methods, but rather because their objects are essentially the same as those of environmental education. Not by chance is the expression ‘ecological economics’1 well-known throughout the international scientific world as that field of research which deals with many of the most interesting questions in regard to humans, nature and the environment. The special significance of ecology and economics is revealed as soon as we take a closer look at the two terms themselves: ‘ecology’ and ‘economy’. Both share the component ‘eco’ which is derived from the ancient Greek word ‘oikos’, meaning ‘house’. Oikos does not only mean the building itself, however, but refers to everything that can be better summarised under the term ‘household’. The household of a farm – at least as it was understood in ancient Greece – incorporated, apart from the inhabited buildings, all the stalls, pastures and fields, including the people and animals living therein. So what does ‘oiko-nomia’ mean? Here we must turn our attention to the expression ‘nomos’, from which the second syllable ‘-nomy’ in ‘economy’ is derived. Nomos is also an ancient Greek expression meaning ‘law’: an established or implemented order, be it of human or divine origin. Thus nomos is an order which does not simply exist of its own accord, but must be implemented at some point in time by a law-giving authority or through a contractual agreement. The term ‘nomos’ is derived from the verb ‘nemein’, which means to pasture or graze. How are the law and the pasturing or grazing of domestic animals correlated? Among the oldest orders that humans had to establish among themselves was the division of pasture areas and the allotment of fertile lands by a higher authority – for example, a lord or a council assembly. Nomos is therefore the law in the sense of the establishment of principles for the concrete ordering of the division and allotment of rights and goods within a human society. The ordering of division and allotment is always associated with the questions: who

The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’   17 has claim to what? Who deserves this, who deserves that? Who is to receive more, who less? In other words: when is a partition just and when is it not? Reflections on nomos lead to questions of a just legislation – nomos belongs in the sphere of justice. In regard to the oikos, the term ‘nomos’ is limited to the community of those who belong to the household. When speaking of oikonomia – the expression first turned up roughly 500 years bc – we are therefore dealing with the order of the household. The ancient Greek household was patriarchal: the lord was the head of the household and the running of the house was in his hands. It was his right and duty to apportion the household tasks and allocate them to family members, servants and maids. He had to regulate the deployment of animals and tools and decide how money was to be earned and spent. It was furthermore his duty to distribute the acquired goods (in so far as he did not decide to save them) among the people and animals in his charge. In regard to the allotment of work and goods in the house, oikonomia meant the just and economically wise running of the household. The measure for the justice and economic wisdom in this sense were the needs and performances of those living in it. It was towards them that the nomos, the established order, had to be fair. Throughout ancient times as well as in the Middle Ages, the expression oikonomia or its Latin form economia retained this meaning. In modern times the ‘house’ that economics deals with is no longer one single household. Towards the beginning of the seventeenth century the expression ‘Économie Politique’, political economics,2 emerged in France. Now the oikos incorporated the entire state. Economics dealt accordingly with the entire state and the questions of apportion and allotment within it: how can the greatest possible amount be produced and how should that amount be distributed? Thus economy came to mean the production of wealth and prosperity for the state. At the end of the eighteenth century the analysis of economic systems and their dynamics increasingly became the focal point. The object of economics has since been the interactions on markets on which the transaction of goods and services takes place. The transformation of the economy from household economy to market economy as it began in early modern times was thus emulated by economics. Nonetheless, the meaning of ‘the correct running of the household’ still echoes in the expression. Today we find ourselves confronted with questions of the global economy: here we are dealing with the just order of a household which incorporates the whole Earth and the entire global community. Such questions do not concern only economic science, but equally all other human and social disciplines. Moreover, they concern every person who takes an interest in the times he or she lives in. In democratic states it is the task of emancipated citizens to assist in assuring that these states contribute as much as they possibly can to a proper management of the Earth’s household. It is this household that environmental education particularly deals with. From this point of view, the ‘house’ is the current economy of the whole Earth. The fundamental questions of an economy in the sense of environmental

18   The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’ education include questions of an appropriate allotment in a specific manner: how are the Earth’s resources, and how are human activities and the resultant products and services, to be apportioned? Don’t all people have a claim to them? Doesn’t that include those not yet born, and don’t other living creatures also have their own rights of existence and claim to the resources of the household of the Earth? In this manner questions in regard to the economy are questions of the household management of the Earth. In our observations on the economy we have been taking it as given that the way in which things are portioned and allotted – in other words, the nomos of the house, be it one house, a state or the entire Earth – is something dictated by human beings. As a rule, economy is an expression of an anthropocentric view of the world, a view that puts the human being (Greek: ‘anthropos’) in the centre. The whole house of the Earth is viewed from the perspective of people, their wants and interests. It appears as a house for people in which they lay their Nomoi, their orders, upon one another and all of nature. What does this mean for nature and what does it mean for people themselves? Can people distribute what they find according to their own will, and, if they so wish, consume it entirely? Or are there other orders, not dictated and established by humankind, to which the human nomos is subject? The consequences of a reckless subjugation of nature by humans can be seen, to name one example, in the Mediterranean. Since ancient times the forests in that area have been cut down, in particular for the construction of ships for war and trade, but also for the framework and beams of buildings, firewood and wood coal for the smelting of iron and glass and ceramic production, etc. This was occasioned by the economy of the time with a certain inevitability, similar to the fact that livestock, and goats in particular, were turned out to graze in the deforested areas, destroying any new shoots right down to their roots. The goats multiplied, ran wild and ensured that (in so far as erosion didn’t carry away the soil altogether, leaving only naked rock) nothing more than a little undergrowth could develop. Thus the entire animal and plant life of the region was given an entirely new face, and the region suffers under the consequences of the irreplaceably lost forests till today. Such observations can be found as early as the time of Plato (429–347 bc). An immoderate reign over nature was also disparaged in Roman poetry, for example in the poems of Virgil (70–19 bc) and Horace (65–8 bc). These poets indicated that humankind, in setting the standards of the household order of the Earth according to its own wants and interests, could possibly be offending against a higher divine order. Only recently, however, have people begun to occupy themselves with the order of non-human natural communities in a systematic and scientific manner. This occupation bears the name ecology.

Concerning the term ‘ecology’ – the oikos and its logos Oikos is not only an essential component of economy, but also of ecology. Of course the term ‘ecology’ is significantly younger than ‘economy’ – it is a child of the nineteenth century. Yet even in the short time that ecology has existed, the

The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’   19 ‘house’ it deals with has been expanded in a similar manner to that of the economy. Just as the house of the latter expanded from a single household into the management of the Earth, the ‘house’ of ecology also originally had a more narrow meaning before it began to address questions of a global ecology towards the middle of the twentieth century. In regard to the term ‘ecology’, oikos first denotes the ‘house’ as the living space of one or more living creatures. ‘Logy’, the second component of the word ‘ecology’ is derived from the Greek word ‘logos’. Literally, logos means ‘word’ or ‘speech’. However, it can also, according to context, be interpreted as ‘formula’, ‘relation’, ‘structure’, ‘order’ or ‘meaning’. According to the philosopher Heraclitus (sixth-century bc), logos denotes, in contrast to nomos, an order that is not established by either gods or men, but has always existed. The term ‘ecology’ thus implies that a structure is ascribed to the living space of living creatures, which possesses an inner order and, ideally, can be terminologically described. Thus ecology’s tasks include that of analysing and describing the structure or order of the relationships between one or more organisms and their living space, their environment. In this sense E. Haeckel coined the term ‘ecology’ in 1866 and defined:3 ‘By ecology, we mean the whole science of the relations of the organism to the environment including, in the broad sense, all the “conditions of existence”. These are partly organic, partly inorganic in nature [. . .].’ This definition of ecology was expanded by Schröter.4 What Haeckel called ‘ecology’ was now defined by him as ‘aut-ecology’.5 Aut-ecology is the relationship of a ‘self’, one single living creature, to its individual environment. In addition to this, the term ‘syn-ecology’6 was introduced. In a syn-ecology, one is dealing with a web of relationships between different organisms and species (populations) within a certain area. Put simply, Ecology is the science of the interactions of living creatures with one another and the abiotic conditions within their environments.7 On the basis of this definition of its object, one could describe ecology as the environmental science. It is – as least as far as its aim is concerned – not anthropocentric. The attempt is made to place one living creature, a single population or an individual natural community (a forest or a lake, for instance) in the focal point in order to then describe the surrounding circumstances, its environment and the developments of the relationships within it. In this way ecologists strive to think physiocentrically – that is to say, they strive to view circumstances as they are by nature (Greek: physis) – in other words, how they appear without the admixture of human interests and viewpoints.8 Admittedly, physiocentrism can lead to not inconsiderable methodical difficulties and contains the danger of logical inconsistencies,9 but in ecology it can be both stimulating and fruitful. For, in leaving all human influence aside, ecologists can discover fascinating, self-organising structures in the partition and shaping of environments by their denizens, something which is occasionally called a ‘natural economy’. While analysing living spaces such as tropical rainforests, for instance, ecologists discovered highly complex interrelationships which were so finely tuned to one another as if

20   The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’ constructed that way by an incredibly intelligent authority. Such rainforests even produce their own climate – if they are cut down, however, the soil, rain and wind conditions in the region dramatically change accordingly. The order within a natural community often constitutes such a profusion of interrelationships which are so finely enmeshed as to give the impression that the natural community in question is under excellent household management, one which is taking the best care of the survival and development of the entire ecosystem. Without requiring any superimposed economy, without any human stimulus at all, natural communities present their own autonomous, awe-inspiring order. In this context ecologists speak of the household of nature. As in the case of economics, in regard to ecology we can also pose the question: which oikos, which living space, which environment is environmental education to concern itself with from ecological perspectives? To take the pragmatic approach, (see Chapter 2, pages 8–12) one could select the oikos of an endangered population or an entire biocoenosis, consisting of many different species, such as a pond or forest. From the perspective of environmental education, however, ecology cannot ignore the question of the ‘oikos’ of the living creature ‘human being’, at least in so far as a strictly biological viewpoint is maintained. This requires, however, taking a house which meanwhile accommodates over six billion people into account. The oikos that interests us in this case would be the entire Earth, the house as the necessary living space for human biological existence with all the corresponding resources. This oikos is thus the environment of humans, as it sustains their biological existence and embodies all the prerequisites for their economic activity, as well as all other forms of practical and intellectual activity. A further delineation for the oikos under the aspect of ecology could be made by viewing the Earth not only as the living space of human beings, but as the house of all that lives. While the dimensions of such a house correspond to those of the living space of humans, the viewpoint is still another: such an ecology does not deal solely with human beings, but rather with all that lives – a classification which, of course, also includes humans. In the sense of environmental economics, the term ‘oikos’ should be initially understood as the living space of all living creatures known to us.10 Such an expression reminds us that we as human beings can only live together with animals and plants in the common house of the Earth. We should also not forget that this oikos can only be understood within the context of the entire solar system, possibly even only in the context of the entire cosmos. To this existence belong the moon and in particular the sun (which, of course, is necessary for all forms of life) and even the stars as well. The stars are, for example, a part of life for the birds of passage that orientate themselves by them, or for people who feel their fascination.

Ecology and economy On the one hand the Earth is the oikos of ecology, the total of all natural communities with all their structural relationships, but on the other hand it is also the

The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’   21 oikos of the economy, the total of all that humans produce and distribute according to their wishes, needs and interests. Only humans have the power to lay claim to the Earth in the unique manner that we observe in technology and economics today. From the perspective of environmental education, we are dealing with the question of whether and how the ecological and economic perspectives can be combined.11 We live in a modern global economy with an enormous consumption of fossil resources, and we observe that the living space of animal and plant life is continually shrinking, at least in so far as these species are not domesticated by humans. Under these circumstances, how are we to suitably respect the autonomous development of natural communities? Yet precisely that could be our task. Paul Ehrlich12 formulates this notion as follows: Somehow a new ecological–economic paradigm must be constructed that unites (as the common origin of the words ecology and economics imply) nature’s housekeeping and society’s housekeeping, and make clear that the first priority must be given to keeping nature’s house in order. Thus Ehrlich implies that our household management as human beings must change on a global scale. Humans must keep house in such a manner that nature can further develop its own house rules. In their economics and concepts of distribution, people have thus far neglected the fact that the foundation of their economics was and is developed in the field of non-human nature – precisely that field which ecology analyses. If we understand oikos in the sense of Ehrlich, it becomes obvious that humans cannot lord it over the Earth and its treasures at whim, for they only live as guests in this house, just as all other living creatures do. This presents itself very differently if humans can lay legitimate claim to the house as their exclusive property which they can distribute among themselves as they will. The sphere of economics in particular presupposes such a right: it expands itself as if the common house of all that lives were created solely for the usage of humankind, for the meeting of its needs. Therefore one can say: from the viewpoint of modern human beings, seen from the economic aspect at least, the house of all that lives appears only as part of the world of humans, perhaps not even the most important part. The worlds of the media, culture, economics and politics, or their own individual private preferences and aversions, are often more important to people than their natural environment, the house of all that lives. Conversely, viewing human beings from the perspective of the house of all that lives makes the world of humans, to which economics in particular belongs, under an ecological aspect only a part of the house of nature: humans are, like all other living creatures, only guests at the tables of life. Adopting the standpoint of economics, as expressed in the lifestyles and economies of the more affluent societies, would allow many human interventions into nature to be endorsed, as long as they do not obviously impair the lives of other people. If we were to conceptualise the standpoint that nature (in the sense of the totality of all life) would adopt, then

22   The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’ human interventions would require asking not only ‘What do they mean for humans?’ but equally ‘What do they mean for other living creatures and for life as a whole?’ The meaning of ecology for economy The economic perspective views nature as an environment for human activity, in particular for economic activity. So in what way is ecology significant for economics? Why should a human being, for whom above all the interests of humans are important, concern him or herself with ecological problems? The question of how the global human economy will continue to develop depends significantly on the possibilities it can find in its natural environment. For the environment contains the resources the economy requires, and it absorbs the pollutants the economy produces. Depending on how the global economy develops, it can retain its range of possibilities, or enlarge or reduce it. The latter will be the case if those resources and pollutant assimilation capacities, which cannot be substituted, are exhausted.13 In regard to many environmental problems, the economy cannot simply be left to itself: here government involvement is required. For the government furnishes the economy with a framework for its processes through laws and prohibitions, as well as through levies and taxation. Not insignificant within this framework is the consideration of ecological factors that are included in the establishment of threshold values, the levying of taxes, as well as the implementation of regulations in regard to our usage of air, water and land. In face of environmental problems, the economy must in its own interest have a nomos imposed upon it by the government. Such a nomos does not, however, regulate the economic processes themselves, but only establishes the framework in which they occur. It is therefore the task of the government to set suitable boundaries for the economy in its dealings with nature. Such a challenge leads to the following question: which criteria exist for judging the suitability of boundaries? When should certain pollutants be banned? When should the usage of natural habitats be restricted, or the mining of resources be subject to regulation? One of the most decisive criteria in general use today is the term sustainability.14 This concept stipulates that an economy treat natural resources and pollutant assimilation capabilities in such a manner that future generations have in principle the same possibilities and chances as the current one. If the autonomous self-development of the economy endangers those possibilities, the government is called upon to regulate economic activity in regard to nature so that it becomes sustainable. Thus sustainability becomes an essential criterion for the generation of the nomos according to which humankind is to partition the Earth. Even if we were to be successful in introducing the aspect of sustainability into the economy, the establishment of its oikos, its sphere of relevance, expresses a restricted point of view: here we are not dealing with the entire oikos in the sense of the perspective of all that lives, but with an awareness that is limited to what is relevant for the needs, wishes and interests of human beings.

The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’   23 The economy and economics as a science of the economy must deal only with that environment which is relevant for them – the environment upon whose resources and pollutant assimilation capacities they depend. Only in regard to this indispensable environment must boundaries be set. If sustainability means that future generations must in principle have similar opportunities as the current one, this by no means entails that the limits which are placed upon our use of nature are placed there for nature’s sake: in the sense of sustainability, they exist solely for the conservation of humankind. The conservation of nature would therefore only become legitimate – from the viewpoint of sustainability – if it were shown to ultimately protect human beings or human interests. The meaning of economy for ecology We have just demonstrated why ecology has significance for economics – in other words, we argued from the standpoint of economics. But what do things look like from the perspective of nature, from the perspective of ecology, a perspective that adopts non-human creatures and biocoenoses as its starting point? What significance has economy, the partitioning and reshaping of the Earth according to human concepts, for the life of nature? Every living creature alters its environment. In contrast to other living creatures, however, human beings influence and manipulate their environment to an infinitely higher degree. Other creatures alter their environment mostly on a short-term and local basis; humans alter their environment long-term and globally. It is at humanity’s discretion where tropical forests remain, where and in which courses waters flow, which areas are developed and which are not, which landscapes are reshaped and which environments are preserved for specific species and which are not. Thus we could almost be forgiven for thinking that the nature of tomorrow is nothing but an expression of the will of present-day humanity. If, however, we recall what we stated in the introduction in Chapter 1 and the Appendix in regard to the expression ‘environment’ and humankind, another picture emerges. Despite all their manipulative interventions into nature, the environment of human beings remains (as a diffuse entirety, as an aggregate of all that is shaped and all that is unshaped) more unfamiliar than otherwise. Let us take the visible, developed world as we encounter it in the vicinity of the larger German cities as an example: a commercial quarter, a row of terrace houses, a straightened river in the middle of an agriculturally cultivated landscape – individually, these may all appear organised down to the last detail, and yet they do not result in a habitable entirety as we know it (at least in hindsight) from the northern Italian towns of the Middle Ages or from the cultured landscapes of Burgundy. It is precisely the overabundance of individual design as it can be observed in the modern human shaping of the world that results as a whole in a kind of shapelessness. As intentional as everything in the environment of humans may tend to be, the overall result seems unintentional. Ecological research that does not incorporate human activity can only analyse very limited areas. If biocoenoses into which humankind has not yet intervened

24   The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’ are the exception, existing only as a result of humans having decided to preserve them, this implies that we have hardly any concept of a nature which self-develops independent of human planning. Is this implication of the economy problematic for ecology? Why shouldn’t humanity decide, according to the standard of its own needs, which face nature should be given, and which creatures are to live in its world and which aren’t? Since we (now more than ever, thanks to genetic technology) are capable of breeding new living creatures, what is there to say against our living in such a manner that other species become extinct? Why should a world without panda bears and whales but with cloned sheep be worse than one with whales but without artificially created creatures? Didn’t species arise and species die out long before humans entered the picture? Why shouldn’t nature be entirely incorporated into a world built by humans? Such questions touch on the problem of the valuation of nature and the creatures that live in her. Behind this lies the question of whether or not the shape of nature is truly at the whim of humans, or whether nature is to be ascribed its own dignity, something which includes the right to autonomously develop itself.15 The latter case would involve humanity having the responsibility to respect the dignity of nature and consciously allocating it its own space. Humanity could voluntarily draw its own borders, deciding not to alter landscapes and not to bring species to extinction etc.

4 Scientific logos and ignorance

The logos and the three logoi As previously stated (see Chapter 3, pages 18–20), we regard ecology as the attempt to recognise the logos of the oikos – in other words, the structure of the interrelationships between organisms or populations and their living spaces. So how are we to proceed in this approach? As a scientific discipline, ecology answers this question by calling itself a strict natural science. Thus it places itself under the obligation of only offering results that can be tested for authenticity by means of a universally recognised method or procedure. This means: ecologists make theory-based predictions. If the methods used to make them satisfy certain requirements and the predicted events take place, then the theory is considered confirmed.1 The success of ecology depends, if one adheres to this interpretation, on how capable it is of correctly predicting events on the basis of available data. In his textbook, the ecologist Remmert2 writes the following: As Ernst Haeckel put it, ecology is the Haushaltslehre der Natur – the study of the economics of nature. It is a strict natural science, but must overcome considerably greater difficulties than physiology, genetics, or biochemistry; it must accommodate a vast array of different parameters, so that predictions become infinitely laborious. [. . .] Ecologists face the problem of judging in advance the reactions and developments of complex systems within which an extremely large number of genetically distinct microorganisms, plants, and animals live. Even to attempt such a task is a daunting prospect. But the attempt must be made.3 Remmert regards ecology as a branch of modern science. For this there are good reasons: according to Remmert, ecology ought to continue in the tradition of the achievements of natural science since the seventeenth century. In this sense we would have to view ecology as similar to classical mechanics since Isaac Newton (1643–1727). Thus we would have a theoretical section of ecology that would establish the dynamic laws of ecological interrelationships in the same way as Newton recognised the laws of gravity, as well as a practical part of ecology: applied ecology. Such an ecological engineering science, if we may call it that, would have the task of steering ecological developments and guiding them in the

26   Scientific logos and ignorance desired direction – just like the laws of gravity, recognised for what they are, make it possible (along with many other scientific insights and technological discoveries) to use physics and mathematics to guide a rocket to the moon or to Mars: ‘Ecologists also often try to predict what will happen to an organism, a population or a community under a particular set of circumstances: and on the basis of these predictions we try to control or exploit them.’4 When one speaks of ‘eco-system-management’, of the command and control of processes in ecological systems, one has such an applied ecology in mind. In the sense of the approach of fundamental reflection (see Chapter 2, pages 10–12) we would now like to ask: is it appropriate to view ecology as a natural science like physics or chemistry? If so, then ecology would rightly be precisely that which is presented above: a subdivision of the science ‘biology’ as it is integrated into the syllabi and research programmes of universities and colleges. Yet, is it not more and perhaps something different? Certainly, ecology should make use of recognised methods; scientific procedures, in particular those derived from biology and correlated disciplines, are indispensable. Along the  lines of our question concerning the logos of the oikos (see Chapter 3, pages 18–20) we can, however, ask: is it a given that this logos can be scientifically grasped? In the above quotation, Remmert notes that such a task would seem ‘a daunting prospect’. He goes on, however, to simply circumvent this semblance of infeas­ibility of an attempt with the programmatic statement: ‘but the attempt must be made.’ We on the other hand wish to take a closer look at the idea of treating ecology strictly as a natural science and ultimately ask: need we not supplement and deepen what we achieve in the course of such an attempt in other ways? In order to answer this question, we will turn once more to the term ‘logos’, which (as we saw) can mean ‘word’, ‘speech’, ‘formula’, ‘term’, ‘structure’, ‘order’ or ‘meaning’. We now wish to understand logos as the epitome of all knowledge. What we mean by this will become clear in the course of the following deliberations. The logos of bio-logy claims to reflect the order or organisation of life (Greek: bios). The logos of geology describes the order of the Earth (Greek: gaia). In its ideal form, the logos of ecology would adequately portray the structures of a specific living space or even the house of all that lives, and thus include questions such as the following: how are all living creatures interrelated? Which terminology can be used to describe these interrelationships as they exist? It seems appropriate to supplement such questions with a counter question: can we be sure we are capable of recognising the significant interrelationships between all living creatures and expressing them in concrete terms? Should we doubt this, we must then continue to ask: in which respect can we know anything about such matters? Which parts of them are accessible to our knowledge and which are not? What is the nature of such knowledge? And in what ways is it limited and inadequate? Such questions have a practical aspect. For, if we are ignorant about essential aspects of ecological interrelationships that suffer from massive interference by

Scientific logos and ignorance   27 modern humankind, how are we to make correct predictions or offer appropriate advice? How is effective environmental conservation to take place if one can object to every proposal, saying: ‘What is being claimed here is arbitrary; it is dependent on assumptions which we cannot be certain are true’?5 Can one counter such objections? We have already pointed out that people – in particular, scientists – have gathered much information in regard to the phenomena of the environment (see Chapter 2, pages 6–8), and that we are nonetheless still ignorant in regard to essential questions and might possibly remain so. Now, however, we wish to formulate the question of our knowledge and our ignorance in a new way. Starting from our conception of the term ‘logos’ as the epitome of all knowledge, we ask: is the epitome of all knowledge identical to the epitome of all scientifically derived and scientifically examined knowledge? In other words, is all knowledge scientific knowledge? If this should not be the case, are there other forms of knowledge than science? If so, what do they consist of? And how does one deal with ignorance within the framework of different forms of knowledge? Are there ways of recognising when we really know something and when not? In order to examine these questions we want to move on to a theory we have developed along the lines of a philosophical tradition which goes back to Plato (429–347 bc) and Aristotle (384–322 bc). We call it the theory of the three logoi (logoi being the plural of logos). The three logoi are terms we use for three forms of knowledge. These are (1) the scientific logos, (2) the essence logos and (3) the existence logos. We will demonstrate that our scientific knowledge, as accumulated within the scientific logos, does not constitute the entirety of our knowledge. It must be supplemented with forms of knowledge that we have named the essence and existence logoi. What these latter two terms mean we shall discover once we have dealt with the merits and limitations of the scientific logos. The theory of the three logoi will occupy this and the following two chapters. We will be examining human knowledge in a very fundamental way. What implications our examination has for ecology and economics, and thus for the foundations of environmental education, will be demonstrated thereafter.

The scientific logos The characteristic of the scientific logos – the example of classical physics We define the term scientific ‘logos’ to mean the embodiment of all the possibilities of scientific perception and discovery. In which ways, however, do scientific perceptions and discoveries differ from non-scientific approaches which also make the claim of representing knowledge?6 For a statement to be able to claim to be scientific, it does not suffice that it be ‘true’ in the everyday sense of the word. It is much rather necessary that the path along which such a statement was derived can be tested and verified by any

28   Scientific logos and ignorance reasonable person, and that anyone who wishes to follow the same path will by necessity arrive at the same statement. The possibility of a different result must not exist. This structure was already familiar to Plato, who saw it manifested particularly in mathematics, and it was later formulated by his student Aristotle in the discipline of logic. The word ‘logos’ is contained in ‘logic’ and logic demonstrates in a special way the particularity of the scientific logos: it coerces consent. A well-known example would be: if we are convinced that all human beings are mortal and that Socrates is a human being, then we have no choice but to accept the conclusion that Socrates is mortal. This compelling or coercive nature, inherent to logic, we also find in mathematics. Here a distinction must be made between the preconditions of a logical conclusion and the procedure of logic itself. The procedure is always founded on preconditions that cannot be proven within the procedure itself. One can, for instance, challenge the assumptions or preconditions of the conclusion that Socrates is mortal. One could say: ‘I am not certain that all human beings are mortal’ (those still living have not died; perhaps there is an immortal among them). Or: ‘All human beings may be mortal, but I doubt that Socrates is a human being’ (perhaps he is a god). If one has agreed to the preconditions, however, one is constrained: the conclusion cannot be challenged or contradicted. Thus the compelling or coercive nature of the scientific logos does not apply to its preconditions or assumptions – only to the procedure which, based on those assumptions, leads to conclusions. So if a statement can claim to be scientific, then (in the ideal case) any other individual can come to the same conclusion in a way that can be terminologically and methodically precisely described. Thus scientific discoveries are intersubjective. This means: ideally, the objects of science will be described by all the subjects of science (those who are describing the objects) in exactly the same way and by means of the same statements. The power of the scientific logos resides in its intersubjectivity. The conclusions within the framework of science are of such a nature that they cannot be reasonably contradicted. So someone who chooses to adhere to the approach of a particular scientific discipline and has accepted its preconditions and assumptions cannot challenge its results. Thus the persuasion of science gains the nature of coercion. Within science the adage holds that whoever says A must say B (at least in so far as B follows from A within the procedure in question). This manner of coercion means that the person of the scientist, however much he or she and his or her intelligence, imagination or commitment has contributed to the gaining of a scientific discovery, is ideally of no relevance whatsoever for the discovery itself (that is to say, for the manner in which the scientific logos appears). The form of statement ‘for me such and such is like this or that, even if it may be different for you’ is something that disappears from the sphere of the scientific logos altogether. Personal views or preferences must not colour scientific results at all. What we have said thus far holds directly only for those sciences in which the individual’s reason is (in a manner of speaking) dealing only with itself. Logic

Scientific logos and ignorance   29 and mathematics make no statements about reality; at best they can draw such statements as assumptions from outside. What then is the case with the so-called empirical sciences, those sciences that deal with the objects and conditions we can experience – in particular with those of the outside world, but also (as is the case with psychology) with those of the human mind? Can they also lay cogent claim to intersubjectivity? The most acknowledged empirical sciences are the natural sciences, whereas the ‘sciences of the human being’ – whatever they may be called, be it the cultural and social sciences, or the arts and humanities – always need to overcome reservations in regard to their scientific nature.7 Let us begin with the most common concepts of the natural sciences as many of us have encountered them at school. There we learned: science frees us from the deceptions of our vision and the prejudices of our opinions. It teaches us what the phenomena our eyes see truly are, and shows us the real laws and regularities that govern the processes between them. Instead of falling for what our eyes seem to show us every day – for example, that the Earth remains stationary while the sun, moon and stars circle it, and the other planets move along convoluted paths – classical physics, a particularly acknowledged empirical science, teaches us that the Earth, as well as the other planets, describe elliptical movements around the sun. And these movements obey the laws of gravity. With this view of physics we distance ourselves to a great degree from the picture our eyes present to us. Today physics is still considered by many people to be the ideal of a natural science, one which all other sciences should emulate as far as possible. In most cases, however, people are not thinking of the complex issues of twentieth-century quantum physics, but have the so-called classical physics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in mind. According to this ideal, by which many of the social sciences, including economics, still orientate themselves,8 empirical sciences are a means of discovering laws that hold true in reality, and of portraying facts in keeping with these laws. In line with these ideas, the laws science discovers are not made by humans but exist objectively, and as such are discovered at some point in time. A process that is governed by such laws is in principle predictable. The precise initial conditions and the laws governing the process must be known, and then statements in regard to the end result can be made. In this manner we can today predict the positions of the planets at any particular point in time with extreme precision. It belongs to the character of such laws that they hold always and everywhere. That is to say, they must be generally and universally valid: whenever the same initial conditions are given, the same results must follow. If the law holds, then it holds without exception. Even the fact that we use the word ‘must’ in this context demonstrates how such laws entail a certain type of necessity. If a state B follows a state A according to a law of nature, then it follows that B must follow A by necessity. General validity and necessity characterise the claim that statements derived within the scientific logos (at least in the ideal case) can make. A further characteristic of such statements is their verifiability. Scientific statements are statements whose validity can be verified by a particular method. But how are such statements derived?

30   Scientific logos and ignorance In logic and mathematics we have seen that a procedure exists of arriving at a conclusion on the basis of given preconditions. But what is the case in the empirical sciences? Normal day-to-day observations do not lead directly to scientific statements. Let us consider sentences such as the following: ‘The sun is shining brightly.’ Or: ‘It’s raining at the moment.’ ‘Some of us are hungry.’ ‘I’m feeling good.’ ‘You look tired to me.’ Such sentences may well be true, but they are not scientific. They are correct at the moment in this particular situation, they may even be verifiable right here and now, but they are far from being necessary and universally valid. For the process of their production cannot claim necessity and universal validity (although a process could perhaps be devised, which would transpose some of the examples given above into the horizon of the scientific logos). Conversely: the claim that all objects fall at the same velocity on Earth is contrary to our normal observation – to our eyes a feather falls more slowly than a stone – and yet the above claim can be scientifically proved. Of course the objection can rightly be made that scientific proof relates to something quite different from our everyday experience: objects on Earth only fall at precisely the same velocity in a total vacuum, in other words in utter absence of any air resistance. But this very objection offers us the opportunity to present the particularity of the scientific procedure more precisely. The statements of those sciences considered today to be the most stringent, namely the natural sciences, are for the most part not derived from observations in the everyday world, but from ones made in an artificial world. This artificial world is the world of the laboratory. It consists of apparatuses which are nothing other than devices for experimentation. The experiment is a technical procedure for gaining scientific insights. Only within the procedure do the objects yield certain insights that are not usually perceptible. Thus a vacuum, for instance, is something artificial. But once we have created it, we recognise that within this artificial installation the stone and the feather truly do fall at the same velocity. Whoever doubts this statement can be invited to observe the experiment in the laboratory and they will see precisely what they doubted and disbelieved: our statement which made the claim of being necessary and universally valid has become verifiable through the experiment. The experiment is, in a manner of speaking, our logical process of conclusion transposed to the outer world. However, the experiment on its own is not sufficient to reveal the laws of nature to us. How do scientists set about conceiving an experiment? For, before they conduct the experiment, they cannot know if natural laws apply, or which ones they would be. The answer is: the scientists must previously have had an ‘initial suspicion’. They must have had the idea that certain processes in nature are ordered – ordered under a law that can be formulated mathematically. Such an initial suspicion is not something that comes to people always and everywhere. The notion that natural laws exist, ones which are to be verified through artificial measures (namely experiments), was foreign to many highly developed cultures: the Arabs at the height of their cultures, the Indians or the Chinese up until their contact with occidental culture. Such cultures were ones of greatest

Scientific logos and ignorance   31 learning; they had collected a huge amount of knowledge about nature and saw order within it, but that which physics, chemistry and biology in the West called natural laws did not exist in their concepts. Our so-called ‘law of falling bodies’ was unknown in all these cultures and, their way of thinking being what it is, it might never have been discovered. This by no means implies that these cultures were in any way ‘not as developed’ as the Occident, they were simply different.9 The ‘initial suspicion’ that natural processes follow laws that can be derived and verified by an experiment is therefore something quite uncommon, it seems not to automatically arise wherever precise observation of nature takes place. So, if it is not our observation that leads to it, where and for which reasons does it develop? In the introduction to the second edition of his Critique of Pure Reason (1787/1974), Immanuel Kant (1720–1804) dealt in hindsight with the origin and development of the modern natural sciences in the seventeenth century – among other things with Galileo (1564–1642) and Newton (1643–1727). He emphasises that the concept of ordered processes in nature – ones that can be expressed in statements which can be methodically verified – has its origin in the rational human cognitive facility of perception. According to Kant, the idea to impute nature with certain laws arose from human reason as expressed in the individuals mentioned above. Reason demands that neither a great profusion nor a complete lack of rules may exist for the processes and movements of all the many objects, but rather that they can be reduced to a few fundamental laws or perhaps even just one. In order to lend this demand conviction, reason (as it was embodied by the great physicists of the seventeenth century) invented the experiment. The means and ways of this process were described by Kant as follows: Reason, holding in one hand its principles, according to which alone concordant appearances can be admitted as equivalent to laws, and in the other hand the experiment which it has devised in conformity with these principles, must approach nature in order to be taught by it. It must not, however, do so in the character of a pupil who listens to everything that the teacher chooses to say, but of an appointed judge who compels the witnesses to answer questions which he himself has formulated. Even physics, therefore, owes the beneficent revolution in its point of view entirely to the happy thought, that while reason must seek in nature, not fictitiously ascribe to it, whatever as not being knowable through reason’s own resources has to be learnt, if learnt at all, only from nature, it must adopt as its guide, in so seeking, that which it has itself put into nature.10 The ‘happy thought’ from which the scientific logos in its most well known form arose – classical physics – consists, according to Kant, of human reason transposing something of itself (namely the general, as yet indefinite concept of an ordered interrelationship) into nature, and, in a manner of speaking, making imputations. In this manner it calls nature into the status of a witness in a court procedure: nature knows something that reason doesn’t know, and within the procedure it is to be compelled to reveal it. Its means of testifying to evidence is

32   Scientific logos and ignorance to supply data within the framework of the experiment. The subject of the procedure is the concretisation of the idea of a natural law which was the idea of reason. By means of the experiment, reason therefore desires to learn the concrete particularity of the ordered interrelationship that it could not derive on its own. For Kant the scientific method consists of human reason transposing its own concepts of structure into nature and then seeking in nature precisely what corresponds to that structure – so that the contours of the image nature presents are construed by our own reason. A filter is simultaneously laid over nature and only that is selected out of nature which appears within the filter. Thus reason does not face nature (recalling Kant’s words) as a student faces a teacher – astonished by the abundance of phenomena, randomly absorbing whatever it can grasp – but rather as a judge questioning witnesses. As a judge, reason is not interested in nature as it presents itself, but intentionally overlooks a great deal of nature – indeed, it even systematically rejects what it currently doesn’t want to know. It questions nature solely within the framework of a court procedure developed by itself, one which is to result in the witness ‘nature’ certifying or modifying, by means of the data it provides, the natural law expected by reason. The scientific logos, selection, preparation and integration Having learned at school that science recognises the true interrelationships of phenomena, portraying them in the form of laws, in light of what was said earlier, we now need to revise this view somewhat. Right from the start we must bid farewell to the notion that science describes objects and processes as they are (see Chapter 5). For, if we follow Kant, it is the subject of scientific perception whose intellectual constructions determine the framework within which objects and processes reveal themselves. Scientific objectivity is nothing more than the compelling intersubjectivity of the scientific method: statements are considered objective when no reasonable person can contradict them on reasonable grounds. A scientific objectivity beyond the peculiarity of human perception and cognition does not exist. If the everyday occurrences around us are considered to be ‘the true interrelationships’, it cannot also be said that science makes this world in its reality more transparent or clear. For we have to dissociate ourselves to a very great extent from the interrelationships of reality as we experience it in our everyday observations in order to obtain the ordered regularities science seeks. We have to enter a world outside of the everyday in order to gain scientific perceptions. We would like to illustrate what we mean by this more precisely. The possibility of verifying statements of the scientific logos is closely bound to certain procedures. For statements within the theory, as well as for those within the final procedure, the condition of logical consistency holds. For the observations, however, an additional procedure must be employed, one which is repeatable. This procedure is the experiment. From the perspective of the everyday world, the phenomena which are to be put through the procedure have to go

Scientific logos and ignorance   33 through a three-stage process in order to become part of the scientific discovery: (1) selection, (2) preparation and (3) integration of the phenomena. 1  Certain observed phenomena that appear expedient for the question one has in mind are extracted from their environment, even from the entirety which they are a part of, and transferred into the artificial world of the experiment in order to make them accessible for scientific purposes. This is the selection of the objects. The scientific logos requires the activity of extraction, of ‘cutting out’, if we may call it that, in order to bring whatever extract the scientific observer desires into focus. In this way one successfully abstracts from a great many aspects which would normally seem to be inextricably linked to the process or phenomenon under observation, but which would obscure the particular question in mind. Thus physicists abstract from air resistance when examining a falling stone or feather, and in this manner come to grips with the seemingly so complex phenomenon of falling objects. They isolate ‘falling’ from the falling of many different objects and their natural environments, and can reduce it to the effect of gravitational forces. Thus they make the process of falling as it conforms to a natural law – independent of what is actually falling, independent of all external circumstances – accessible in a way which leads – after the experiment and the analysis of the measured results – to an unequivocal formula: the law of falling bodies. The formula is in turn a special case of the general laws of gravity. The laws of gravity, or any scientifically derived law, express in their necessity and universal validity what we call the ideal of the scientific logos.11 The scientific logos leads ideally to formulae in which we can elucidate, define and comprehend the interrelationships between phenomena in a mathematically precise manner. In a similar manner, biologists who have specific interest in a cell (for instance for the purpose of therapy or treatment) are not interested in the actual living creature to which the cell belongs (for instance the human embryo, the potential human). What the creature is, what it can become, are of no interest because the embryo as a pre-form of the human design is not relevant for the regular interrelationship the biologists wish to examine. For example, the biologists might have the suspicion that the development of multiple sclerosis or Parkinson’s disease follow certain regularities and that certain technical possibilities of treatment exist. If cells from embryos can serve the corresponding research, then one has to use such cells. The embryos can even be ‘expended’ in order for their cells to enter the process of the laboratory experiment, and serve as witnesses in the development of a diagnosis or cure. Within the framework of our reflections on environmental education, selection – the extraction of objects from their natural contexts, their natural environment – is of special interest: due to the necessity of selection, it is precisely the strict natural sciences that are by their very nature non-holistic. On the contrary, they are compelled to disintegrate the holistic entireties they find. 2  The selection of objects is followed by their preparation for the purpose of improved observation. What reaches the laboratory through selection must be

34   Scientific logos and ignorance reshaped in many ways until it displays within the experiment the composition which is relevant for the question science is analysing. 3  The (theoretical) integration of the objects into a regulated context implies that whatever we have discovered about objects that have passed through the phases of selection and preparation must now offer a practical application for the corresponding natural law. This form of integration should not, however, be confused with restoring the phenomenon to its original context. The first concepts for introducing a procedure of selection, preparation and integration as a method of natural science were developed in the seventeenth century in Western Europe. One of the most famous advocates of such a procedure was the Englishman Francis Bacon (1561–1621). He stipulated ‘the construction of a true model of the world in perception’ and was convinced that such a model can not be obtained without careful dissection and preparation of the world. [. . .] The knowledge being hereby sought can not be attained in mere ‘observation’, but is dependent on active intervention [. . .] In the experimental situation nature is, as it were, prepared, that is to say, made accessible for the application of instruments of measurement. Nature always allows itself to be observed; in order to obtain data, however, she must first be made measurable. Measurement is intervention in nature’s processes.12 Within the medium of the scientific logos we can therefore use the process of selection, preparation and theoretical integration in order to make certain predictions. It must be noted, however, that, strictly speaking, these predictions only hold for experiments under laboratory conditions. But what is the case when we wish to transfer our discoveries into the everyday world where such laboratory conditions do not exist? The simplest solution is to create laboratory conditions in the world as well. This can occur, for instance, in chemistry. First, certain substances are scientifically researched in a laboratory. If they are found to be useful and marketable, they can be produced on a large scale – the manufacturing facilities replicate (and in some cases improve) the processes utilised in the laboratory. If the apparatuses used for the experiment make clear that technology is an essential precondition for scientific discovery, conversely one can also say that the scientific logos constitutes a basis for the modern technological world that has become part of our lives. In many cases, however, ‘outdoor conditions’ are not laboratory conditions – the case of genetically engineered plants could come to mind. The artificial world of the laboratory and of technological production is, to a great extent (although not entirely), a closed world, whereas the world outside the laboratory is an open world – it has no impermeable borders. Therefore this diffuse world, labelled ‘the world of life’ by philosophers, does not really match the artificial worlds of science. Thus we have to consider to what extent the discoveries and perceptions of the scientific logos can contain truth in regard to the interrelationships in the world outside of scientific operations.

Scientific logos and ignorance   35 The scientific logos and ignorance Scientific knowledge is generally regarded as the most genuine form of knowledge, granting us certainty and revealing truth. Among the various sciences, the natural sciences are regarded as the most reliable, for they alone combine mathematical stringency with the precision of the experimental process.13 If one wishes to examine the boundaries and limitations of the scientific logos, it makes sense to stick to the natural sciences: where the merits of the scientific logos are particularly evident, its limitations can also be made all the more visible. There are boundaries that divide the field of scientific knowledge from that of ignorance.14 These boundaries can seem somewhat flexible, at least when applied to certain types of ignorance. Everything that we do not yet know, but can know and hope to one day know, lies beyond the boundary of knowledge, but will one day be located on this side of it. On an individual, personal level, the process of transforming ignorance into knowledge is called ‘learning’. The scientific community’s process of gaining knowledge is called ‘research’. Learning and research expand the boundaries of our knowledge. Our ignorance, however, does not seem to decrease in the process – indeed, through new discoveries we often realise that we know much less than we previously believed. But ignorance that can be transformed into knowledge through learning and research is only one part of the field of ignorance, namely that part which we know in principle how to deal with. This part lies at the borders of our knowledge, close to its limits. There are, however, other forms of ignorance that are fundamentally inaccessible to the scientific logos. To accentuate their distinctiveness, we will follow the differentiation between the categories ‘risk’ and ‘uncertainty’, introduced to the scientific debate by Knight (1921), and supplement them by adding the category ‘ignorance’. We would like to illustrate this with an example. Someone who is often a spectator at horse races enjoys making bets on the triumph of this or that horse. Structurally there are two things that must be considered: (1) any horse that participates can win; (2) the (subjective) probability of winning varies from horse to horse. This probability is derived from the subjective experience of our spectator – ‘this horse has already won many races’ – and perhaps from his sense or intuition for the form of a particular horse on a  particular day. In the case of a bet, our spectator knows all possible outcomes and can assign a certain probability to each one. Wherever all possible outcomes are known and can each be assigned a subjective probability, we speak of ‘risk’. Let us imagine a second case. Since our racing fan does not pay regular attention to the weather reports, it can occur that he arrives at the race course, only to discover to his surprise that the race has been cancelled owing to bad weather. He might have been aware of the outcome ‘no race’ as a possibility, without him having assigned a subjective probability to it. Wherever possible outcomes are known, but haven’t been assigned a subjective probability, we speak of ‘uncertainty’.

36   Scientific logos and ignorance Now let us imagine a third case. After an extended period of absence from his home town, our race enthusiast returns and resumes his hobby. He goes to the race course or, more precisely, to where he expects the race course to be. Instead of the race course, however, he finds to his greatest surprise a supermarket at the location. This possibility simply did not enter into his considerations. Shackle15 characterises this case as follows: What actually happens can have altogether escaped his [the individual’s – the authors] survey of possibilities, so that the degree of potential surprise he assigned to it was neither zero nor greater than zero, but was non-existent, a sheer blank. Whenever actually occurring outcomes are not consciously existent beforehand, even as a potentiality, we speak of ‘ignorance’. The events of September 11th, 2001 most likely belonged for most people to the field which we are calling ignorance, whereas the perpetrators who knew of their own plans were dealing with risk. An example for ignorance in the field of environmental problems is the hole in the ozone layer: in the 1930s, when people began to use huge amounts of chlorofluorocarbons as a coolant in freezers and refrigerators, no one had the possibility in mind that the Earth’s ozone layer might be damaged. When this fact became public knowledge in the 1970s and particularly in the 1980s, it was a shock for everyone.16 Let us turn in greater detail to several forms of ignorance of significance for the scientific logos. We have, in a manner of speaking, (1) ignorance within the objects of our scientific knowledge and (2) ignorance within our scientific statements about these objects. Both forms of ignorance can be decreased in many points, but in both cases it is never possible to transform the ignorance entirely into uncertainty or risk, let alone into scientifically certain knowledge.17 There always remains a certain indissoluble remnant of ignorance. 1  We turn first to the concept of ignorance within the objects of our scientific knowledge. The scientific logos explains processes by referring them to laws. If we have, for instance, correct data in regard to the initial conditions of a mechanical system, we can predict all subsequent processes. It would seem that if we knew all the laws of nature and had all the relevant data, we could predict the course of all events. The French mathematician, astronomer and physicist Pierre Simon de Laplace (1749–1827) developed the ideal of an omniscient intelligence along these lines, the so-called Laplace demon.18 This was conceived as an intelligence that knew all the laws of nature and was informed in regard to the position and velocity of every particle in the universe. According to Laplace’s assumption, it would be possible for this demon to predict all future states of the universe on the basis of his knowledge about the initial conditions and the laws of nature. The belief that human science can approach the ideal of such a demon has meanwhile been refuted by discoveries in modern physics and biology which show that there are processes that are principally unpredictable.

Scientific logos and ignorance   37 In physics these are the so-called chaotic systems. How such systems develop is not precise, sometimes even completely unpredictable. They do adhere to known natural laws, but an infinitely small deviation in the measurement of the initial condition leads to a completely different prediction as to what actually occurs. The weather can be taken as an example for such a system. The German weather can be viewed (as one physicist provocatively formulated it) as crucially dependent on the beating of a butterfly’s wings in Peking. Seemingly tiny causes beyond any conceivable measurement can lead to the largest effects within such a system.19 In biology, unpredictability can be found within evolutionary contexts where genetic mutation can lead to the emergence of new species. Since such mutations emerge under the influence of chance, they cannot be predicted. In other words: when novelty can arise within the framework of natural laws, predictions are impossible. The emergence of novelty is synonymous with the impossibility of a scientific prognosis. Even armed with all possible data concerning the stock of species 100 million years ago, no scientist could ever have scientifically predicted that human beings would appear on Earth – indeed, there would have been nothing within that data from which one could have derived what a human being even is. Only someone who knows human beings because they exist could in hindsight (ex post) postulate that the potentiality for the appearance of humankind must have been principally derivable from the data of 100 million years ago. 2  We come now to the concept of ignorance within our scientific statements about phenomena. Here again we find two aspects. The first is the status of the primary fundamentals of a science: the axioms. These must be accepted without having been proven: they are the foundations of the statements derived from them, but cannot themselves be derived from other statements within the framework of the respective science. In adherence to the systematics of science themselves, the truth of our most fundamental assumptions eludes the scientific method of argumentation and proof.20 We referred to this at the beginning of the chapter when we said the scientific logos extends to the procedure, but the preconditions for both the logical deduction and the experimental method are a given, something that cannot be proven with scientific certainty within the procedure itself. As past attempts at putting axioms on the non-derivable and irrefutable of apperception a priori insights of reason always remained controversial, modern science generally assumes that an axiom can be considered valid as long as the statements that are constructed upon it – though falsifiable – have not been refuted. In this sense, however, the axiom that the Earth is the stationary centre of the universe would not be incorrect as far as statements in regard to the solar system are concerned – the form of astronomy, which was named after its founder Ptolemy (83–161) and found use before Copernicus (1473–1543) and Kepler (1571–1631), was able to make good predictions on the basis of that axiom. The axiom employed later, which claimed that the Earth revolved around the (stationary) sun, merely had the main advantage that it led to considerably simpler models for the movements of the planets than the old model did.

38   Scientific logos and ignorance Difficulties of a very special kind arise from a second form of ignorance within our scientific statements: we are referring here to the ambiguity of language and the pragmatic problems of understanding and comprehension. All empirical sciences contain more than laws and data: they contain interpretations of data in regard to laws. Even the most mathematical treatise in physics or economics contains interpretations that must make use of everyday expressions. This element of interpretation within science, often underestimated, entails that unambiguousness is not always automatically a given within scientific statements: at best, such unambiguousness can only be approximated within a process of communication. Scientists among themselves (even those in the same or similar fields) as well as scientists and members of an interested public often do not understand one another at all. Frequently, within one and the same discipline there already exist contrary viewpoints in regard to the meaning of a certain term in the context of a concrete statement. This is especially the case in regard to many fundamental terms: it cannot be unambiguously clarified what ‘entropy’ or ‘chance’ means in physics, and the same goes for ‘evolution’ or ‘fitness’ in biology, ‘environment’ in ecology, and ‘utility’ or ‘optimality’ in mathematical economics. In many cases, scientists do not even notice that they are referring to different things in the same terms, as they are not conscious of how essential the clarification of semantics is for the understanding of their results. If they did, they would recognise the inevitable (sometimes not insignificant) residue of ignorance entailed by the fact that science for fundamental reasons remains bound to the umbilical cord of everyday language. Attempts to cut the cord with ultra precise definitions result in a truly insoluble confusion of language. Almost everyone has had the experience when participating in discussions about environmental issues that those involved are completely talking past one another, often in the belief that what they are saying is perfectly clear. Independent of our  level of scientific knowledge, the communication problems both within a discipline and between science and the public can lead us to being ignorant in an area where we urgently desire to know something, and really should be able to know it. It doesn’t denigrate the scientific logos that these forms of ignorance can emerge within its field or even within its statements. What is problematic is only an attitude within science, politics and society that entrusts science with the solution of all problems – in combination with technology, even with the very salvation of the human race (see Chapter 7). If we don’t know when we are ignorant, if we believe we have certainty where many things are uncertain, if we believe we are proceeding on firm ground when we should be stopping and examining our footing, then our ignorance is at its greatest. For in these cases it becomes an expression of arrogance, making us overly self-confident, blind and narrowminded. It conjures up illusory perspectives in the distance instead of causing us to see what we can and should see in our vicinity. It is a sign of wisdom not to consider oneself wiser than one is. This insight into and acceptance of our ignor­ ance should be assimilated into our actions.

5 The essence logos

The appearance and the thing-in-itself in Kant The preconditions of scientific logos’ approach, its possibilities and its limitations have seldom been as thoroughly analysed as in Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, the first edition of which was published in 1781.1 The word ‘critique’ is derived from the Greek verb ‘krinein’, which means to distinguish, but also to judge in the sense of the giving of a verdict in a legal action. Critique in the sense of Kant is not carping or nagging, but the clarification of unsettled claims to truth and the distinguishing between prejudices and opinions on the one hand, and insights and truths on the other. Critique furthermore refers to a mindset that reveals the highest potentials of the scientific logos: the willingness to question in an unbiased manner all that is proclaimed by others to be true, but also all which oneself would generally consider to be true; to examine all this, and to subject what has passed such examination to the examination of other reasonable individuals. Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason examines the accomplishments of human insight, the highest facility of which is called reason. The Critique of Pure Reason is, among other things, intended to lay a sure foundation for the solution to the following question: where can reason, proceeding scientifically, lay claim to perception and insight and where does this claim end? Sure knowledge and certain perception are to be distinguished from ‘non-knowledge’ and dubious knowledge: when can we lay claim to the certainty of the scientific logos and where are its limitations? In answering this question, Kant’s distinction between ‘the things-in-themselves’ and their ‘appearance’ in time and space is crucial. Our scientific knowledge extends, according to Kant, exclusively to the appearances; the basis of the appearance, however, the thing-in-itself, is hidden from us. In regard to the thing-in-itself we are ignorant.2 What is meant by this? The empirical basis of all natural and social sciences is data derived from the sphere of experience – data, which are won through all manner of measurement and survey methods. One of the preconditions of this is so seemingly banal that  we hardly take note of it: we must be able to perceive the data with our senses within time and space, for what is outside of time and space can never become data. Our sensory perception can apparently be infinitely refined: by the

40   The essence logos application of instruments of measurement, with the use of microscopes, telescopes and devices registering wavelengths of all kinds, etc. Yet our sensory perception is nonetheless restricted: as we can only register things and processes through perception within time and space, we register only that part of them we perceive directly (or which we can read from the data provided by our instruments). If the things we perceive with our senses or our instruments have principally imperceptible qualities, these remain necessarily concealed from us. This may sound a little artificial: why should we take note of qualities that can never possibly enter our field of vision? However, something that can very well be of great concern and relevance to us remains concealed: the innermost part of the things, their original essence. We can dismantle an object or a living creature as much as we like, their essence will not reveal itself to us; we see only certain perspectives. The essence of an object in time and space – whatever that may be – is itself not an object in time and space. Many natural scientists of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries assumed that everything that exists, exists in time and space (even if possibly not accessible to our instruments of perception). In such a worldview there is no room for anything that could be defined as the original essence of things – no room, for no one can show what the original essence of things might be. The (in modern science still widespread) assumption that it is out of place, senseless or useless to speak of the original essence of things cannot, however, be either proven or refuted: it cannot be the object of the scientific method. If, for example, as many cultures assumed, a soul were present in all things, an inner self, which was not subjected to the laws of time and space as we generally experience them, then this would be something imperceptible to all five of our everyday senses. Great philosophers and theologians of Judaism, Christianity or Islam have referred to God as an essentially non-sensory reality outside of time and space; for them, God was eternal and eternity, an inaccessible enigma to our time-bound sight and understanding. We encounter something similar in our experience of love. Anyone who is in love believes that an enigma resides deep within the one they love. Perhaps one can even say that within everything we encounter with affection, such an inaccessible stratum of enigma is present.3 Kant summarised all these problems in the thought that we human beings perceive things solely within the limits of time and space, because (due to the nature of our sensory perception) they only reveal themselves in time and space, but that other intelligences could possibly perceive things the way they are constituted outside of time and space. In particular, this would hold for that primordial-being which is not bound by time and space: their creator or, in religious terminology: God, the lord of time.4 We as human beings, however, cannot know how things are constituted outside our experience of them in time and space. The things-in-themselves (that is to say, the ‘self’ of the things, their time- and spacefree being as it is intended for eternity) remains an enigma to us. In this manner God is an enigma to us, but so is our own inner being, and, as mentioned above, the inner being of our fellow people – even the inner being of our fellow nonhuman creatures. This enigma cannot be expressed in statements for which

The essence logos   41 proofs exist. On the contrary, were we, for example, to claim that humans possess an immortal soul, we would contradict our temporal experience which teaches us that humans are mortal, without having seen any part of the human which is exempt to mortality. There are no signs that can be registered by our perception which would indicate that any part of human beings continues to live after death. Kant is by no means saying that we can claim with certainty, or even with any level of probability (be it high or low) that God, an immortal soul or a ‘self’ of things outside of time and space exist. It is equally impossible to say with any certainty or probability that God, an immortal soul or a ‘self’ of things outside of time and space do not exist. What Kant is emphasising is that, scientifically, we cannot contribute even the slightest to these questions. Scientific proofs of God are just as problematic as attempts to prove that God does not exist. It cannot even be proved scientifically that we can know nothing of God. Why should, however, scientific statements about God, the immortal soul or the enigma of things be impossible? Why should we not be able to find instruments that would either supply us with certain data or at least plausible indications, or show us for sure that the sphere in which we seek God, the soul or the enigma is in truth empty, or that such a sphere only ever existed in people’s imagination in the first place? Kant’s answer to this is unequivocal: it is because all data that instruments of measurement can supply us with can by principle only refer to that which is perceptible within time and space. No matter what telescope we use to search the limits of the universe, or with which electron-­ microscope we examine the insides of a cell, we cannot escape the boundaries of time and space. Within the framework of the scientific logos, we cannot approach the thingin-itself for it is not the object of any scientific method. Thus it lies on a completely different plane from the perception of appearances. According to Kant, statements within the scientific logos refer strictly only to appearances. However, this limitation simultaneously constitutes the unique strength of scientific statements. For within the boundaries of our perception, every human being can in principle visually perceive the same qualities in things. Within these boundaries, therefore, verifiable inter-subjective statements are possible. There are also people who make statements about life after death, for example, referring their authority to some supernatural experience. If someone claims to have partaken in such an experience, referring it to some personal, inner event, then this may be subjectively true – such events can be accompanied by a certainty that is infinitely stronger and more convincing than all that is considered ‘true’ within our normal sphere of existence. But a person who has had such an experience cannot expect that others have also had the same experience, or believe in it without having had it themselves. No method can be described by means of which others can come to a sure understanding about life after death. An experience of what comes after death – that is to say, beyond the limitations of our senses – cannot be generalised and is thus (even if it may be entirely real for those involved) not scientific.5

42   The essence logos Therefore, if the claim is made that a science of enigmas exists – and the essence of things, as well as life after death and the existence of God are all enigmas – this leads to an occult or esoteric science. Esoteric science degrades the enigma to the status of a riddle, the solution of which is promised to the initiated, whereas all others, who have not been initiated, remain excluded. But such a so-called science stands outside of the scientific logos. Their statements could be completely arbitrary: whoever does not participate in the initiation has no chance to individually and critically examine whatever the alleged seer of the supernatural claims to see. So no matter if those who have allegedly experienced the enigma are misleading their devotees, or if they are truthfully reciting what they have experienced, there is no criterion for the truth of their statements. For this reason, no scientific exposition of the enigma outside sensory experience is possible. If, on the other hand, one were to claim that the enigma of things were irrelevant and non-existent, that God or the immortal soul did not exist, or that the whole issue were superfluous, one would be generating hypotheses that are equally as unprovable as the claims of the esoteric scientists. An approach that claims to lead to truth, on the basis of non-provable and non-falsifiable hypotheses, without offering an inter-subjective method of verification, although the opposite of those hypotheses could equally well be true – this is what Kant defines as dogmatism. Dogmatism is, however, principally unscientific. To make dogmatic statements means to claim their validity as irrefutable truth without stating a procedure by which they, along the path of the scientific logos, might compel consent. Dogmatism need not necessarily make incorrect statements. But its statements are not the kind that can compel general consent. They lack inter-subjective validity in the sense of the scientific logos, they are dependent on voluntary accord, which always includes the possibility of rejection. But dogmatism is not aware of this. Thus a concealed ignorance is at work within dogmatism. This ignorance refers to the insecure status of statements that are dogmatically claimed as infallible truth. The ignorance of dogmatism is particularly dangerous: a dogmatism which is made absolute can end in coercion towards those who are other-minded, in suppression and fanaticism.

The essence logos Comments on the term ‘essence logos’ Our line of questioning in regard to the original essence of things and of ourselves leads us beyond the boundaries of the scientific logos. Kant shows this convincingly in his Critique of Pure Reason. At the same time, however, he plausibly suggests that it belongs to being human that one repeatedly finds oneself confronted by such questions: ‘For what necessarily forces us to transcend the limits of experience and of all appearances is the unconditioned, which reason, by necessity and by right, demands in things in themselves [. . .].’6 Our striving for insight itself is an expression of our desire to recognise the things-in-themselves. Kant ascribes a fundamental right to such desires for he

The essence logos   43 sees them deeply rooted in our human nature, founded in reason itself, the essential tasks of which extend beyond the field of the scientific logos: while the scientific logos reduces all its objects to conditions, human reason, which seeks a holistic, closed entirety, not an infinite sequence of conditions, must proceed beyond the borders of experience by seeking ‘unconditionalness’.7 According to Kant, it is in particular the questions pertaining to God, the freedom of will and the immortality of the soul to which reason seeks answers.8 These questions, the fundamental questions of all religions, deal with the world as a whole, its origin, our place and our destiny within it, as well as grace and salvation – grace and salvation in the face of suffering and mortal beings confronted by much that they experience as harmful or evil. A science that has recognised its limitations will carefully refrain from speaking of a ‘human destiny’, or of salvation or evil. Science-believers deduce from this that we ought to avoid using such terms. But there are further questions bound up with what Kant calls the unconditional, questions that can hardly be avoided since their significance and relevance extend deep into practical human experience: what is justice, what is injustice? What is truth, what is folly or deceit? What is good, what is bad or evil? What is love, what is unkindness, indifference or hate? What is the meaning of life? Who am I? Who are you? All these are questions that cry out for an answer, without the possibility of the scientific logos (as long as it remains within its limits) offering one. This desire provides the life of many, if not all, people consciously or unconsciously with its true urge, but often remains strangely unquiet, directionless and confused. This, however, is no coincidence: how is a search to have direction and purpose if we know nothing about what is being sought, nor even whether or not it truly exists? We class these questions in a sphere that we clearly distinguish from the sphere of the scientific logos: we call it the sphere of the essence logos and define it as the sphere of questions and statements referring to the original essence of things and of ourselves. What should really be a source of astonishment is that in the concepts of most scientists, as well as in those that have permeated society for over 150 years, the expression ‘logos’ has almost exclusively been understood in the sense of the scientific logos.9 The fact that every phenomenon, and in particular the entirety of existence, has an aspect (if not many aspects) concealed from our scientific perception is something the wise of earlier times, up to Kant and Schelling (1775–1854) were more cognisant of than are we today. What the ‘things-in-themselves’ actually were was known (according to these philosophers) only to their transcendent, creative origin. This origin sees them in complete transparency, with no opacity, and, in so doing, invests them with reality. In the Gospel of John, the knowledge and actions of this origin is called the ultimate logos, of which it is written that ‘. . . through him all things were made’.10 What, however, is to be regarded as the sphere of this essence logos? When discussion about it is given a scientific sheen, this leads, as we mentioned, into the trap of dogmatism. Yet it would seem that, if no form of verification is

44   The essence logos possible, the term ‘essence logos’ can denote everything and anything. Or can these two equally negative alternatives (those of dogmatism or arbitrariness) be avoided? Clarifying these questions is the task of sciences that were not mentioned during the analysis of the scientific logos – in particular philosophy and theology. Our following comments on these questions are only an attempt to contribute some clarification to certain of their aspects within the framework of our particular subject matter. The essence logos and pure ignorance The essence logos refers in a unique manner to our ignorance. For it encompasses all that is of particular importance to human beings (indeed, perhaps the only things of importance) yet which, unfortunately, we simply can’t know. Such ignorance is of a different type than those forms we have already examined (see Chapter 4, pages 35–38). Those forms dealt with objects about which we could have scientific knowledge, and generally do have to a certain degree. Ignorance pertaining to God, the immortality of the soul or the inner essence of things, however, relates to objects in regard to which we cannot even state what scientific knowledge about them would mean in the first place. We reiterate: according to Kant, ‘the thing-in-itself’ is imperceptible to us, for it is defined as the object outside the boundaries of human knowledge, outside of time and space. We can now modify this definition as follows: the thing-in-itself cannot be the object of knowledge, it is much rather the object of pure ignorance.11 Thus the essence logos is the sphere of pure ignorance – an ignorance within which not even the slightest trace of knowledge in the sense of the scientific logos is or can be mixed. With this modification we depart slightly from Kant (without, at this point, being able to further specify why) but we remain true to his intention: not to draw the things-in-themselves into the sphere of the scientific logos. By the term ‘pure ignorance’ we do not mean primarily a state of being, but rather the corresponding attitude. Such an attitude towards the question of the original essence of things is in some ways an expression of knowledge. For, with such an attitude we know that in every encounter with an appearance, we are simultaneously encountering the thing-in-itself, the basis for appearances, even if we can know nothing about this encounter. Such an attitude affects our behaviour towards appearances: we view them differently that we do generally. In pure ignorance, the individual trusts that, even in the most everyday circumstances, an enigma abides. Here ‘Enigma’ does not refer to anything that can be resolved into knowledge through research, but to something that can only remain what it is while in the state of being an enigma. Thus pure ignorance offers access to the present without contributing anything to it except this very openness of heart and mind. In such an openness, however, every moment, along with that which is encountered within it, gains the quality of an enigma. To see the present moment as an enigma, we have to relinquish every concept of being able to forcefully reshape it in the form of the scientific logos. Such a ‘seeing’ is not universally valid, not inter-subjectively verifiable through a method or pro-

The essence logos   45 cedure, and yet it is vital to being human. It is a knowledge which at the same time remains ignorance, for it seeks not to resolve the enigma it encounters, but to preserve it in its state of being. Pure ignorance is an expression of a certain attitude towards life that one can call wisdom. Socrates (470–399 bc), who said, ‘I know that I know nothing’, was for this very reason named ‘the wisest of mortals’ by the Delphi Oracle. The theologian and philosopher Nikolaus Cusanus (1405–1464) regards pure ignorance, not as a state of being, but as a path to a non-scientific wisdom. In the course of this process all perceptible knowledge is put aside until a limitless openness for all that is true is achieved. For such a mindset Nikolaus Cusanus coined the term docta ignorantia: educated ignorance. It is a mindset that endeavours to learn, to research and, if possible, to scientifically comprehend all that can be made the object of knowledge, without ever forgetting that what is most essential can never become the object of knowledge. This is especially valid for the seeking of God. For the very reason that we cannot know God (says Nikolaus Cusanus), we approach Him with the attitude of ignorance and openness. Pure ignorance is not only a radical negation – a rejection of all alleged knowledge in regard to the things-in-themselves and our own essence – but, as an attitude, it equally expresses a deep-felt affirmation. For it is consistent with pure ignorance to entrust ourselves to life in each and every moment, and most particularly wherever we can no longer force it into our concepts of science and our intentions or plans. It is such a trust that was originally referred to by the word ‘faith’. In Hebrews of the New Testament (Chapter 11, Verse 1) it is written: ‘Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.’ In Critique of Pure Reason, in a statement that can read in connection with the relationship between the scientific and essence logoi, Kant says: ‘I have therefore found it necessary to deny knowledge [about the things in themselves – the authors], in order to make room for faith.’12 Such a faith is not the ‘I-consider-this-true’ of the religious tenets of a certain tradition, at least not primarily so. It corresponds more closely to what is expressed by a concept that sounds a little alienating to many people today: ‘Faith in God’. It denotes the willingness to entrust our lives in an area in which our capabilities of perception, control and influence end to a dimension of which we know nothing – a dimension that nonetheless is present (in moments of greatest clarity, but also in times of hopelessness) in the same way as the enigma is present in the company of a loved one. The sacred texts of the world’s religions are, viewed in this context, not dogmatisms – claims of knowledge about things we can know nothing about – but rather references to and instructions for a limitless trust in an area where we know nothing and can know nothing. Such a trust manifests itself less in dogmas than in the attitudes and convictions that people back with their entire lives.13 In this sense something is revealed within the essence logos that is excluded from the ideal of a scientific logos, appearing as something inconvenient when it does emerge: the personality of the human being. The scientific logos is by its very nature impersonal, its strict inter-subjectivity eradicates every trait of the

46   The essence logos perceiving subject. The perceiving subject (see Chapter 4) is indispensable as the recipient of the knowledge of the scientific logos, but when that knowledge is formulated,14 this is ideally done in an inter-subjective form distilled of any trace of subjectivism. The suffering and the joy, the character and the fate of the scientist are absent. In contrast, personal traits are always included in a human being’s position to the essence logos (the position to the deepest questions of human existence): the very fact that a compelling inter-subjectivity that takes no account of the individual cannot exist here means that the most personal aspects of the individual find expression in faith. Practical aspects of the essence logos: human dignity and the dignity of nature It would seem that the only thing that can be said about the essence logos, as we have discussed it so far, is that nothing can be said. Such a statement would correspond to pure ignorance. But in certain areas of our lives we encounter statements that belong to the sphere of the essence logos and yet (or for this very reason) can lay claim to unqualified legitimacy. The fact that such statements arise in religious fields – for instance, in religions of revelation such as Judaism, Christianity or Islam – is, in keeping with what we have said so far, self-evident. Of course, modern liberal societies understand the statements and laws of religions within the framework of the concept of a pluralism of values. To stipulate ‘highest’ values, ones which have unlimited validity for an entire society or the whole of humanity, and to attempt to enforce them is considered by many liberal theoreticians as the first step towards totalitarianism.15 Within the foundations of liberal societies, completely outside of the field of religion, we do, however, encounter statements that also assert a form of nonrelative obligation, without our being able to find a scientific base for them or being allowed to dismiss them as dogmatism. These are certain statements belonging to a set of questions concerning humans living in community, concerning things such as solidarity, law and justice. These appear formally as value judgements, but in the constitutions of liberal states they are elevated above the pluralism of values. An example for such a statement would be the preamble to the German constitution: ‘Human dignity is inviolable.’ Similarly, human rights lay claim to a universal and timeless validity which cannot be proven in the sense of the scientific logos. Such statements require, of course, no additional knowledge complementary to our everyday experience, but rather constitute a boundary for our thinking and acting. In this way they correspond precisely to the concept of pure ignorance. Human dignity, the protection of freedom of opinion, the right to remain bodily unharmed, freedom of religion, free choice of occupation: all these things do not entail particular knowledge about the essence of being human (in any form). What we do is simply assume that the human being is deserving of all these rights, even (and in particular) at those times when evidence of dignity cannot be seen. Human dignity ascribes an inviolable enigma to each and

The essence logos   47 every individual, an inner being which can or should be subject to no one, and for this reason requires free space in which to express and manifest itself. Thus the concept of ‘human dignity’ does not postulate an additional human attribute or ability supplementary to the other perceptible attributes and abilities that go along with the gifts of reason and will. Instead, it emphasises that a human being (as Kant put it) has a claim ‘to be his own end’, and ‘not be used merely as a means to any other ends’.16 Treating a human being as a means does not contradict any knowledge within the sphere of the scientific logos. Yes, within a sociobiological interpretation, humans could very well appear to be a particular strategy of biological evolution or the execution of a particular genetic program within a highly complex natural social and cultural environment. Why then should the realisation of such a program be ascribed ‘dignity’ – an expression unknown to biology, if not to the biologists themselves? But in this respect we are in dereliction of our humanity if we remain within the framework of the scientific logos and do not progress into the horizon of the essence logos. There – beyond any scientific method of verifiability – we experience ourselves as personalities; from there we experience ourselves as called to ascribe every other individual a personality and to encounter him or her as such. Human dignity and human rights are essentially intended to do nothing more than create a space in which human beings can interact as reciprocally free persons. But what about nature? Does it also deserve dignity? This question arises when the topic of human dignity is discussed within the context of environmental education. The answer must be ‘yes’, even if ‘the rights of nature’ cannot exist in the same sense as human rights.17 Human dignity is oriented towards mutual recognition of such dignity. While people have developed concrete forms of cohabitation through which they can respect each other as persons, thus encountering one another in a human manner, corresponding forms of encounter between human and rabbit, human and domestic pig, human and crocodile or human and shark are hardly conceivable. On the other hand, it is difficult to argue against the fact that forms of domestication (such as mass livestock breeding) in which a chicken, pig or cow is regarded solely as a means to satisfy human needs, and in which they are granted none of what their very nature requires, lack all dignity. As complex as the correlated questions might be, within the framework of our portrayal of the essence logos it is at least possible to give an indication of what a dignity of nature might mean: to ascribe dignity to nature does not entail granting rights that can be claimed before court to certain parts of nature such as landscapes or species of individual animals (although this might be the right thing to do in certain cases), but rather means encountering nature with a specific attitude. In light of a ‘dignity of nature’ we would be ascribing nature a profound enigma that our senses or instruments cannot perceive. In pure ignorance we would then be open to the possibility that nature can transcend our scientific approach. This would result in a conscious attention and profound respect for all that nature consists of, even if we cannot avoid using and consuming it. The essence logos challenges us to encounter nature in an attitude that Albert Schweitzer called ‘awe of life’.18

48   The essence logos Freedom and human actions Kant19 drew our attention to the fact that a question exists which, although it itself unquestionably belongs to the sphere of the essence logos, nonetheless requires an answer within the practical side of human experience: this is the question of the freedom of will. The assumption that people are free is refuted, or so it would seem, by biologists – in particular genetic biologists or neurologists. For well over 100 years we have been hearing that it is proven that the human being is programmed in one way or another, be that genetically, socially, environmentally or through some combination of these. Recently we have been told that the more the human brain is examined, the more clearly it is shown to contain nothing that could be referred to as the agent of freedom. In light of such claims, popular-scientific publications have stipulated that the institution of monogamy is contrary to human nature (at least in regard to the male half) since men have been programmed by nature to have several partners. Is it therefore an option for the unfaithful husband, having been found out, to defend himself, saying: ‘The biologists have proven that I had no choice; I was only following my program’? Kant demonstrated that the question of whether or not human beings are free is not one to which scientific data can contribute at all. That people are not free in many aspects – according to certain types of biological and social determinism – can possibly be demonstrated by the concordant disciplines. Kant even went so far as to assume that the human being as a whole, in so far as he or she can become the object of any empirical science, is not free in the least, but rather subject to the ‘mechanisms of nature’. The question of whether or not people are essentially free, however, evades the perceptive potential of science – for science gains its data in a manner in which freedom is not recognisable. According to Kant, freedom (if the term is to be used in a meaningful manner) is something that must be conceived of in its origin, outside of time and space. We always scientifically examine the things within time and space, the appearances, in regard to external causes: they are necessarily limited and conditional – this is the result of the nature of scientific examination, not of experience. Something that has no cause outside of itself, something unconditional, is not something within the boundaries of time and space, and concordantly cannot become the object of scientific observation. Freedom of will is something we can causally only conceive of as being determined by nothing other than that will itself: free will can only be conceived of as a will which (in so far as it is free) determines itself. Our expressions ‘self-determination’ and ‘the right to self-determination’ are bound up with such a concept of freedom. If, however, we have such a concept of freedom, it necessarily follows that we cannot find it within the sphere of appearances: our scientific point of view, which leads us to attribute appearances to external causes, excludes the possibility of locating ‘freedom’ as a scientifically serviceable piece of data within the world of appearances. Freedom, Kant derives, is thus a question that refers to the things-inthemselves. For this reason it can be neither scientifically proven, nor refuted.

The essence logos   49 Nonetheless, according to Kant, we must be able to say more in regard to our freedom than that we know nothing about it. A practical observation can demonstrate why an answer to the question concerning freedom of will is not completely optional despite the lack of a scientific foundation for it: If we wish to mutually ascribe responsibility to people in our treatment of one another, if we wish (in the case of a misdeed, a deceit, or harmful, humiliating, detrimental behaviour) to reproach our fellow men and women with having been able to act differently (to refrain from whatever unfair, unjust or destructive behaviour is the case in point) or if, in all honesty, we must accuse ourselves of the same, we assume freedom. The same holds for when we encounter people who give their all for their fellow humans or other living creatures. For freedom denotes being capable of autonomously choosing between that which is beneficial or detrimental, appropriate or inappropriate, good or evil – thus we must also allow whatever is entailed by such a choice to be attributed to us. Only in so far as we are free can we be said to have acted blamefully or to have done the right thing. In our everyday lives we assume freedom as a precondition – to such a degree, in fact, that the world as we know it would disintegrate if we were to drop this precondition. Were we to view ourselves automatons, determined by a program, social human interactions would not be possible. May we now assume freedom for our fellow human beings and thus for ourselves, or, in so doing, do we fall into the trap of dogmatism? To this Kant writes: Since we cannot refute the theoretical assumption that human will is free, we have the strongest reason to ascribe such an assumption validity in practice, that is to say, in our actions: We experience ourselves – independent of our disposition, our weaknesses and limitations – as called to do the right thing (beyond all personal needs and interests) and to refrain from doing what is not right. Such a concept, however, presumes that we – within the boundaries of our capabilities – can do what is right and that we, should we fail to do what is right, are remiss and must ascribe such omission to ourselves as failure.20 We cannot conceive of ourselves as active beings without regarding ourselves as free, and no theory the scientific logos can offer contains anything that might deprive us of such a basis for action. If we view ourselves (or find we have to view ourselves) as free beings, we are already within the horizon of the essence logos, which proves itself indispensable for a discipline of correct behaviour: for ethics. The significance of the essence logos for the scientific logos The following is to demonstrate the significance of the essence logos for the scientific logos. 1  The essence logos offers a horizon of questions, thoughts, ideas and viewpoints which belong to our being human, without ever attaining strict inter-subjectivity. Such a horizon adds nothing to the concepts, methods, laws and results of science. For it cannot be used to derive concepts or methods, etc. If one were to derive concepts from the existence logos, consider them valid in the scientific

50   The essence logos sense and attempt to assert them against allegedly invalid ones, a basis for fundamentalism, intolerance and fanaticism could quickly develop. It was this very experience during the period of enlightened religious critique in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that led to the notion that the sphere of the essence logos must be completely separated from that of human experience. The better we recognise, however, that the essence logos is not a concept in itself, but rather a horizon for concepts, the less susceptible we are to such dangers. 2  Every scientific discipline develops its perspective on the basis of certain terminological and methodical preliminary decisions. From these, the various disciplines derive their particular axioms and methods. Certain aspects of the scientific object are thus accentuated, while others are completely blended out. An example of this would be the human being as the object of physics, chemistry, biology, medicine, economics, etc. In each of these, certain aspects become discernible while at the same time other essential aspects are lacking. This is not problematic as long as the scientists are cognisant of the limitations of their point of view. There are, however, scientists – and to a much greater degree people in society who put their faith in science – who know nothing of such a limitation inherent to the scientific approach. They view their object in the way blind men viewed an elephant in a parable of Buddha:21 In ancient times a king summoned all those who had been born blind. An elephant was brought to them and the king said to the blind men: ‘This, you blind men, is an elephant.’ He had some of them feel the head of the elephant, others he directed to the ears, yet others to the tusks and the trunk, the next ones to the feet, the back and finally the tassel of the tail. Then the king asked: ‘Tell me, what does the elephant resemble?’ Those who had touched the head said: ‘An elephant is like a pot.’ Those who had felt the ears said: ‘An elephant is like a winnowing sieve.’ Those who had touched the tusks said: ‘An elephant is like a ploughshare.’ Those who had felt the trunk said: ‘An elephant is like a plough-handle,’ those who had felt the foot: ‘An elephant is like a post,’ and those who had been shown the back: ‘An elephant is like a mortar.’ Those who had touched the tassel of the tail, however, said: ‘An elephant is like a broom.’ And they all became infuriated and came to blows, screaming: ‘An elephant is not as you say, but as I say and only as I say.’ Knowledge of the essence logos draws our attention to the one-sidedness of scientific preliminary decisions and approaches. It reminds us that science is constantly seeking holistic insight, but that we can often only achieve individual fragments and limited aspects because of our selection and preparation. Knowing of the essence logos, we can accept how relative all our knowledge is. We recognise that we need not be slaves to a particular chosen scientific approach, but can continually start anew – that is to say, we can theorise and experiment with alternatives. In so far as the essence logos teaches us never to restrict our scientific logos to one single fixed approach, but rather to continually try to address

The essence logos   51 the same problem in many different ways, it offers a horizon for inter- and transdisciplinarity. 3  The essence logos does not add anything to science, but it can and even should incorporate the person of the scientist. Within the horizon of the essence logos, natural scientists in particular can learn the wonder of their phenomena. Plato and Aristotle emphasised that at the beginning of all philosophy and science lies wonder: only once the phenomena of the world around us is no longer regarded as matter-of-course, a self-evident given, can scientific research and the search for causes begin. Coming from the viewpoint of the essence logos, we can add: wonder lies, not only at the beginning, but also at the end of science. Whoever knows even a little of the unimaginable complexity and abundance within the molecular world of physics, whoever has made themselves aware of how the unfathomable multiplicity of the genetic design of all living creatures can be derived (like an alphabet) from only a handful of building blocks, can hardly fail to see nature as a wonder. The wonder of it all is not (as many believe) a phenomenon separate from natural laws, but much rather inherent to the fact that the world is as it is: an enigma, patent order, simplicity, complexity and overabundance, terror and joy in one incomprehensible dynamic. Those who have learned of such wonder at the end of science – such thinkers as Max Planck, Heisenberg or Schrödinger may serve as examples – will develop a distaste for overhasty usages of scientific discoveries in the service of short-term utility concepts in the fields of the economy or technology. 4  The essence logos shows us that convictions do and must exist that cannot be scientifically founded. It is only these convictions that make us human beings when we stand up for them, when we deny other goods for their sakes, up to and including our very lives – convictions for which we (as it is ascribed to Luther) find we must say: ‘Here I stand, I can do no less.’ It is this very individual quality, however, that also entails that such convictions cannot possibly have the same compelling, coercive character as the logical conclusions and natural-scientific experiments inherent to the scientific logos. Such convictions within the essence logos constitute the intellectual part of our beliefs that supplements the part we live out day by day: faith. An individual, personal quality in these convictions is irrevocable – contrary to the results of the scientific logos, which is ideally completely free of such. Convictions of faith need not, however, be completely private: we can discuss them with others and, when possible, offer plausible arguments. We can express our experiences of faith to others and attempt to stimulate them to make similar ones themselves. In this, however, we are dependent on voluntary accord. Thus an essential part of the existence logos in this world is that there exists a space for discussion in which both conviction and voluntary accord, as well as doubt and voluntary dismissal, are possible. A faith that can be coerced is no faith. To faith belongs the possibility of refusal. 5  A particular significance falls to the essence logos within environmental education. For it is the source of one of the three approaches of which we spoke in Chapter 2: the effectuality of the approach of comprehensive visions arises not from the scientific, but from the essence logos. Hence this approach plays a part

52   The essence logos in all the perils that can arise from conceptualisation along the lines of the essence logos: ideological dogmatism, fundamentalism and fanaticism are qualities not unknown to the environmental movement and can even arise in scientists. On the other hand, wonder and awe at nature as it is can be a powerful incentive to oppose thoughtless and immoderate usage and depletion of nature. And a faith that is convinced that it is worthwhile to live for and to stand up for something with one’s life – a faith which cannot be founded by science, but equally cannot be refuted by science – is perhaps the most powerful font for the struggle for a humane environment in which nature is given its rightful place. Without visions reaching far beyond our scientific knowledge, it will be difficult to develop concepts of long-term care for ourselves and the planet. As soon as we attempt to convert visions into concrete measures, however, we have to subject them to critical examination.

6 The existence logos

Although our actions in everyday life are generally not based on scientific knowledge or any obvious relationship to the dimension of the essence logos, our entire day-by-day activity is an expression of knowledge: when we get up in the morning, wash ourselves, prepare breakfast and eat it; when we walk or drive to work, proceed to work our way through whatever is at hand, chat with colleagues or business partners; when we go shopping, tidy up our apartment or clean it; when we meet with friends for sporting activities, going to a concert, the cinema or theatre; when we, together with many others in our cultural environment, celebrate festivities such as Christmas or Easter, then we know – more or less precisely – what we are to do. In the same way we know how to behave when at school or university, in church, at the doctor or in a courtroom – we know that we speak differently to our boss or colleagues than we would when in the company of friends or in our regular bar. We know that we are to be quiet in a concert, but can go ahead and yell at a sporting event. Sometimes we have a greater or lesser share in such knowledge (e.g. when we are uncertain of ourselves), sometimes we even behave ‘inappropriately’ – that is to say, we act in a manner unbecoming to the situation without actually expressly violating a written rule or contravening scientific knowledge. This type of everyday knowledge is grounded above all in experience and routine – in association with an instinct or feeling for the current situation. Our knowledge of life, that knowledge that guides us through our existence in the world we live in on a day-to-day basis, we subsume under the generic term existence ‘logos’. The knowledge of the existence logos, dealt with as a philosophical topic as early as the times of Plato and Aristotle (384–322 bc), has developed into an important object of philosophical analysis, particularly since the late stages of the nineteenth century. ‘Phenomenology’1 strives to make such knowledge cognisant and transparent in its nature. Only with the emergence of phenomenology was it possible to show to what degree the world, as it takes form through our lives, and provides our lives with their social and intellectual space, differs from what is called ‘world’ in the concepts of the scientific logos. Phenomenology is the science of the logos of phenomena. A phenomenon, in ancient Greek ‘phainomenon’, is ‘that which appears’. Phenomenology deals

54   The existence logos with appearances in space and time, not with what Kant calls the ‘things-inthemselves’. It is not interested, however, in appearances as they are derived from the procedures of the scientific logos, but rather with appearances as they concern us in the structures and processes of our everyday world, ones that move us to suffering and joy; to exertion, anxiety, labour and celebration. It does not concern itself, therefore, with the phenomena that have been prepared and dissected into objects of science, but rather with those that exist in our day-to-day dealings. Phenomenology means to become cognisant of our everyday knowledge, without shaping it into the form of objectivising science. The particular characteristic of the phenomenological approach towards the world of life can be illustrated by means of a famous example from Augustine: ‘What is time?’ he asks in his Confessions and continues: ‘As long as no one asks me, I know it, but as soon as someone asks me, and I must explain it, I know it not.’2 Someone asked for an explanation must meet the demands of terminological clarity and logical conclusiveness, things which refer to the horizon of the scientific logos. But the term ‘time’ with all its implications transcends such a framework. Long before the scientific logos attempts to subject time to a definition, however, we understand each other when we say: ‘It’s time to go’, ‘Do you have time tomorrow?’, ‘Our time together passed too quickly’ or ‘There’s no time left for that’. The concern of phenomenology is the communication of the knowledge we express in our daily activity, without expressly owning or articulating it. Both the essence logos and the scientific logos display a tendency to not tolerate the coexistence of any other logos. So not only do they reciprocally dispute each other’s claim to truth, but they are also unwilling to recognise the approach that shall be denoted in the following as the existence logos.

The knowledge of the existence logos Were people to experience their existence entirely within the dimension of the essence logos, they would experience in each and every moment nothing but the revelation of their original being. The enigma, which constitutes the soul of the essence logos, would be perpetually revealed to such people in their everyday existence, but in such a manner that it would always remain an enigma. Here, no autonomous existence logos would exist next to the essence logos. Anything that could be viewed as such would be nothing more than an abundance of events in which that original being was manifesting itself. But another viewpoint is conceivable – that people persuade themselves they are living entirely within the essence logos, manipulating everything they encounter towards their point of view until they see an expression of divine will within everything. Likewise, the scientific logos knows no autonomous existence logos. What could be referred to as such appears to the strict scientist as an enormous, only ever partially and never entirely structured compilation of opinions, concepts and behavioural patterns within a society. Science views itself as being under obligation to abolish this type of knowledge as far as humanly possible – that is to say, to either expose it as falsehood or to transpose it to the sphere of scient-

The existence logos   55 ific certainty. In such a sense the existence logos would be an unexamined, indistinct and ambiguous form of pre-knowledge that, after examination, is to be either rejected, or clarified and refined. Indeed, knowledge requires a differentiation between ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’, between truth and falsehood. What, however, is the position of the existence logos on this differentiation? Instead of answering this question, we would like to first elucidate what we are actually speaking about when we refer to the existence logos. Within the existence logos, in the broadest sense of the word, everything is accumulated that exists within a society in the form of concepts and ideas: thus the scientific and essence logoi would also be forms of the existence logos. In a more narrow and precise sense, however, from all the concepts and ideas that exist in a society, only those influencing the existence of people in how they carry out their lives in community and society are included in the existence logos. The existence logos thus contains the entirety of the orientation-knowledge of a society (in the sense of those concepts used by people to factually orient themselves in different situations). In this sense it also comprises an abundance of content. To elucidate this apparent chaos, we would now like to consider certain important manifestations of the existence logos. 1  The existence logos contains all the knowledge that tells us what ‘one’ is to do under specific circumstances: when to greet whom, how to greet, how to behave at the table, when it is appropriate to call someone else and when it is not, how to offer one’s seat to a senior in a streetcar – in short, all questions of social manners, tact and etiquette belong to the sphere of the existence logos. These are those aspects of our behaviour that do not confront us with conscious decisions, but contribute habitually to the stability of an order of human social behaviour. Such behavioural regulations are referred to by the economic, social and political sciences by the term ‘institutions’.3 Institutions are regulations that structure human behaviour towards one another and thus provide people with a certain surety in their mutual activities. In the openness, uncertainty and infirmity of life they create certain stabile expectations for people in their interactions with each other. For example, letting each other finish in discussions without everyone simultaneously speaking simplifies our dealings with one another. Nowadays, many institutions are the result of rational planning – for example, the rules of law. But in many cultures, including our own, so-called ‘informal institutions’ also exist. These are rules that are not recorded anywhere, yet ­nevertheless characterise human relations. Such informal institutions belong to the existence logos. The existence logos, however, also includes formal institutions that are recorded in writing and were pragmatically instituted to provide order in life. These would include traffic regulations, for example. The fact that one drives on the left-hand side of the road in England, and in Germany on the right, is a part of the existence logos of the individual cultures. Correct and incorrect do not exist here, and yet some institutions prove themselves to be ‘better’ than others – in a sense which we will turn to later.

56   The existence logos 2  Within the different areas into which the life of our society organises itself, there are separate existence logoi. The type of communication in law is different from in medicine; at school and university there exists a different type of communication from in sports clubs; in a media group there is a different type from in a chemical concern; the communication in an administrative department is different from that in parliament. We find autonomous forms of speech and behaviour everywhere, some of them very similar to the scientific logos, others vastly different. Older forms of existence logos knowledge are conserved within many various fields of work and activity, although these have become highly endangered, if not entirely eliminated, by scientifically supported technology over the last few centuries. Tradesmen, farmers, wine-growers, businessmen, entrepreneurs, doctors, etc. had and have (to a certain extent) intuitive knowledge in their various fields which could never be expressed in scientific terms, but which are realised in their activity. 3  A singular density of custom and experience within the existence logos is offered in those moments of life stabile we refer to in the broadest sense as ‘aesthetic’. The Greek word ‘Aisthesis’ means ‘perception’ and aesthetics was originally the science of sensory perception. Over approximately the last 200 years the meaning of aesthetics has been narrowed down to the perception and evaluation of works of art. In between the original meaning of ‘perception’ and the modern meaning which focuses on certain works of art, is an existence logos dimension of aesthetics stabile substantially influences our awareness of life: we find ourselves in this dimension when we view the world under the categories of beauty and harmony and act accordingly. When we arrange furniture in a room until the arrangement seems ‘right’, we are behaving aesthetically in an existence logos sense. Someone who arranges their clothing or jewellery in front of a mirror until everything is in the right place and then decides that ‘this clothing suits me’, is equally adopting an aesthetic attitude. The same goes when we tidy up the apartment in anticipation of guests, or set the table. But when we look around nature – at a landscape, a river valley, a forest or a mountain range – we also experience such a sense of coherence. Wherever we find such order, or find it lacking, or seek to create it, we bring such knowledge to bear – one which is by no means scientific, but constitutes a not insignificant part of our awareness of life. In the entire sphere of our aesthetic experience of life, there exist no absolute criteria, but there are definite intuitions.4 For here we are dealing with an unarticulated, imminently sensed accordance or harmony between ourselves and what is around us, or those who are around us. Wherever we are permitted to be aesthetic – be that by acting completely reflectively and letting our surrounding be as they are, be that by carefully or drastically shaping our surroundings – our diffuse environment becomes our world. When on the other hand such behaviour is denied us, there is a danger of the world becoming something stabile merely exists and thus a shapeless environment. 4  Finally, a significant role in the existence logos of a society is played by religion. Expressions and formulations of sacred texts become part of the communication of life, rituals organise daily routine – think of the five daily prayer times

The existence logos   57 of Islam. Festivities and periods of celebration provide order to the sequence of weeks, months and years. Instructions for cleansing and charity, even if they are not (or only partially) adhered to, play a significant role in a society’s awareness of life, for (in the context of the essence logos) they orient practical aspects of a society – albeit in a particular manner. Religion contains, so to speak, that existence logos in which a society presents itself according to its own nature – in the view of the faithful of a theistic religion, before the eyes of God. To what degree substitutes such as the worship of celebrities or group rituals adopt the role of religion within the existence logos for societies, in which religion itself can no longer make such a claim to significance, cannot be examined here: but at this point we wish to at least point out that much speaks for the indispensability of religion in people’s lives. Contrary to the scientific logos, which ideally is one and the same thing for all human beings – indeed, for all forms of intelligent life – the existence logos exists only in the plural form: as the existence logoi of different groups, classes, societies, cultures, religions, etc. Contrary to the essence logos where a human being, deep down, stands all alone before the final questions, or has to find his or her own answers to these, the existence logos unites more and more people to a form of society. The different forms of specific existence logoi always require a community or society in which they can coexist, sometimes side by side, sometimes supplementary to one another. While one can privately cherish personal convictions concerning the essence logos that no one else shares, an existence logos comprises all that one shares with or at least communicates to a community. This concept of sharing is not merely an ideal (an accusation sometimes made by the so-called scientific community). The sharing of the existence logos is a concrete world of common, but sometimes also contradictory, concepts that must manifest themselves and coexist within a social, cultural, economic and political space – and today, that space sometimes encompasses the entire globe. Within the sphere of the existence logos, sciences find a place that hardly corresponds to the ideal of the scientific logos as it is represented by classical physics. The humanities, arts and social sciences, which strive to inform us in regard to current and former forms of the existence logos and their meanings, do indeed have strict procedures for gaining data and interpreting it.5 In contrast to the empirical sciences, however, which remove their objects from their natural contexts before preparing them and integrating them into context-foreign structures, the arts, humanities and social sciences strive to comprehend their objects (objects from the sphere of human beings) within their contexts – in fact, they strive to comprehend the world of the objects itself.6 Thus ethnology (ideally) seeks to describe the entire existence logos of a foreign culture; historians (e.g. in the mentality history) attempt to achieve the same for past periods and cultures; literature-, music- and art-studies endeavour to connect the aesthetic experience of works of art to both the context of their creation and the context of their reception. These sciences are in their form of comprehension themselves a part of the development of the existence logos.

58   The existence logos A unique role in regard to the existence logos is played by critique in all its forms, be it critique of a scientific character, or of a more essayistic nature. Critique is the public forum in which (in a manner of speaking) a society’s existence logos in all its different forms questions itself. Conversely, the existence logos of a society that prohibits critique tends towards closed-mindedness and inflexibility. Humanities and social sciences such as philosophy, music-, art- and literature-studies, sociology, political science and pedagogy make a significant contribution to the further development of the existence logos if they critically follow and accompany the life of a society. In their indissoluble link to the existence logos they differ fundamentally from the sciences we examined within the framework of the scientific logos in Chapter 4. This link can be observed in the not unimportant fact that the person of the scientist with his or her social background can never be entirely eliminated from the critical analysis of the humanities or social sciences, so that his or her own viewpoint and style always plays a significant role in the final presentation.

The existence logos, time and tradition The knowledge that we have subsumed under the term ‘existence logos’ is always a form of knowledge that can be referred to real-life situations. When we act in accordance to such knowledge, we express our assessment of a specific situation and demonstrate to ourselves how we are ‘there’ in the particular situation. The knowledge that articulates itself in the scientific logos, on the other hand, abstracts from the particularities of the concrete situation of life. In the experiment it produces a repeatable artificial situation in which all events emerge only as an applicable case for general rules, namely laws. In Galileo’s experiments with the slanting surface, he was not interested in the particular characteristics of the balls he was using, but rather in what the movement of all balls have in common – in other words in general applicability. The scientific logos strives to construct situations that can be identically reproduced (situations that do not actually exist in reality); whereas experience and habit, as they are embodied in the existence logos, know situations which are unique (although nonetheless often similar and comparable). Contrary to the demands of the rules of logic and the laws of empirical science, everything that belongs to some form of the existence logos holds only for a longer or shorter period of time. The ideal of the scientific logos includes timelessness, but within the existence logos, time appears as a duration, as a ‘lasting’. What is known in the existence logos is knowledge that lasts for a while, albeit sometimes a very long while. There are existence logos phenomena that possess only a very short time-span: an example would be fashion. Others can outlast the life-span of an individual by a large margin. Institutions, such as for example the division of the week into seven days, are very long-lived. The same goes for maxims and proverbs, which in many cultures are handed down from generation to generation, as well as for religious customs, especially when they subdivide the year’s cycle. The festivals of Christmas, Easter and Whitsun,

The existence logos   59 which received their meaning from the Christian culture, play an important role in Western society. Interpretations of the meaning of life, as they are represented by the great religions and teachings of wisdom, are particularly stabile. The cohesion of a society depends, among other things, on a certain stability of custom so that certain experiences can become repeatable. If there were no such thing as an existence logos, human beings would not know how to encounter each other, they would often not know what to do in a certain situation, and would have to continually make decisions in constant uncertainty as to whether they were being understood by their fellow human beings.7 Thus the existence logos relieves people from having to use their reason to constantly seek solutions to ever new problems – something that would be principally overtaxing. However, the existence logos of a society is not a natural given. Its long-term structures, in particular, require care in order not to deteriorate; they are subject to the problem of handing them down. On the one hand, the handing down of the existence logos takes place entirely unconsciously: children and youths grow into forms of life without realising it; adults pass these forms on without thinking about it. But there is always a danger of such forms becoming empty formulas, deadening into lifeless convention. Thus the existence logos requires, apart from its unconscious presence, a form of conscious handing down, whereby its content is continually realised anew, and its meaning newly discovered or invented. The term ‘tradition’, derived from Latin, meaning ‘handing down’, ‘handing over’ or ‘handing on’ reminds us that existence logoi cannot remain alive or real as long as they are not handed down. In a manner of speaking, tradition is the memory of a society. This memory finds itself articulated in a special way in language, for only language allows memory to communicate what it conserves in conversation with others. There are, of course, forms of non-verbal handing down: a trade is often taught by observation, imitation and ‘learning by doing’, while religious teachers often pass on their wisdom in hints and signs. Nonetheless, tradition as an activity within society generally requires language. Language is a necessary prerequisite of all three logoi, but it is apportioned to the existence logos in such a manner that one can call language the true existence of the existence logos. The scientific logos works with highly formalised, artificial languages, which, like mathematics, have shed as far as possible everything reminiscent of a conversation; the essence logos refers above and beyond all language to pure ignorance. The existence logos alone denotes the space in which people speak with one another and enter into conversation – into situations of open communication. Its medium is language as verbal speech, language as the foundation of the conversation, as narration, notification, question and answer, as a request, demand or accusation, and as an expression of affection or dislike, happiness and anger. Language is simultaneously the agent and object of handing down and contributes by means of its mere existence to the stability of a society. It is considerably more stabile than one might think. Consider the social and technological occurrences of the last 450 years and compare them to the changes in the usage of the German language and the use of grammar. German grammar has not

60   The existence logos remained entirely the same, but neither has it changed significantly and, although the vocabulary has been expanded, its basic stock is to a great extent the same as at the time of Luther. Whereas we can largely cope with the language of the time of Luther, we would have great difficulties understanding the behaviour of people, were we to find ourselves transported back to the society of that time. By means of language, therefore, a continuum of structural patterns that are only minimally affected by the changes in reality is passed on. As such, language is not part of the orientation-knowledge offered by the existence logos, but is certainly its foundation and its medium. By what means, however, is this handing down guaranteed within the existence logos? Here the story plays a special role. The story, in so far as it is a medium of handing down, differs from the forms of presentation of both the scientific and essence logoi by means of a specific form of inter-subjectivity. Within the story, statements follow one another and join sensibly together, without adhering to the relationship of cause and effect. The story does not make convincing sense to everyone, but rather to all those who share certain backgrounds of understanding with the storyteller. The inter-subjectivity of the existence logos is the mutually or commonly experienced world of life. The story sees to it that what the associate members of the world consider most important is handed down – the good to be imitated, the bad as a deterrent. It creates, in a manner of speaking, a durable core, a core of life, which the living pass on as a treasure to the future. The primordial form of the story is the oral tradition in the form of poetry. Oral tradition guarantees that whatever is handed down, e.g. a myth or sequence of events, is continually renewed in the act of telling – it also, however, raises the risk of its content becoming incomprehensible or even completely reversed. If the story is set in writing, it demands a new attitude from a society. The text is a permanent given and every individual of a later time knows that the text belongs to the past and was created in orientation to a past time. It can no longer be (as in the case of oral tradition) conformed to the present by means of telling it anew. At the same time, however, it is of course less susceptible to distortion. Such permanently recorded stories must be, by means of examination and free appropriation, made fruitful for a new present in order for the orientation-knowledge they contain to be simultaneously conserved and filled with new life. Thus the appropriation of written tradition requires critique in its original sense (see page 58): the ability to differentiate between that which is only externally superficial in the text and belongs only to its time of origin, and that which is essential to it and can inform the present of something it would not discover for itself. Critique is therefore the ever new appropriation of the past – listening to the handed-down stories, hearing them and reinterpreting them for the present. Hermeneutics, the science of understanding, deals with this aspect of the existence logos. The ability to conserve that which is handed down and to simultaneously transform it into something new and appropriate for each present day, to cleanse it of misleading or erroneous old experience (which may remain as a warning) and to enrich it with new experience for the future – this, in a manner of speak-

The existence logos   61 ing, constitutes the inner sustainability of a society. In environmental education, on the other hand, we speak of external sustainability – sustainability as the conservation of our material basis of life. The inner sustainability of a society is the prerequisite for external sustainability. It is, however, not easy to clarify what exactly belongs to inner sustainability. But one thing is certain: the enormous changes in the relationship between humankind and nature are precisely what demand a strong will from society. Such a strong will is, however, hardly conceivable within an internally unstable and disorientated society.

The deadening and the forgetting of the existence logos Most people are far less aware of the significance of the dimension of the existence logos than that of the scientific or essence logoi. This is so, despite the fact that our lives in their everyday nature are directly and primarily connected to particular situations, in which we are dependent on the existence logos. The extensive lack of awareness of the existence logos can occasionally be problematic for two reasons. In unfavourable circumstances, the consequences of both these aspects can amplify each other. 1  On the one hand, our day-to-day world of life incorporates many templatelike forms of behaviour, thought and speech – patterns that we reel off, so to speak, without thinking about them. Such typical behavioural forms would be conventions; intellectually, they take the form of prejudices; as forms of speech, they appear as phrases and clichés. Hardly anyone can do entirely without conventions, prejudices and clichés. They contain patterns of reaction, proposals for interpretation and propositions for action in open situations, in which we cannot inform ourselves down to the last detail, and they enable us to act or react without delay, although we are not fully in the picture. Nevertheless, they are a sign of weakness, often even of misdemeanour: they prevent us from penetrating to the depth of the current moment, from accepting the unusual and discovering the novel – and at the same time our dynamism or animation is deadened. Stubborn adherence to old customs, ignorance, superstition, aversion or hate towards everything that is strange or foreign to us can be the consequence. In this case, existence structures become merely what could be called congealed and lifeless sediments of past life within our living world. This holds incidentally to an equal extent for the conventions, prejudices and clichés that are not so uncommon in science – as well as for the solidified behavioural patterns in bureaucracies and firms, be they in administration, law, medicine or the economy. Such forms can cause all those involved to become closed to the world and their fellow people existing outside of these forms. Such forms constitute their own form of ignorance, so far not addressed by us: bigotry and intolerance or, as we could also put it, ignorance for reason of a closed (and thus locked in itself) world view. We can become prisoners of our own routines of thought and life. On the opposite side of the spectrum it is part of our intellectual alertness to recognise when the concepts we have become accustomed to are being questioned, and to then

62   The existence logos critically re-examine them. It is part of our courage to seek what is better, even when the search is unpleasant, and part of our strength of character and our freedom to give up things we have become accustomed to in favour of what we have recognised as better. The existence logos in particular, as the stabilising and securing element of our knowledge, requires openness to complement it and patience to deepen it. Here we are dealing once more with the proper interplay of holding on and letting go. 2  Another potential danger is that forms of life, behavioural patterns and points of view, as they are conserved in the existence logos, may be lost without our noticing it. Such a loss often has nothing to do with voluntary rejection in favour of something that has been recognised as better, but is rather a result of changes in a society, ones that people adapt themselves to without realising what is happening. The existence logos of a society with an inner stability is usually something that has grown over the course of decades or centuries. It lends people’s lives stability and orientation – not in such a way that they are spared their own search for meaning and purpose, but rather as a foundation and horizon for their own personal search. When such a foundation and horizon is lost, many people lose all sense of direction, they become vulnerable to manipulation. An (admittedly extreme) example for the interaction of both aspects would be the changes in behaviour that occurred in Germany after 1933.8 In German society, outwardly shaped by Christianity and not untouched by the humanism of the Enlightenment, following a tradition of a centuries-old anti-Judaism, antiSemitic prejudices became increasingly ensconced during the second half of the nineteenth century, tolerated by a Catholicism concerned only with its own affairs, fomented by a nationalist Protestantism, and furthered by a race-biology that was emerging in the current form of the scientific logos, one that derived its arguments from wilfully applied concepts of Darwin and Haeckel. To this hollow form of the existence logos came shocks such as Germany’s defeat in 1918 and the economic crisis of 1929, leading to a fundamental distortion of traditional morals and conventions. The prejudices on the one hand, and the fears and distortion on the other, were the breeding ground for the behaviour emerging in 1933, which, a few years beforehand only a handful of even the wiser contemporaries had been able to imagine. Many people quickly became accustomed to not greeting their Jewish acquaintances; they quickly grew accustomed to anti-Semitic slogans, to the arbitrary arresting of neighbours, to the cult of a leader who was worshipped with quasi-religious fervour, to a talk (endowed with a scientific veneer) of the superiority of the Aryan race, to humiliation and cruelty towards their fellow Jewish citizens, and finally to their disappearance from view. In the same way they became accustomed to propaganda in regard to the necessity of a war to gain living space in the East. They quickly forgot that all this lay infinitely beyond all of what ‘one does’ and ‘does not do’ – as it had been, theoretically at least, handed down in Christian texts and the humanistic concepts of the Enlightenment. Today we see several dangers within the horizon of current existence logoi.

The existence logos   63 1

2

3

4

Science contributes to a loss of subconscious knowledge within the existence logos. It causes us to become accustomed to not viewing appearances within their life-worldly contexts, and can thus rob us of the ability to sense the characteristics and value of structures within our everyday world. In many regions of the world farmers have over the last few decades given up their accustomed forms of crop cultivation in favour of food production which, apart from a huge capital expenditure, also requires considerable amounts of artificial fertilisers, herbicides and pesticides. Such modern methods of production were generally advocated by science: the argument was the potential increase in production. In the course of this, much knowledge accumulated in traditional forms of cultivation was lost. Specifically, we know today that industrial agriculture, dependent as it is on finite resources, neglecting as it does local ecosystems, is often not sustainable. Worldwide, the existence logoi of the most varied cultures are in danger of being taken over by a Western way of life consisting of an overestimation of consumption and calculating egoism. On the one hand, this way of life is an independent existence logos of the West, one which, since the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, ascribes an especially high value to the selfdevelopment of the individual (see Chapter 12, pages 141–145), but it could also be seen as a sign that Western culture is in danger of losing its basis and orientation: individualisation can swing to atomisation, into a feeling of belonging nowhere. Existence logoi within the sphere of religion,9 once alive and flourishing, seem to be deadening in various societies. On the one hand, they are becoming merely superficial conventions and clichés, ones that can no longer reach the hearts of people; on the other hand, fanaticism and fundamentalism proliferate in their shadow, reinforced by a disorientation of many people, which is spreading from the West. Fundamentalism is likewise an expression of forms of life that have lost their original fundaments in their traditional existence logoi: fundamentalism is generally the artificial conjuration of a fundament that one does not have and of which one understands little or nothing. Ecologically, our Western form of life is problematic in so far as it draws us into habits founded on the depletion of fossil raw materials, which bring serious environmental problems with them. Our use of the automobile, our heating, our travelling to all parts of the earth by means of transport such as the aeroplane, but also the goods we buy, even though we know that their production, transport or disposal are environmentally damaging – all these are expressions of habits that have adopted the natural, matter-of-course nature of the existence logos. Such attitudes, once they have taken root in the heart of a society, can only be altered with great difficulty.

64   The existence logos

The existence logos and the faculty of judgement Are there ways of determining when statements and forms of behaviour within the existence logos can reasonably be ascribed rightness and obligation? Statements in the sphere of the existence logos can never possess the compelling conviction of science. Forms of behaviour are neither scientific nor unscientific (at best, their validation can be formulated in scientific statements). Nonetheless, not everything within the existence logos is mere opinion or random custom, things that can be this way or that. The truth of the knowledge of the existence logos lies not in a certainty founded on evidence, but rather proves itself continually anew in life. The truth of the existence logos is that which has proven itself. This, however, is not something eternal, but needs to stand the test of life again and again. Thus, institutions can prove themselves suitable or unsuitable. Such suitability is, however, not (or only extremely rarely) scientifically verifiable in regard to efficiency, even though today this is often propounded. For the existence logos as existence logos does not prove itself by means of a scientist applying external test procedures without personal partiality; it proves itself in its longterm effectiveness in people’s awareness of life. It could also be described like this: existence logoi that satisfy those who share them, without others affected being harmed, cannot be assessed or judged by any external authority. However, if we are to take this rule seriously, as others are affected, there are nevertheless authorities outside the sphere of those who share the existence logos. The assessment and judgement of present-day existence logos is a matter of the neighbours of a particular society, as well as of later generations or posterity; i.e. existence logoi must stand the test, not only of those immediately affected by them, but also of those around them, as well as of posterity.10 But apart from the fact that, per definition, posterity is not yet here, the stipulation that the existence logos or its realisation be measured according to the assessments of the present already seems difficult to satisfy. Which authority is to decide on this? The authority which, from the perspective of those involved, can evaluate the existence logos and guide its realisation was called by Immanuel Kant ‘the faculty of judgement’. It is judgement that enables us to react appropriately to the particularity of a situation – be this by holding to what we have always thought and done in such cases, modifying it as the situation demands, or by sensing that in this case something entirely new is required. Kant says that judgement is a peculiar talent which can be practised only, and cannot be taught [in the sense of the scientific logos – the authors]. It [judgement] is the specific quality of so-called mother-wit; and its lack no school can make good. [. . .] A physician, a judge, or a ruler may have at command many excellent pathological, legal, or political rules [. . .] and yet, none the less, may easily stumble in their application. For, although admirable in understanding, he may be wanting in natural power of judgement. He may com-

The existence logos   65 prehend the universal in abstracto, and yet not be able to distinguish whether a case in concreto comes under it. Or the error may be due to his not having received, through examples and actual practice, adequate training for this particular act of judgement.11 Judgement is characterised by appropriateness and commensurability. It falls to judgement to understand the particular circumstances of what is on the agenda and to find a measure for deciding which part of what has been recognised as principally right, is at the time possible and sensible. For this there exist no objective criteria, but the behaviour of someone endowed with proper judgement is nonetheless characterised by the fact that his or her thoughts and actions seem plausible in the long term to those with whom he or she lives and (ideally) to those who came after and hear of him or her. Plausibility on the side of those involved and those affected, a plausibility which proves to be lasting – not forever, but for a certain period of time – this is the criterion which, within the existence logos, stands for having thought and acted rightly. There are, however, times in which it might not suffice to meet with approval in the judgement of the present. These are times of crisis in which great upheavals take place within the existence logos – for example, towards the end of the Roman Empire or during the transition of the Middle Ages to the modern age. In such times, everything that the majority of people habitually think and do can appear to be blindness, madness or wrongness to reasonable judgement. In such a case, a watchful and discerning person can feel obligated to cross the horizon of the existence logos and as (according to the legend) Martin Luther did in 1521 before the emperor at the Reichstag in Worms, say from the horizon of the essence logos: ‘Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise. God help me, Amen!’ Luther could have continued by saying: ‘To this I will hold, even if none of those gathered here can understand why I behave in this manner.’12 But such a crossing of the horizon of the existence logos is most likely reserved only for those who are prepared to walk all the paths of the existence logos. Thus judgement is also required in this case, and to what extent Luther (to mention this example once more) was in possession of judgement was evidenced in many things, not least in his translation of the Bible, which he did not write in the language of the educated, but in the language of everyday knowledge by ‘watching the mouth of the people’.13 Is it, then, up to chance whether or not an individual possesses the faculty of good judgement? Quite the contrary – it is perhaps education’s highest calling to contribute to the schooling of judgement. In our modern society, it seems, too little value is placed on such education – and this must be particularly emphasised in regard to the sphere of environmental education. In the thoughts mentioned above, Kant offers some clues as to what the right school for judgement within the sphere of the existence logos might be. On the one hand we have examples: we would call these exemplary cases within a tradition that is kept alive by being narrated – on the other we have experience by learning through observing, accompanying and emulating. One requires role models whose

66   The existence logos actions demonstrate how right judgement can prove itself in practical success, and one also needs to be actually involved in such practices in order to personally gain the knowledge that comes from experience. To this we must add that the faculty of judgement requires social intelligence. For, regarded from the viewpoint of the existence logos, we should act in such a manner that our actions are intelligible and comprehensible for others and, when possible, include them in our actions as we are included in theirs. This, however, demands that we develop an instinct for others, that we become sociable and capable of acting cooperatively. If action is joined by judgement, the particular task at hand is to recognise what one is to hold on to in a specific situation and what one must let go of: the faculty of judgement must lay claim to pre-knowledge (to a certain extent even to prejudices), in order not to face the situation empty-handed, and it must be willing to let go of pre-knowledge (in many cases, much of it; in extreme cases, all of it) in order to react appropriately to the novelty of the situation. Thus judgement is always critical, but also sometimes pragmatic: it questions some of its preconditions, but does not let doubt inhibit its actions. Standing on principle (as one sometimes encounters it in the scientific logos or in the dogmatism of the essence logos) is not the business of the faculty of judgement. Having no principles at all, however, as is strongly implied by the chaotic abundance of images and concepts with which our lives and world are flooded today, is even less its business. The appropriateness of judgement proves itself in whether or not the faculty recognises the special time for that knowledge which is in principle always available – the proper time, the time in which a word or a deed is required: There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. (Ecclesiastes 3, 1–8) Returning to our environmental questions, it becomes immediately evident that the existence logos must play a central role in their analysis. It is certainly no accident that the awareness of environmental problems came initially almost entirely from the side of laypeople. They had only to open their senses in order to see, hear and smell that something was not right. They were soon dependent on the assistance of science, for nothing else could identify the hole in the ozone layer, CO2 concentrations, dioxins, etc. Nonetheless, science alone should not adopt the leading role. The question ‘In which world do we wish to and can we

The existence logos   67 live?’, one of the most essential questions of all pertaining to the environment in any manner, is also central to environmental education. This question will not be decided by scientific discoveries. For this, we require the visions of the essence logos, but in particular we also require an instinct for the possibilities and the open spaces of the individual situation. Such an instinct can and must occasionally be corrected or made more precise by science, but it can by no means be replaced by science: in other words, we need good judgement. It is not scientifically pure solutions, not untainted visions from the sphere of the essence logos, that will lead us out of the environmental crisis. They are certainly helpful, but only when they are joined by long breath and an alert faculty of judgement: an instinct for what is possible here and now. In the field of the environment, science should provide the best tools for courses of action within the sphere of the existence logos. This requires, however, that the scientists themselves are familiar with the dimension of the existence logos, and thus interpret their results in such a way that takes the sphere of the society which must absorb and adopt their results into account. Of the three paths of environmental education (see Chapter 2), the existence logos, united with certain aspects of the scientific logos, embodies the pragmatic approach.

7 Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics

In today’s Western society, a form of dynamics has developed which by now seems to have pervaded many areas of human existence throughout many parts of the world. These are the dynamics of science, technology and economics. They continually set in motion upheavals that affect both the social life of modern societies, as well as their relationship to nature. In particular, they have led to the global raw material and environmental problems we find ourselves confronted with today. As a part of these dynamics, the scientific logos has to a very large extent infringed upon our existence, and particularly on our relationship to nature. Since the extensive mechanisation of the world, the existence logoi of our society have been, in a manner of speaking, saturated with the effects (partially also by the thought and perception structures) of the scientific logos.1 But how did these dynamics come about? They cannot originate from a science that has no further goal than the production of inter-subjectively compelling statements. This type of science was held as the ideal in antiquity and the Middle Ages. Even the science of modern times, striving to theoretically recognise the laws of certain processes, did not by necessity have to infringe on social life. Nonetheless, the tendency to such infringements by modern natural sciences has been written into their programme essentially since the beginning – ever since the experiment with its invention of technical apparatuses began to accompany the generation of scientific results. This programme has its origin in specific concepts of the relationship between science and life which belong to the essence logos – that is to say, it has its origin in certain interpretations of what the essence logos consists of. The roots of this programme will be our primary concern in the following – at least in so far as they are simultaneously intertwined with the roots of the current environmental crisis.

The synthesis of science, technology and the common good by Francis Bacon The ‘synthesis of science, technology and common good’2 is the central theme of a project by the English philosopher Francis Bacon (1561–1626). Bacon set

Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics   69 himself the task of founding a new form of science which was to be radically different from all that had gone before. Science was not merely to describe reality or reduce it to theoretical abstractions, but much rather to reshape it in practical ways. Bacon brought the following charge against science as it was practised before him: For the readings and exercises are so designed that it would hardly occur to anyone to think or consider anything out of the ordinary. [. . .] For men’s studies in such places are confined and imprisoned in the writings of certain authors; anyone who disagrees with them is instantly attacked as a troublemaker and revolutionary.3 For Bacon, traditional science, in the form it took at the end of the sixteenth century, was merely convention, no longer the search for truth. Flanked by the existence logos inhibitions of the common state of mind, as well as by superstition, religious zeal and lazy comfort, traditional science created taboos and restrictions for research. In truth, however, ‘the hidden things of nature’ are, according to Bacon, ‘not forbidden by any prohibition’.4 In order to bring such secrets to life and make them accessible to human use, Bacon strove for a ‘renewal of the sciences, i.e. that they may be raised up in a sure order from experience and founded anew’.5 ‘Experience’ for Bacon is not the same thing as what we refer to in everyday life. His new science was to distance itself from daily experience, for its goal was a world different from as we experience it day by day: science was to create a better world. Of course such science must take everyday experience as its starting point in order not to shoot in the dark, but it must dissect the everyday world and all that belongs to it in order to reach nature and reveal its true structures. We have already discussed this procedure under the headings of selection and preparation in Chapter 4. It has, however, a certain goal extending beyond scientific discovery: ‘an improvement of the human condition [. . .], and greater power over nature.’6 When this is accomplished, the result is ‘infinite utility’.7 The true goals of science are sought after for ‘the uses of human life’.8 What Bacon seeks is the ‘improvement of the state and community of mankind’.9 A modern-day commentator, the philosopher Lothar Schäfer, makes the observation: By formulating the new goal of natural science, Bacon committed science [. . .] to overcoming problems which do not as such belong to science: the elimination of material poverty, hunger, disease and all afflictions belonging to human physical existence. [. . .] The true science of nature, that which is to be strived for and be worth striving for, is thus an applied, practical natural science, one which is orientated toward the production of technology. Such technology, founded on science, creates by means of inventions ‘fortune and welfare without creating injustice and suffering’ says Bacon.10

70   Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics Bacon advocates radically discarding traditional scientific logos and existence logos concepts: a renewed scientific logos would lead to constant progress towards an existence that would – to a large extent – be free from hunger, poverty and disease. Such an existence, as Bacon dreamed it, has few points of reference to the traditional existence logoi of his time. These, by striving to stabilise society, often had a retarding or restrictive effect, acting as brakes or obstacles to any faith in progress towards a better world. For Bacon, the deciding factor is a new approach towards nature: nature is no longer a multiplicity of individual creatures, each with their own enigma; it is rather a field of forces that can only be made useful for human purposes by means of dissecting individual things and living beings. Bacon assumed that all intrusions into nature are allowed – indeed, that we must bring about the deepest possible changes in order to derive the maximal utility from her. As soon as an intrusion that changes nature is at all possible, we are not only justified, but actually obligated to put it into practice, for it means an increase in the power of man over nature and thus an improvement in human welfare. The more mechanically and violently the discovery is wrested from nature, the more beneficial for mankind the effects become.11 Dominating nature and improving conditions of people in the world are two goals that go hand in hand. They are goals which, as we said, do not have their roots in the scientific logos. But where then are their origins to be sought? Let us consider the culminating words of Bacon’s work Novum Organum: We intend at the end (like honest and faithful guardians) to hand men their fortunes when their understanding is freed from tutelage and comes of age, from which an improvement of the human condition must follow, and greater power over nature. For by the Fall man declined from the state of innocence and from his kingdom over the creatures. Both things can be repaired even in this life to some extent, the former by religion and faith, the latter by the arts and sciences.12 Schäfer comments on this as follows: The true goals of science are pursued for the good and use of life. It is about an ‘improvement in the condition and community of man’, about restoring and returning to him the ‘sovereignty and power of man that he possessed in the original state of creation’. Through the development of science, according to Bacon, man will restore himself to the state he was in before his expulsion from Paradise. One can assume that Bacon is thinking here of a state without material need: in Paradise man wanted for nothing, whereas in his fallen state he must suffer hunger, want and poverty.13

Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics   71 What Bacon has outlined here is the attempt, through arts and science, to, if at all possible, lead humanity back to Paradise. Such an attempt is to restore to humanity the salvation lost in the Fall. Here Bacon is speaking within the dimension of the essence logos: the image of a state of domination and usage of nature for human purposes is a vision of salvation. Salvation is not granted by God through grace, but approached step by step through the work of humankind striving towards it through constant progress. Bacon’s vision combines biblical concepts with an unbiblical idea: according to the Bible, all people are called to salvation – the seemingly hopeless circumstances in which they live are only passages on the way to deliverance. The idea of humans being able to achieve access to Paradise through their own efforts can hardly be biblically founded. Yet it is precisely this unbiblical aspect that makes Bacon’s idea so fascinating: we need not entrust ourselves to life as God wished it, but can reshape and use it in the sense of infinite progress to our own ends. Although hunger, disease and poverty have not been conquered today, we can nonetheless say that this vision of Bacon still drives science, technology and economics, and that it has become deeply ingrained in the existence logos of modern societies. A composite of scientific and essence logoi – both viewed in a particular sense – plays a part in the dynamics of our society, a process that entails unbelievable technological progress, and even more unbelievable-seeming promises on the one hand, and environmental destruction of inconceivable proportions on the other. How do we stand today on this vision and its resulting dynamics? Schäfer takes the following position: I want to make an appeal for not relinquishing the Bacon ideal if we wish to cling to one idea of the European enlightenment philosophy, and that we cannot give it up as long as hunger, disease and material poverty afflict humanity or large parts of it.14 By this Schäfer means to say that, although we must do all within our power to avoid environmental destruction, we ought not to give up the striving, by means of the employment of science, technology and economics, to defeat the ancient scourges of humanity, namely hunger, disease and poverty. In the following, instead of adopting our own position, we wish to turn to a work of literature that deals indirectly with Bacon’s vision. The character of Faust in Goethe’s drama Faust, passing through its stages of development, goes from medieval science to modern world-shaping by means of science, technology and economics. By showing how Faust moves from a self-satisfied science to an active changing of the world, Goethe reveals structures in the background of the Bacon vision that elucidate the forces at work in our modern societies and lives. At the same time, however, Goethe also identifies the structural problems of modern life and its consequences for nature.

72   Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics

Faust’s project and its consequences Goethe was very sceptical of Bacon’s ideas: ‘Truth is coerced from nature with levers and screws’15 was his view of Bacon’s methods. Nonetheless, Bacon’s vision must have fascinated him: this is revealed in the fourth and fifth acts of the second part of the tragedy Faust, as the scientist Faust attempts to transform and improve the world.16 At the beginning of the first part of the tragedy we meet Faust as a scholar proficient in the philosophy, law, medicine and ‘unfortunately also’ the theology of the late Middle Ages, but who seems to be unsatisfied with what he knows. Faust seeks to ‘perceive the inmost force’ that ‘bonds the very universe’.17 And what he seeks is not knowledge about life, a form of knowledge one can possess, but rather knowledge that is life. A pact with Hell, represented by the spirit Mephisto (the devil), is to help him attain what he seeks. When he has found it, he is prepared to die for it and serve the Devil in the next life. But Faust remains unsatisfied throughout the different stations of his path through the world. In this state we encounter him at the beginning of the fourth act of the second part of the drama. Here Faust speaks of a search for a wholly fulfilling task. Now – and this is new in the life of Faust – he actually finds such a task. He becomes cognisant of what he must do in the face of an unfruitful coastline that is repeatedly flooded by the tide. Such a situation would have been unalterable in pre-modern times. Faust, however, feels driven ‘near to desperate distress’. The ‘elemental might, unharnessed, purposeless’18 at work here are intolerable for him: Straight in my mind plan upon plan unfolds: Earn for yourself the choice, delicious boast, To lock the imperious ocean from the coast, To shrink the borders of the damp expanse, And gorge it, far off, on its own advance.19 This plan is put into practice: the sea is forced back by means of a system of dykes, and the swamps are drained and cultivated. We discover how this was accomplished from an observer who did not take part himself. The old man Philemon, who, together with his wife Baucis, belongs to the native inhabitants of the sparsely settled area, describes what passed before his eyes as follows: Clever masters’ daring minions, Drained and walled the ocean bed, Shrank the sea’s entrenched dominions, To be masters in her stead. Gaze on hamlets, common, stable, Luscious meadows, grove and eave [. . .]20 Philemon sees clearly that ‘the sea’s entrenched dominions’ mean nothing to the will of Faust to ‘master in her stead’. As Bacon did, Faust wishes to conquer

Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics   73 and dominate nature. This will lead to a fruitful and densely inhabited polder landscape spreading where the sea and its tides once asserted their ‘dominions’ – the existence of untamed nature. Faust, however, is still not satisfied with the result. His gaze, directed towards the future, sees a great vision of ‘room to live for millions’21 – the ever-increasing population is to find space in an environment that is to be ever expanded at the cost of nature. But Faust’s highest goal is freedom for all people. He sees himself one day standing ‘on acres free among free people [. . .]’.22 This vision grants him the highest moment of his existence: ‘Foretasting such high happiness to come/I savor now my striving’s crown and sum.’23 To properly appreciate Faust’s achievement, one must take into account that in the first third of the nineteenth century, Europe was plagued by frequent famines that forced many people to emigrate. Faust’s colonisation can be viewed as an answer to this problem in the manner Bacon would have desired. Faust develops an environment in which a growing population can lead a better life. Because of his creation of new settlement areas, the character of Faust was considered a positive one until very recent times. It seems as though Faust unifies in himself the traits of a worldly scientist with those of the creative entrepreneur. He acts in the interest of the entire society. His deeds create a space in which people can freely develop themselves. The degree to which Faust is the equivalent of Bacon’s ideal is expressed in his attitude towards life as demonstrated by the following verses: To able man this world is not inert; What need for him to roam eternities? What he perceives, that he may seize. Let him stride upon this planet’s face, When spirits haunt, let him not change his pace, Find bliss and torment in his onward stride, Aye – every moment stay unsatisfied.24 Free from illusions, enlightened, facing facts – these are the qualities of an environment-founder who displays all the characteristics of the modern world. Unlike Bacon, however, this man knows that his lot is to remain unfulfilled. Nonetheless, he still overlooks certain significant aspects of his existence and certain fundamental consequences of his actions. The displacement of religion and nature The positive interpretation of the Faust character fails to note the dimensions he disregards in his one-sided fixation on his project. It should have given pause that Mephisto, ‘the spirit which eternally denies’,25 with his efficiency, bordering on unscrupulousness, had a not insignificant role to play in the colonisation project. And one cannot overlook the fact that people’s lives were sacrificed in  the realisation of Faust’s vision. The human beings who fall victim to the

74   Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics founding of the Faustian world are – beside many unnamed labourers – Philemon and Baucis, the native inhabitants of the colonised land. Their existence represents a pre-modern, natural-economic way of life. Contrasted against this way of life, the Faustian world displays its darker side. Philemon and Baucis are an old couple who live in a small hut on a dune in the middle of the swampy coastal area. In a handful of Goethe’s remarks we can recognise characteristics of their existence logos, which is founded in a particular attitude towards the essence logos. In their unchanging way of life, the couple is subject to the natural rigours of the sea, famines and disease. Within the course of this, their attitude is characterised above all else by religiousness in the sense of a deep trust. One of the essential traits of their religion is gratitude towards nature and God. This is expressed in a simple modesty, a willingness to help friends and strangers, and a joy in the beauty of nature. Into this epitome of pre-modern life crashes Faust as feudal master, entrepreneur and engineer. The environment of Philemon and Baucis is for him nothing more than a desolate, barren terrain; its inhabitants seem only a disruptive element. For their attitude of gratitude and modesty is not compatible with the boundless dynamics of change whose protagonist he is. This dissatisfaction is not simply a character flaw of Faust, but rather the hidden driving force of Bacon’s vision, one which Faust adheres to: this vision, oriented as it is towards constant improvement of the world, sees in the past and those who are oriented towards it only the inferior world. It is inferior to all that is to come (and will come) after it. Accordingly, Faust presses forward, away from every present state, towards the better future, and does not intend to allow the inferior past of all things to stop him. This striving is in itself a source of constant discontent. In comparison to the coming improvement, the present state is never enough – only good for being overcome. The past is better forgotten altogether. This is a consequence of a vision of constant world improvement. The discontent breaks out in its fullest extent as Faust comes in contact with the world of Philemon and Baucis. Nothing can strike the discontented person harder than the living image of modesty, one which seems to require no flight into the future. In the shape of Gretchen (his former beloved), such an image has already awoken an intense longing in Faust; in the shape of the existence of Philemon and Baucis, it awakes an intense aversion. Hearing the chiming of their chapel bell, Faust cries: That cursed peal! Malign and groundless, Like shot from ambush does it pierce; Before my eyes my realm is boundless, But at my back annoyance leers,26 It is intolerable for Faust to be confronted with a life that finds satisfaction in every present moment, a life that knows itself to be in harmony with its world and its origin. In the following quotation, such harmony is denoted by the chiming of the bell, which refers to a sphere of holiness, and the bloom of the

Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics   75 linden, which refers to the sphere of the natural. Faust, however, not living within this harmony, experiences such holiness only in the concrete and, for him, cramping, shape of a sanctuary. The bloom of the linden, representing nature, is for him not an encounter with life, but seems to remind him of the inevitability of death (in the form of a tomb) since everything that is natural dies. He wishes to know nothing of both – neither of the sanctuary nor of the tomb. The tinkling chime, the linden bloom Close in like sanctuary and tomb. The will’s omnipotent command, Like surf it breaks upon this sand. How can I rid myself and breathe? The bell but tinkles and I seethe.27 Mephisto points out quite rightly that the sound of the bells reminds the forward-pressing Faust of dimensions he has suppressed: Does not that noisome ding-dong-dingling Befoul the sky of evening, mingling, With all events its souring ferment, From first immersion to internment? Till life seems but a shadow throng Parading between ding and dong.28 Instead of addressing the suppressed questions of life, Faust wishes to remove from the area the native inhabitants who remind him of them. He therefore decides to carry out a resettlement and instructs Mephisto: Go, then, and clear them from my sight!– The handsome farm you know That I assigned them long ago.29 We discover what occurs in the course of this action from an eyewitness, the tower guardian Lynkeus: What a hideous disaster, Threatens from the darkened land? Spattering sparks are winking, glaring, Through the linden’s doubled gloom. Fanned by rushing air, the flaring, Burrows deeper and gains room, Woe! The inner hut’s afire That was moist and mossy green, Instant rescue would require, Yet no help is to be seen.

76   Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics Ah, the poor old pair that tended Else so watchfully their fire, Must their age in smoke be ended, Snuffed in conflagration dire! [. . .] (Long pause. Sound of singing.) To dead centuries assembling, What throughout them pleased their gaze.30 Philemon and Baucis lose their lives in the flames of their hut. Faust unwillingly comments on this outcome with the words: ‘I meant exchange, not robbery.’31 He does not recognise that there is no equivalent in the world he has created for the modest and conserving way of life of Philemon and Baucis. It is the confrontation of two existence logoi, two worlds of life, that cannot exist side by side. One of them which, as Lynkeus puts it, ‘pleased the gaze of centuries’ is gone in a handful of moments, consumed by the dynamics of a world that is pressing on to the future. Because of the incompatibility of the forms of existence, an exchange is not possible: the existence of Philemon and Baucis cannot be replaced with anything in the new world. Within their religious stance all human activity in embedded in the interaction of multiple aspects of nature. In the course of this, the life of nature has its own purpose and meaning. Within the Faustian perspective, on the other hand, the value of everything natural is defined by its usefulness for the fulfilment of human desires. It is this Faustian perspective that pervades most forms of the existence logos in modern society, destroying older forms. One cannot, however, view Goethe’s representation of a pre-modern society as a sublimation of earlier forms of life. Philemon and Baucis rather represent a utopia of a world, projected into the past, in which human life is integrated into nature. The dream of omnipotence and omniscience In a vision shortly before his death, Faust speaks of the world as he would have it: ‘A land of Eden sheltered here within/Let tempest rage outside unto the rim [. . .].’32 Faust wishes to rearrange the entire world in order to create a paradise for humankind. People are to have the kind of life here on Earth which, according to Christian teachings, is reserved for the hereafter. The fulfilment of his dream would make Faust godlike. Towards the end, Faust expresses the modern-time faith in progress as it was articulated in its most absolute form in Bacon’s vision. The roots of this vision are the concept of an autonomy of humankind as expressed in the longing for omnipotence and omniscience. Omnipotence allows unlimited fulfilling of unlimited desire; omniscience enables complete control. The union of both would be the perfected freedom of humankind – if only in a certain sense: in this case freedom does not denote the capability of adopting self-responsibility as Kant sees it, but rather the opportunity to do as one likes without any limitations.

Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics   77 Nature, something which normally constitutes a restriction for human will, would in this scenario be completely subject to that will. Thus the serpent’s promise in the Creation story in the Old Testament would be fulfilled for the Faustian man: ‘You will be like God’ (Genesis 3, 5). Here in particular one can see to what extent the dynamics of modern societies stem from a certain mindset that is the concern of the sphere of the essence logos. Man wishes to put himself in the place of God, wishes to be lord of all things. Yet since men are frail and wretched, they must, in order to become God, be delivered from their frailty and wretchedness by science, technology and economics. Bacon’s vision and the future perspectives of the Faustian world must be viewed as belonging to the field of redemption doctrine. They belong within the sphere of the essence logos for they offer answers to the question of salvation: even if a perfect salvation were not possible, the Earth – the house of all that lives – can still become ever more like that ‘heavenly land’ the visionary Faust has in mind. Paradise on Earth – it is with this that visionaries from Bacon and Marx to modern philosophers and scientists who dream of a world without suffering counter traditional concepts of the hereafter. The great economist John Maynard Keynes spoke in 1930 of ‘economic bliss’, something that he believed would be achieved by the year 2000.33 By using such language, visionaries in philosophy, science and economics expose themselves to all the critical questions that exist in regard to statements from the field of the essence logos: the assertion that humankind can be redeemed from suffering by science, technology and economics, thus creating a paradise on Earth, is an articulation of faith. With what right can it lay claim to validity? Is such a belief more reasonable than the statements of faith of various religions? Time and nature Any idea of redemption that people wish to attain through their own actions is confronted with the problem of time – in particular the span of their lives between the boundaries of birth and death. In Faust’s point of view, past and present are neglected and time is reduced to a future that ultimately remains as unattainable during one’s stay on Earth as it does in the hereafter of religion. The actual present is nothing more than a space of restless activity and ever-new desires. As Faust puts it: I only sped the whole world through, Clutched any stray temptation by the hair, And what fell short, abandoned there, And what eluded my let pass. All that I did was covet and attain, and crave afresh [. . .].34 The restlessness of a life that can never reach its goal banishes such things as suffering, disease, old age and death from mind. The same holds for any form of

78   Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics joy or contentment that contains its purpose in itself. The Faustian mindset leads to paying less and less attention to real life. For life is only fulfilled when it is experienced in the present. Faust, too, craves such life. But in his very striving for the highest moment he loses the ability to experience it in the present. In an attentive moment he recognises how he is failing to achieve the life he desires: ‘Thus I reel from desire to fulfilment/And in fulfilment languish for desire.’35 In a similar manner, one’s experience of nature is also restricted. This aspect is represented by the dykes in Goethe’s drama. Just like the sea, existing and self-developing nature is expelled from Faust’s field of view. At the same time, however, the dykes symbolise the limits and dangers of the domination of nature. For, in the Faustian world, one which is to be a world of absolute control, there exists the constant threat of uncontrollable forces breaking in like the flood through a dyke. Beneath the surface, therefore, life in the Faustian paradise is characterised by the perpetual endeavour to seal threatening ‘gaps’ by ever-new exertions of control. As Faust demonstrates, life in an earthly paradise is to be free from time and nature. And in this sense his vision exceeds the measure given to humans. As Faust, who has become blind in his old age, but is still an active entrepreneur, believes the rattle of spades to be the commencement of his last and greatest project, one which is to begin with digging ditches, Mephisto remarks: ‘The question, as I understand it/is not of room so much as tomb.’36 In this very moment, as Faust believes time to be overcome in one perfect instant, he is overtaken by death. Watching him sink to the ground, Mephisto says: ‘Time triumphs.’37 And Faust’s freedom from nature seems to be equally short-lived. Mephisto continues: For us alone you are at pains With all your dykes and moles; a revel, For Neptune, the old water-devil, Is all you spread, if you but knew.38 In the eyes of its true architect, therefore, the Faustian world, instead of coming ever closer to paradise, is doomed to fail. In the same way as Faust fails to recognise the threat to his world, we have failed to recognise with which dangerous dynamics our Western way of life has overrun our world and threatened nature. Few people can identify directly with Faust. Nonetheless, Faust represents fundamental aspects of modern humanity and its societies – in this manner he is the incarnation of Francis Bacon’s vision.39 He embodies motives and driving forces of our lives we do not generally see. We might think differently from Faust, but our attitudes and actions are extensively characterised by Faustian dynamics and restlessness – for we all participate in the way of life he represents. We express such dynamics in our lifestyles, even if our views and concepts of the world are very different from his. We experience them on a daily basis in every rush hour, in the bustle of shopping zones, airports, offices, stock

Forms of knowledge and economic dynamics   79 markets, newspaper headquarters, universities, congresses, etc. We experience them in our inability to ‘switch off’, as well in the therapies, health cures and courses we endure only in order to gain further fitness for the renewed participation in the Faustian world. Our repeated attempts to improve and rearrange our lives are also an articulation of Faustian discontent that blinds us to all the present has to offer. Such Faustian discontent is described by Mephisto as follows: ‘No joy could sate him, no delight but cloyed/For changing shapes he lusted to the last.’40 The dynamics of Faustian discontent have not escaped economists. They are reflected in one of the fundamental assumptions of economics, namely the socalled ‘assumption of non-satiation’. This says that individuals generally always wish to consume more.41 Since we have ever more effective means to do just this, we are in danger of reaching the limits of nature’s capacities. It is not principally the striving to alleviate hunger, disease and misery in human measures that characterises the dynamics of modern society. Yet neither is it mere hedonism that drives us. It is rather an urge to (in a manner of speaking) take control of the essence logos in a certain way and, with the aid of science, technology and economics, by our own hand press more and more perpetuity, safety and contentment from a limited, frail and sorrowful existence. It is the urge to transcend the limits of being human rather than fully exploring the space within them. Equally, a part of these dynamics is the fact that hunger, disease and suffering emerge within the shadow of this urge, or that, in rich societies, satiety, depression and an increasing lack of orientation are everywhere in the background of our hectic lifestyles.42 In our modern world, the scientific and essence logoi enter a union that lends our lives a restlessness which would have been inconceivable in other ages or cultures. At the same time, the instability of our circumstances increases, bringing hectic rush and uncertainty to the lives of many people. It is the stabilising aspects of the existence logos that are endangered by the dynamics of the modern world. In this regard perhaps the sustainability of modern societies is also at risk.

8 The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life

After having analysed basic forms of human knowledge in the previous chapters, we would now like to turn to the objects of that knowledge. What particularly interests us is the oikos, the house of all that lives, as it was presented in Chapter 3 (pages 18–20). In Chapters 8 to 10 we will be dealing with the logos or the logoi of this oikos – that is to say, we will be seeking theoretical approaches that will enable us to outline essential structures of a science of the oikos, an ecology. What is nature? In conversation and debate, one encounters perspectives that represent very different views of nature. We have chosen four to mention here. 1

2

3

4

People such as farmers, shepherds or fishermen who struggle with nature’s forces without the help of modern machines, simultaneously experience nature as an indispensable and dangerous force, as well as an undependable partner and a cruel opponent. They find themselves challenged to muster all their resistance, all their modest technological means, and all their resourcefulness in order not to suffer defeat at nature’s hands. Wise men and shamans of many different cultures are familiar with the previous view of nature, but see more within it: they perceive it as a sphere of forces and powers which, though sometimes hostile, can (when properly recognised) be approached and placated, and become nourishing, protecting, helpful and redemptive. In the toil of daily confrontation with nature, the fear it inspires and the blessings it promises often overlap. In our culture nature can also be experienced in this way, but in our practical dealings with nature other viewpoints and behavioural patterns play a much more significant role. In the scientific-technological eye, nature presents itself as the sphere of physical, chemical and biological processes whose meaning lie within the fact that they can become the objects of scientific research and theorisation, as well as a sphere of technological domination and economic exploitation. In the view of a modern civilisation that longs to ‘return to nature’, nature appears as the epitome of all that we seem to no longer possess. Here the view of nature can vary greatly: some seek balance and peace, others are looking for adventures and extreme experiences. Still others simply ‘feel free’ in nature.

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   81

What is nature for biology? Although, by their very name, the natural sciences are sciences of nature, the actual term ‘nature’ does not appear in natural scientific terminology. Nonetheless the procedures of natural sciences express certain (not always properly thought through) concepts of what nature is. Take biology for example. Nature, in the sense biology uses the term, encompasses everything that can be represented in biological terminology. If we view certain complex molecules, proteins or cells as the (so to speak) elementary building blocks of the biological scientific structure, then biology understands ‘nature’ as everything that contains building blocks of this kind. Thus biology moves from such building blocks to the investigation of the entire organism, and on to species, genus and their development. Finally it also deals with the interaction of organisms and species. The building blocks are not necessarily put into the context of larger units. Nature as a self-organised ‘unity’ does not exist in biology. Nature as a whole can hardly exist in such a science as anything other than the additive sum of all its parts. The same holds for individual entireties in nature: organisms and their design. The integral form of organisms which, seen from an existence logos point of view, are more than the sum of their parts, can appear in biology as complexly structured ‘cell clusters’. Thus it is principally conceivable that, in the field of genetics (as with a box of building blocks), such building blocks could be combined to construct new life forms – that is to say, differently structured cell clusters.

What is nature for ecology? Ecology developed as a subdivision of biology,1 and today is still generally classified as a part of this science. Ecology and biology are indeed never in actual contradiction, but they do differ in their approach to their objects. Biology obtains its objects as the elementary building blocks of life through selection and preparation, and analyses them in the laboratory outside of their natural contexts. Ecology, however (without rejecting or neglecting the discoveries of biology), explores its field, the interaction of organisms, as they are without interferences within the framework of their natural surroundings.2 Its interest is the interplay of organisms and populations in a living, autonomously existing entirety, in a natural biocoenosis – e.g. a forest, a marshland, a coastal strip or a mountain valley, etc. Therefore it does not regard, as biology often does, an individual organism as an aggregation of elements, but as a part of a greater context with this question in mind: what does it contribute to the interplay of all organisms or species in a biocoenosis?3 Ecology, despite its scientific logos biological background, includes an approach rooted in the existence logos. For ecologists, in so far as they work in situ, observe and experience entireties existing in our world of life, whereas biologists mostly examine a world of which they can know nothing outside of their theories, models and laboratories. The cell-level – on which biology first and

82   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life foremost examines nature – is inaccessible to us for the simple reason that apparatuses (e.g. a microscope) are required to even observe them. Ecologists are, in a manner of speaking, in the midst of the object of their research, whereas biologists have their object (after the process of selection and preparation) before them. For ecologists, nature consists of biocoenoses (of entireties) that combine to form one comprehensive entirety: life on Earth. Therefore, the life of individual organisms cannot be understood solely from the aspect of their genetic composition and environmental selection, but must be also considered from the viewpoint of their role within such entireties. What this entails can be demonstrated by an example. The hand is a part of the whole human. If only the isolated movements of the hand are observed, certain physical statements about individual moments of the hand movement (changes in position and velocity) can be made. These can only be understood as part of a hand movement when viewed from the standpoint of the whole (the human being, making the movement), and brought into the context of certain purposes. Likewise it could be said: the development of an organism or a certain species can be observed in specific moments in isolation, but these can only be properly understood when regarded as part of the evolution of the biocoenosis to which they belong. The evolution of humanity also plays a role in such structures. The metaphor of the hand as part of the human being cannot, however, be so simply transposed to nature. For, when contemplating the movements of the hand, one necessarily puts it in the context of the entirety of the ‘human being’ (it is extremely difficult not to). Such a context is not absolutely necessary for explaining the development of an individual species. This can be seen in the success of the neo-Darwinist theory of evolution that does without the assumption of such entireties, and has a great reputation with ecologists. So why shouldn’t the concept of nature within ecology not also do without the concept of entirety? We shall approach this question by means of presenting concepts in the next two sections in which nature is conceived of as a whole.

On the concept of nature in romanticism In many pre-modern cultures it was normal to view nature as a whole, one whose forms and forces could be ascribed divine qualities. As just one example of such thinking, reference can be made to Plato: in his dialogue Timaios4 he presents the entire cosmos as a living creature, animated by the ‘world soul’, the most beautiful and highest form of life. One of the last philosophical-historic movements that breathed new life into the holistic concept was Romanticism which peaked in Germany between 1790 and 1810.5 One of the most important thinkers and poets of this period was Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772–1801) who called himself Novalis. Philosophically abreast of the times – the time of Fichte, Schelling and Hegel – and well acquainted with the state of science at that point, Novalis, who was also very familiar with the philosophy of Kant, was well

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   83 aware of the limitations of the scientific logos. Thus he writes: ‘One cannot say that Nature exists without saying something effusive and all striving for truth in the speech and dialogue of Nature only distances us from its naturalness.’6 Novalis saw that under the conditions of the scientific logos, one cannot articulate what nature is. In attempting to define nature, one is forced to recognise that it is, as Novalis put it, ‘effusive’. Something that is ‘effusive’, that transcends the possibilities of speech and statement, resists definition and thus also any scientific representation. In this manner Novalis came to a surprising conclusion: if science cannot offer us access to the entirety of nature, then it cannot be the only approach to the world; for do we not continually experience ourselves in this very nature, one which is effusive for science and thus remains locked in its own being? Are we not profoundly familiar with nature long before we dissect it scientifically? If we desire to understand nature, the scientific logos must be joined by poetry, which bears characteristics of both the essence and existence logoi. A poem by Novalis is representative of the way poetry offers us approaches to nature that science does not perceive and sometimes even bars: When numbers and figures Are no longer the keys to all creatures, When they who sing, or kiss Know more than the deeply learned, When the world itself reverts again To free life and to a (free) world, When light and shadow too Are wed again unto true clarity, And one recognizes in fairy-tales and poems The (ancient) true histories of the world, Then, there flies away before a single secret word This entire inverted existence.7 This approach to nature excludes the possibility of explaining nature solely within the categories of science: And it is a wonder that forecasting minds [. . .] have reduced Nature to a uniform machine without a past or future. Everything divine has a history and Nature, this unique whole, to which man can compare himself, is not to equally be caught up in history, and that which is one, not to have a mind? Nature would not be Nature if it did not have a mind and would not be that unique image of man, not be the indispensable answer to that mysterious question, or the question to that infinite answer.8 For Novalis, human beings and nature supplement each other in the same way that question and answer belong together and form a whole. Such a nature does not consist solely of resources for technology and economy; neither is it merely

84   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life the object of laboratory research by scientists, but rather (like humans themselves) it possesses a spirit which, in an enigmatic manner, is related to ours: Even when [in nature – the authors] an insentient, insignificant mechanism seems to reign supreme in particulars, yet the eye that looks deeper sees a wonderful sympathy with the human heart in the concourse and the sequence of individual random things. Wind is a movement of the air, which can have a number of external causes, but is it not more to the lonely, longing heart as it sighs past, as it wafts from beloved climes, and with a thousand dark, wistful notes seems to diffuse one’s quiet pain in a deep, melodic sigh of all Nature?9

Nature und teleology by Kant Humanity as a potentiality of nature A definition of nature suitable for ecology must be principally open for every discovery the scientific logos has to offer, but above and beyond this it must also encompass existence logos aspects. This particularly includes taking the natural nature of humans seriously. What does this mean? Lately, Alasdair MacIntyre10 has reminded us that humans are more similar to highly developed animals than it is generally assumed. At the same time he finds our dependency on biological nature (as it is experienced in suffering, disease, dying and death) no less constitutive for human nature as our rationality. MacIntyre links this with entirely different intentions than, for example, biological behavioural scientists who regard humans as highly developed, calculating, culture-creating animals, thus reducing humanity to a function of complex biochemical processes. Whereas this view limits us to a certain (biologically founded) concept of nature, MacIntyre sees in nature a potential for humanity: hope, care for others and reasonability are not limited to our species alone, but can be found to a certain degree in dolphins, primates and other higher animals. At the same time he sees humans and animals as related in our experience of pain and pleasure – even suffering and joy. What right, however, do we have to interpret nature as being ‘like humanity’? We experience a particularly intense closeness to nature when we embrace the fact that we are alive, and that we have this in common with anything that lives – be that plant or animal. Life is the essential precondition for action. But life is not made by humans. If modern science rightly informs us, we owe our lives (among other things) to the facts that: 1

2

roughly 15 billion years ago a universe emerged from the Big Bang in which the necessary conditions for the development of life existed in at least one place;11 roughly 4.5 billion years ago our solar system developed with the planet Earth, which is currently the only place in the universe where we can say with certainty that the necessary conditions for the emergence of life exist;

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   85 3 4

5

roughly 3.5 billion years ago the process of life on Earth actually commenced;12 over the course of billions of years, until today, this process has never halted for even an instant (although the Earth has been stricken by various tremendous catastrophes from space); above and beyond the simple fact of life, forms of independent, perceiving, observing, hearing and feeling life have developed, culminating in discerning, acting humanity.

A life capable of insight and action, such as humanity, potentially existed with all its preconditions in non-human and pre-human nature. Thus it makes sense to view non-human and pre-human nature in such a way that, in the terminology of this view, nature’s potential for the development of discerning and acting life is explicitly addressed. In philosophy, such a view has been known since Plato and Aristotle; since that time it can be found in every model of nature that can be called teleological. One of the most important of these models is Kant’s Critique of Judgement.13

What is teleology? With his Critique of Pure Reason (see Chapter 5), Kant contributed to the fact that nature is generally viewed in the way it appears in modern natural science: as an aggregation of appearances that can be mechanically explained by means of regular interdependencies and laws. With such a view Kant is in accordance with the natural sciences of his time.14 In his later work, however, Critique of Judgement, Kant endeavours to demonstrate that such a concept of nature must be enhanced if one wishes to understand life, the act of living and living things. Living things, according to Kant, cannot be explained purely mechanically, but must be interpreted ‘teleologically’. What is teleology? The Greek word ‘telos’ means ‘purpose’, ‘goal’, ‘determination’ or ‘end’. Teleology is the science of the order and relationship of purposes or determinations. Whoever interprets processes teleologically asks the question: ‘What for?’ This is the key-question of teleology. The question ‘What for?’ within the sphere of life enquires after the purpose or goal of all life, as well as all its subdivisions in nature. Within the aegis of the existence logos it seems quite natural to ask the question ‘What for?’ in regard to life, animals and plants: what does a fruit blossom contain nectar for? For what purpose does a polar bear have such a thick fur coat? If a child were to ask such questions, we would probably reply: the fruit blossoms contain nectar in order to attract bees and bumblebees which provide for their pollination. The polar bear has such a thick, warm coat so it can survive in polar regions, etc. Both the nectar in the fruit blossoms and the fur coat of the polar bear fulfil a certain purpose for the living thing in question in its specific environment. Such answers have been retired from the scientific logos of modern biology. Or more precisely: such answers are not exactly inadmissible, but their biological

86   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life formulation must make clear that phenomena in nature may not be reduced to questions of ‘what for?’ questions of purpose.15 In so far as teleological answers infer that natural phenomena are based on a reasonable plan, one which would purposefully order the individual parts of a living thing in respect to its whole, then, from the biological point of view, such an inference is to be rejected. Under these circumstances, for what reasons could a teleological view of nature still make sense today? A teleological view is generally to be found in regard to planned human actions that intimate the questions: which goal was set? Which purpose or rationale was to be fulfilled? Such a view is based on the premise that the human being sees itself as a rationally thinking and acting creature that follows purposes in its actions, can offer an account for them, and communicate these with others. This occurs within the medium of speech. The terminology of purposes is characteristic for speech, for human actions cannot be translated into speech without speaking of purposes. Describing nature teleologically thus entails viewing it as if rational planning and reasonable actions were to occur within it, or even as if it as a whole were rationally planned. Such an interpretation, however, appears to be a solely external perspective on nature. Since non-human nature as a whole (or any single part of it) cannot speak in our human way, or even manifest the capability of rational thought, nature cannot communicate any of its purposes. These can only be addressed externally. And so the question must be posed: can one reasonably ascribe purposes to nature, even if it cannot communicate them itself and, as far as we know, is itself not aware of them? If one were to answer affirmatively, then the next question follows: who or what are to be the goal-setting authorities of or in nature? Is nature itself to be understood as such an authority? The foundation for a comprehensive teleology of nature can be laid, but only on the basis of premises belonging to the sphere of the essence logos. Thus one can assume that God has given all his creations, and thus nature as a whole, certain purposes: all parts of life that seem planned would thus be traces of a divine creative will. In this sense a teleology of nature would reveal to us the intentions of God in all creation and every created living thing. A teleology of nature can also be cosmologically founded, as Aristotle did. In this case one must assume that every natural object has possessed its own purpose since the beginning of eternity within the framework of a cosmological order. Finally, theological and cosmological interpretations can also be combined with one another. Aristotle and Aristotelian trends – in particular those of the Islamic philosophy of Ibn Sina (Avicenna, 980–1037) and Ibn Rushd (Averroes, 1126–1198), the Jewish philosophy of Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides, 1135–1204) and the Christian philosophy of Albertus Magnus (1200–1280), as well as that of Thomas of Aquinas (1225–1274) – have applied teleology in the theological and/or cosmological sense presented above. As this type of teleology refers to the essence logos, it has been a controversial concept in modern times. Modern natural sciences have rejected teleology entirely: in particular, by classical

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   87 physics (though not yet by Newton) and evolutionary biology since Darwin and Haekel strive to stringently avoid teleological explanations. This means: the question ‘For what purpose?’ in regard to non-human life is one that cannot be asked on the foundation of science as it is laid today. Our existence logos, however – our everyday experience and the language with which we communicate it – continually compels us towards a teleological view of nature. Aristotle already commented that phenomena like the nest-building of a swallow, the web of a spider or the blossoms of plants can hardly be understood other than teleologically.16 Furthermore, it almost imposes itself upon us to interpret the preservation and ever-increasing differentiation of life over several billion years teleologically. This is so, even though the process of life, including that of the living creature ‘human’ (the one that interprets this very process), may be viewed solely as the result of the blind chance of evolution since the Big Bang. This process seems, however, far more complex and intelligently thought-through than anything humankind in its purpose-orientated actions could come up with. If even simple things like automobiles, computers, spacecraft and power plants require a high level of purpose-aware intelligence in their producers, how much more purpose-orientated intelligence would be required on the part of the creating authority in order for humans – those creatures that invented and produced the above-mentioned objects – to come into being? Above and beyond this, intelligence is manifested in the whole of nature: particularly impressive is the creative abundance of different forms of life on the one hand, and the inconceivably complex interactions of biological environments on the other. Here, the discoveries of modern biology can teach us wonderment.

Teleology in Kant’s Critique of Judgement Nothing that has been said so far compels us to necessarily attribute the existence of nature and humankind to a supernatural, creative intelligence, even though we are allowed to believe in this. A reasonable teleology of nature drawing on the insights of ecology ought neither to remove the wonder of nature, nor circumvent the discoveries of modern biology. In this context the position Kant introduces in his Critique of Judgement is of particular interest. Kant, contrary to almost all modern evolutionary biologists, assumes that teleological interpretations are unavoidable for the understanding of living things. According to Kant, this is particularly valid under the conditions of the scientific logos (which was characterised in his time by the mechanical ideal of classical physics). A teleological interpretation of living things, however, does not, according to Kant, require the assumption of the existence of a planning, ordering providence or a (from the very beginning) purposefully structured cosmos. Instead, Kant suggests the following solution: 1

An external purpose is not indispensable for the interpretation of non-human nature. We are not required to believe that grass was intended by God or the order of the cosmos to feed sheep and cows, creatures whose purpose would

88   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life

2

then consist of benefiting human beings. Such purposes would be external to the grass, the sheep and the cows. The assumption of an inner purpose to all living things, on the other hand, is well-suited to helping us understand living things. If we view a living creature according to its inner structure as an ‘organised and self-organising being’,17 we understand it teleologically – as purpose-based. In this a circular structure emerges: the purpose of the organs of a living creature is the preservation of the entire living creature in its state of living; the purpose of the living creature is in turn the preservation of the functions of its organs. Both these ‘purposes’ are nothing other than two perspectives on one and the same phenomenon: the act of living of a living creature.

For Kant, teleology is a heuristic: when studying a living creature, it is more easily understood if it is assumed that its parts and inner processes are purposefully ordered, than under the assumption that this is not the case. This means: it need not be presumed or implied that living creatures actually carry an objective inner purpose (be this theologically or cosmologically based). Instead, teleological interpretations are justified by the fact that they lead to simpler descriptions than non-teleological interpretations. Thus the utilisation of teleological viewpoints for the understanding of nature means for Kant that natural living things are interpreted as if they possessed an inner purpose, namely the goal of (within their life-span) preserving and developing their life in their own particular ways. Correspondingly, they would have been equipped with organs, purposefully ordered according to this goal. Kant saw the fruitfulness of the teleological viewpoint everywhere in nature: whereas, in his eyes, mechanistic laws suffice for inanimate nature, for animate nature principles that order natural phenomena according to a specific purpose must be assumed. Only in this way can the processes of life within a living creature be reasonably put into context with one another and made comprehensible.18 We will now expand upon Kant’s concept in order to attain a deeper understanding of nature from an ecological perspective. Not only a single living creature, but also an entire species of living creatures, and even a natural biocoenosis can be viewed as units which, over the course of long periods of time, organise themselves and have their own existence as goal and purpose.19 In the following we will be using teleology in the sense of a heuristic, which allows us to describe ecological interrelationships in such a way that does not contradict the discoveries of biology, but is still phenomenologically (in the form of the existence logos) comprehensible.

The triple teleology of living things In the following we assume that individual living things as well as species and entire natural biocoenoses can be viewed as self-organising units.20 These three types of units do not exist side by side – the larger encompasses the smaller. The living thing belongs to the species, and the species is included in the biocoeno-

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   89 sis. Thus living things, species and biocoenosis must also be considered in their reciprocal relationships to one another. The starting point of such a comprehensive view can be the individual thing, the species or the biocoenosis. In the following we shall only consider the two extremes: the perspective of the individual living thing and that of the biocoenosis. We shall begin with the individual living thing. A living thing can be described in three respects: 1 2 3

In its individuality. In its relationship to its reproduction-group, its species. In its embedment in the whole of life – or in a large section of the whole – a natural biocoenosis, for instance.

The individual living thing must therefore be viewed within three fields of relationship. With regard to these we can (from a teleological viewpoint) speak of three ‘purposes’ a living thing fulfils in its existence, independent of the question of whether an authority exists that might have given them such purposes. In the following, in order to differentiate from the usual use of the term ‘purpose’ we will refer to these as ‘tele’ (the plural of ‘telos’). 1

2

3

Self-preservation and self-development. This is the telos by which the living thing relates to itself and organises itself. By means of this telos the living thing constitutes itself as an individual, self-enclosed organism. Self-reproduction and self-renewal. This is the telos by which the living thing relates to its population or species, and contributes to its own selforganisation. The species constituted by means of this telos, under the conditions of the first. Service, and self-denial. This is the telos by which each living thing relates to living things of other species. By means of this telos the living thing contributes to the development of other species, and ultimately to the selforganisation of the natural biocoenosis to which it belongs. By means of this telos, under the conditions of the first two, a biocoenosis is constituted.

We will now proceed to examine all three tele more closely. The first telos – the self-development of individual living things In organising itself as a living organism, the individual living thing simultaneously separates itself from its environment and opens itself to it in a controlled way. The separation lends it individuality; it begins at birth, lasts the entire lifetime, ending only in the moment of death with the decomposition of the body – the medium of its individuality. The outermost temporal limits for the separation of the living thing (namely birth and death) do not lie within the dominion of the living thing. Birth comes before all forms of active self-development and death ends them, usually against the efforts of the living thing.21

90   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life Separation from the environment and a controlled opening to it make life possible in the first place. What is life? From the viewpoint of biology the life of an organism requires certain genetic information. As a process of living, a realisation of this information, it is characterised by metabolic exchange with its environment and by reproduction, the transmission of genetic information through new organisms. Metabolic exchange is the most conspicuous way in which an organism interacts with its non-same-species environment. Reproduction is – in the case of sexual reproduction – the result of association between members of the same species of different sex.22 Within the process of metabolism, substances such as oxygen, water, carbon, minerals and energy are absorbed by living things, and subsequent break-down products and entropy23 are emitted into the environment. For many living things, especially for animals, it is often necessary that other living things be absorbed in their metabolic exchange. This is true for both carnivores and herbivores. It can be observed in the entire animal world: living things feed off and consume other living things. At the same time, an individual living thing will, if possible, flee from other living things if it fears being consumed. Living things also compete for limited resources such as food and habitat. These are the reasons why in the past biology interpreted the interactions of different (sometimes even same-species) living things as a ‘struggle for life’ in which only the ‘fittest’ survive.24 In this, the scientific logos of biology has struck upon something that is also of great phenomenological significance: preserving its separation from its environment, if necessary by fighting for it, is the most obvious goal of living things. Thus one speaks of the survival instinct of all living things. In the scientific logos of biology, true self-preservation is not the preservation of the phenotype. Instead, self-preservation means that the consistency of the genetic information over time is, if possible, preserved in the generational chain: the life of the phenotype, its metabolism and its reproduction are only a means to the end of preserving this consistency (Chapter 10, pages 111–112) so that the phenotype can be viewed as nothing more than a ‘survival machine’. What meets the eye, the development of the transitory form in its individual uniqueness, is for this biological view (see, in particular, Dawkins 1989) of no significance. Thus biology as biology is indifferent towards the fate the form encounters: from the point of view of metabolism and reproduction there is no principle difference between the life of a hen in a laying battery and the life of its cousins in the wild. This approach of biology is the reversal of the daily experience of the existence logos: in everyday experience the ‘goal’ of the mechanisms inside an organism is its visible and physical life as it itself experiences it. Whatever genetic structures exist within a living thing, or whatever vegetative, neuronal etc. processes take place, they appear as means to this end. For biology, on the other hand, the goal is the conservation and enhancement of genetic variability – the actual life of the individuals in question is merely a means to this end. But how does life appear phenomenologically? What we see, the phenomenon, is the living thing in its unique, isolated individual form. The living thing can, however, only manifest and preserve its individuality if it continually,

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   91 though often all but imperceptibly, changes. In the course of this it develops its inherent possibilities, realising them step by step. Thus self-preservation is only possible as long as it is simultaneously self-development: a process with structures that are inherent to the living thing itself. The life of a butterfly, for instance, develops out of a fertilised egg cell, and continues to develop into the forms of the caterpillar, the chrysalis, and finally the butterfly itself. Each of these three steps is self-development; nonetheless, it is only completed when all three steps have been accomplished. In this, the phenomenological, existence logos view of the living thing differs from the biological view: phenomenologically, the development of the butterfly is not merely a means of its genes to, if possible, preserve themselves and to multiply by copying themselves, but an end in itself. The butterfly develops in order to be a butterfly, or as the Silesian poet and mystic Angelus Silesius (1624–1677) put it: ‘The rose is without why/it blooms because it blooms/it pays no attention to itself/nor asks whether ones sees it.’25 Although the developing self (like the rose) has no end other than itself, one can still describe its self-development as a form of ‘goal’. All the coordinated processes within the rose ‘have the goal’ of the rose becoming and remaining a rose – throughout its different stages of blossom and fruit-bearing. At the same time, the goal of the rose itself is its own existence – it can only exist as a rose in that it actively refers itself to its own existence and promotes it in every stage of life. Self-development, however, is a special goal. As a goal, it has the characteristic that it already must have always been fulfilled, and yet it always remains something to strive for. Such striving does not occur consciously, of course, but seeking nourishment and (in the case of animal life forms) fleeing from enemies is still an expression of this. Thus self-development is a goal that is achieved in each and every moment, but still includes aspects that must yet be attained. In this sense, self-development embraces aspects of the present and aspects of openness or expectation in regard to the future. Let us begin with the latter. Structural aspects of life that are orientated to the not-yet-attained require a certain disposition from every living thing. These we call needs or urges. Both expressions refer to the fact that a living thing cannot on a long-term basis find complete satisfaction solely in the present, but exists in some form of orientation. In this context the word ‘need’ displays orientation in the sense that is accentuates a specific lack, together with the effort to remedy this lack. Such orientation can also be addressed with the word ‘urge’. In contrast to the expression ‘need’, this term emphasises an inner disquiet leading to external movements and actions. A need is viewed as an urge when it becomes a cause for external movement. It is, however, questionable whether living things actually ‘have’ needs and urges, for such a ‘having’ would imply a certain distance to what is to be had. When a human being says, ‘I have a hunger’, the hunger and the human being that ‘has’ it are separate things. The human being is more than its hunger, it has further needs and interests, and can consider whether or not to submit to them (see Chapter 12). Does a hungry lion on the hunt ‘have’ hunger in this sense?

92   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life Is  it not rather the hunger that ‘has’ the lion? Would it not be even more correct to say: the hunting lion ‘is’ entirely hunger – that its whole existence while on the hunt is the lion’s particular expression of hunger? In such cases the path to the fulfilment of a need cannot be differentiated from the actual fulfilling. Both path and end are equally self-development. Being open to the future includes two further aspects for many living things: the ever-present threat to its own safety – be that from members of other species or its own species – and the struggle to find food. Because of such aspects (as they reveal themselves to human beings in the phenomenon of anxiety), selfdevelopment can occur under increased concentration and intensity. Thus wild pigs are considerably more intelligent than their close cousins – domestic pigs in the conditions of intensive livestock farming. What biologists call ‘the struggle for survival’ is part of being open to the future. Yet hardly any living thing develops its life principally in the struggle for survival. No less important is the pure present, the quiet ‘being themselves’ of animals and plants. In the case of some plants (trees, for instance) the aspect of ‘resting within themselves’ is phenomenologically predominant – despite the many silent movements within, despite the tenacious struggle of the roots beneath the ground for some hold and food, and despite the self-assertion of the trunk and branches in the face of the storm. In the case of many animals the times of rest also far outweigh the time spent in search of food. Aspects of the pure present can also reveal themselves in forms of movement. The playing of a kitten with a ball, the romping of horses in a pasture, the song of the birds in a forest – all these things may be seen by biologists as part of a strategy for the preservation and improvement of fitness within the context of intra- and interspecies competition, but viewed phenomenologically, they are a manifestation of a purpose-free joy of the living thing in being alive. One special form of knowledge also belongs to this first telos. In their natural habitat, plants and animals ‘know’ what is beneficial for them, and protect themselves as far as possible from what is not. Thus animals consume food that is good for them and avoid what is unhealthy. Such knowledge is not complete, however – animals quickly lose their certainty when taken to areas significantly different from their natural habitats, or when they find themselves confronted with foodstuffs not native to their natural surroundings. The second telos – self-reproduction and self-renewal of the living thing and the species The second telos differs from the first in that it does not stand within the horizon of a single living thing, but within the horizon of the preservation and development of an entire species. From the viewpoint of an individual living thing, this telos stands for the passing on of its life to one or more other living things. Thus, in the fulfilment of the second telos, a living thing realises (retrospectively, as it were) the fact that it itself was produced as an entirety. Its own birth lay not in its power, for its existence required the fulfilment of the second telos by its

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   93 parents. The realisation of the second telos is, however, the precondition for the birth of one or more offspring. The productivity of nature probably manifests itself most clearly in the birth of an individual living thing. A new living thing is never a repetition of its parents, but a product in the sense of a unique existence. Reproduction is thus not only reproduction in the sense that the identity of a species is preserved; it is also a new production in the sense that a new existence emerges in which the entire species can slowly (in the case of mutation, erratically) change. By means of the second telos of living creatures a species produces itself – thus it is the background of its evolution. Evolution does not only mean that a species reproduces itself and changes over long periods of time; the evolution of a species can also lead to new species emerging that did not previously exist. Viewed from the perspective of the individual living thing, it would seem apposite to regard its reproduction-oriented activities as part of its self-development. The result is the preservation and renewal of the species, but its actual enterprise is, as it seems, the development of itself. Indeed, the first telos, preservation and development of the self, and the second telos, reproduction and renewal of the self in another self, are closely linked. In its blossoming, its pollination and the formation of fruit, the tree develops itself (first telos). This selfdevelopment is, however, also the foundation of the second telos, the passing on of life to a new generation. This linking of self-development and the passing on of life presents itself in a different way by animals that reproduce sexually. The impulse to unite with a partner of the opposite sex is, in certain moments, one of the strongest urges of a living creature’s self-development. So the second telos, self-reproduction and self-renewal, seems derivable from certain aspects of the first telos. The activities of a living thing that are of significance for the fulfilment of the second telos can, however, be clearly differentiated from other activities belonging to self-preservation and self-development. This is because, within the framework of the second telos, a living thing is obviously oriented in some way towards living things of the same species. On the most elemental level of life this orientation can simply be disposition. Thus single-cell organisms have the capability to divide and thus produce a living thing of the same type, but this seems more like something that happens to them than an effort of their own. When a species of living things exists in the form of separate sexes, however, the disposition to produce offspring is joined by an effort oriented towards one or more other-sex living things of the same species.26 In the case of animals, and particularly higher animals, the different-sex partners must seek and find one another, and they occasionally perform certain rituals before they unite. In the second telos, two living creatures generally serve the desires of the other directly. Such service appears as a kind of side effect of natural urges. With some animals, however, there is also a direct orientation towards offspring, often more strongly in the female than the male. This begins with the female seeking a suitable place for its eggs (for example, in the case of ichneumon flies), and can in many cases culminate in the rearing of the young.

94   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life The result for our understanding of the life of many living things, particularly the higher developed animals, is this: under the aspect of the first telos, the life of a living thing appears solely in its relationship to itself; under the aspect of the second telos, this life must be regarded in context with at least one partner (the sexual partner), and often in context with the offspring.27 If the offspring are independent living creatures, they are often taken care of by the parents or at least one parent (generally the mother), and thus make use of the energies of the parents. In some cases the offspring are protected from enemies, even if the parents must lay down their own lives. In this case serving involves the commitment of one’s own life. In these cases the second telos encompasses the community in its most elementary form, namely the sexual community. In many cases it also involves an expanded form of community, namely the family. Occasionally we observe larger communities of animals: packs, herds, swarms and insect states. In general, one can say: the behavioural patterns of most animals, seen from their own viewpoint, are, within the framework of the second telos, oriented towards at least one other creature, often more. These other creatures, the sexual partners or offspring, are generally treated differently than those creatures that are consumed within the first telos. In the second telos, self-development is thus joined by an aspect of service. If, from the viewpoint of the first telos, one can regard the second telos as an especially intensive form of self-development, from the perspective of the species it becomes clear that the living thing does not only exist for itself, but also for others. Existing for others within the framework of the second telos encompasses at the very least sexual union, but often also includes the offspring. The living thing often devotes a not insignificant part of its time and resources towards existing for others. In this regard the second telos demonstrates that life can also be service. Within the second telos, the development of living things in their diversity and multiplicity is considered. If this process of development is examined over long periods of time, one recognises evolution as a creative process, the inventiveness of which seems all but infinite. Consequently, the second telos deals not only with self-reproduction, but also with self-renewal. This process has something almost playful about it as one cannot ex ante ascribe any specific direction to it; thus it displays analogies to the development of art, which is equally ex ante unpredictable.28 The third telos – the self-denial of living things: service Observing the development of an individual living thing or species together with the development of the environment (which of course contains a multitude of other species) reveals a third telos of living things. Every living thing ‘serves’ with its life, and usually with its death, the development of other species in its habitat, and thus the development of the entire biocoenosis. Such service we call ‘self-denial’. It is only under this aspect that a truly ecological view becomes

The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   95 possible. Here, a truly holistic viewpoint emerges for the first time, whereas previously particular viewpoints were predominant. Both perspectives of the first two goals, those of the individual and the species, are particular, as is the definition of environment as long as it is only related to the fulfilment of the first and second goals. For environment is only truly ‘environment’ if it is that for something or someone. If our desire is to consider the environment as a whole, it is no longer ‘environment’. Consequently, we require another expression for it, such as ‘habitat’, ‘biotop’, ‘biocoenosis’ or ‘ecosystem’ (geocoenosis). From the perspective of the third telos, the habitat of a species will no longer be viewed as the environment of the species, but (in reverse) the species and the organisms belonging to it are viewed as an essential part of the development of the habitat. From this viewpoint it could be said that the third telos of every living thing is to ‘serve’ the development of its habitat. At the same time it also serves the other species that live within it. The third telos is about all the services living things provide for other living things. These services must generally be viewed differently than those provided within the framework of the second telos: in the second telos, the living thing serves (in a manner of speaking) voluntarily. That is to say, its urges, its impulses, its instincts or its genetic structure, or whatever one wishes to call that which regulates its behaviour, motivates it to serve its same-species cousins. In regard to services for living things belonging to different species, this seems to be only one of several possibilities and it is only the case when such services are ‘recompensed’. Thus certain plants provide nectar for insects, which ‘recompense’ this service by transporting pollen and enable the realisation of the second telos for the plants. When service between organisms belonging to separate species implies vital mutual dependency, biology speaks of symbiosis. Clover accommodates in its roots so-called rhizobia bacteria, which in turn provide it with carbohydrates (sugar) and nitrogen in the necessary form. In the case of symbiosis the first and third telos of the living things involved are closely linked. In a similar manner we also find inter-species interrelationships in commensalisms. In this, services are provided for living things belonging to another species, whereby the recipient profits, but the provider does not. The latter does not, however, suffer loss in the relationship. Thus jackals and vultures profit from the remains of lions’ prey the lions no longer make use of. In many cases, however, the services living things provide for other living things entail some form of harm or injury for the provider. When plants serve as food for herbivores, their integrity is violated. Some plants defend themselves against such injury. For example, thistles, roses or blackberries grow thorns and stinging nettles produce toxins. By such harm or damage one can assume that the fulfilment of the third telos by those that serve occurs reluctantly. Such reluctance towards service for other species manifests itself particularly in animals that can become prey for other animals: the mouse attempts to flee the cat; the hedgehog curls up as a signal to its enemies not to attempt to prey upon it; the snail withdraws into its shell; bees threaten with their sting. These forms of behaviour express something that was also peripherally evident within the

96   The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life framework of the first two tele: living things often serve involuntarily – in other words (driven by their instincts, their genetic structure, etc.) all their efforts are directed against such service. This is most particularly the case when they serve the self-preservation or self-development of other living things with their own lives. The flight or defence-mechanisms of living things force us to conclude that they experience service within the framework of the third telos, in so far as it harms or destroys their lives, as suffering. Here we understand suffering as a state a living thing strives to avoid at all costs. From the viewpoint of the individual and even the species, one cannot define the service of the third telos as an inner orientation in the same manner as the first two tele. The third telos cannot therefore be called a goal, but it can be called a determination, one to which the life of living things is subject. Here it must be noted that a species of an individual can only develop or reproduce within the development of the biocoenosis to which it belongs. In this regard, serving the development of the entire habitat is not something external or unnatural to the individual, for it indirectly serves its own preservation and that of its species. The preservation and development of the whole is simultaneously the development of the space in which each individual can develop in its own way. If the species were capable of stopping their service towards the whole and towards other species, they would vanish along with their habitat. This, of course, does not mean having to imply that the rabbit eaten by the fox voluntarily serves the fox or the preservation of their mutual habitat. Equally, one need not imply that the fox eats the rabbit in order to maintain the balance between the species. It suffices that the rabbit and the fox actually perform these services. Thus one need not ask who wishes to provide such services, but only whom they actually serve: for the third telos, the natural biocoenosis is the ‘self’ whose development requires these services.

9 Stocks, stores, funds

The economy of biocoenoses: an introduction to the line of questioning The three tele of living things, as introduced in the previous chapter, were conceptualised from the viewpoint of the individual living thing. In this chapter we wish to start from the viewpoint of the biocoenosis and examine the foundations that make the life of a biocoenosis possible. Within the sphere of humanity, questions pertaining to the foundations of life belong to the economy: how do we find or produce what we need to live, how is it distributed, in which ways is it consumed, and what happens with the waste? How is life in the future safeguarded? For human beings the question of the foundations of their lives thus entails the problems of their nomos, i.e. of partitioning and allotment within the framework of the oikos. The shaping of this nomos represents an ever-new challenge to human reason, to our ability to think and plan ahead. Our foundations of life are not simply ‘there’ by themselves, but require shrewd and farsighted management: what we need and what we enjoy must be produced in the right amounts for our use and consumption, and it must be distributed in such a manner that all can partake of it and, if possible, be satisfied. In addition, all of this must occur in such a manner that the production and consumption of today do not exhaust the foundations of life for tomorrow and the day after. What, however, happens with the foundations of life of a biocoenosis? How are they produced, distributed and consumed, and what happens with the waste? How is the long-term survival of the biocoenosis safeguarded? If we regard the entire Earth as a biocoenosis, we are confronted with the miracle that – despite the extinction of countless species, despite the emergence and disappearance of biocoenoses over the course of time – the foundations for the continual development of life on Earth have until now always been given. How has this been possible? How do living things divide their foundations of life among each other? How do they preserve their life? How do they preserve themselves as species? And how does a natural biocoenosis preserve and develop itself lastingly? These questions lead also to the economy of human life. Since the emergence of life some billion years ago, human beings as living things have necessarily participated in the economy of life as they have been taking place without any

98   Stocks, stores, funds recognisable planning. But human beings – as rationally planning creatures with an abundance of needs that hugely change nature – subject all life to a form of an economy that non-human nature does not know.

Stocks and stores: definitions How is the economy of life to be conceived? In the following sections we introduce a terminology that allows us to grasp the structure of economic relationships within biocoenoses. Starting from the fact that, since its emergence, life on Earth has not been interrupted for even a moment, we refer in the following to biocoenoses as ‘immortal’. With this we do not imply that such entireties cannot terminate or be destroyed – they remain transitory. But their transience is of a principally different kind than the mortality of individual living things. An individual possesses a certain ‘natural lifespan’, one which is derived from its inner constitution, and can be fallen short of, but not randomly exceeded. Thus it is possible to predict with near certainty a boundary that the individual life of an organism cannot exceed. In contrast, the demise of a biocoenosis cannot be predicted. In general we know of no ‘natural’ lifespan, one which corresponds to their inner structure and sets a temporal boundary. Using the characteristic of ‘immortality’, we wish to draw attention to the following difference between living things and biocoenoses: living things must die, biocoenoses need not expire (even though they can). The entire biocoenosis of the Earth, however, has already lasted some billion years. What holds for biocoenoses also holds in principle for species. They are not mortal, they cannot die, but they can, in the event of all their individual members dying, ‘die out’. The immortality of a biocoenosis or a species is, however, an abstraction, because the concrete biocoenosis with its species exists only through the life and death of its individual living things. The foundations of life of a biocoenosis are the embodiment of the foundations of life of all living creatures belonging to it: how then are these to be described? In the following we operate with three essential terminological pairs. First we will define the pairs: ‘stock’ and ‘flow’, as well as ‘store’ and ‘extraction’. In a further step we will introduce the particularly important pair ‘funds’ and ‘service’.1 A ‘stock’2 is an accumulation of a finite amount of ‘homogeneous’ material. The definition of homogeneity is derived from a particular view of the object under examination. Thus, in regard to biological activity, the atmosphere is, for example, generally regarded in the long-term view as homogeneous. When, on the other hand, short-term weather patterns are being examined, these are generally viewed as heterogeneous. A ‘flow’ is the continuous or discontinuous change of a stock.3 The unit of measurement of a flow is described in quantity units of the stock in question per unit of time. Every useful stock can be used according to the view of whoever it affords utility to. In this case it is practical to speak of stores instead of stocks. Stores are

Stocks, stores, funds   99 therefore the subset of stocks that can be viewed under the perspective of positive utility. As a store consists of a finite amount of homogeneous material, it can be (and tends to be) depleted. A store is generally recognisable as such in that someone can extract something useful from it. In this case we speak of extraction. If we view a store as a stock, we can say that the extraction is that part of the flow that is extracted by users in a controlled fashion, and then employed according to its utility. An extraction can only be carried out as long as the store lasts. This entails that the upper limit for the measure of possible extraction is set by the size of the store. Apart from the controlled flows from a stock, which we understand as extractions from a store, uncontrolled flows from the same stock can exist. An example for this would be a water reservoir that diminishes through both the controlled extraction of drinking water, and uncontrolled evaporation and seepage into the ground water. One could attempt to describe all foundations of life in regard to living things as stores. A living thing lives by extracting from its stores and using or using up (consuming) whatever is extracted. This would also hold for the hunter/prey relationships in nature: a population of rabbits that foxes prey upon is (however involuntarily) a store from the viewpoint of the foxes, even if the extraction may not always be easy. Therefore it would seem appropriate to view the foundations of life of biocoenoses from the perspective of which living things extract which amounts out of which stores for their self-preservation. Such a view is, however, incomplete. In order to understand the relationship of a living thing to its resources, one must also ask the following, more complex questions: • • •

Where do the stores come from? How do the extractions alter the stores? What happens to the extracted quantity after the point in time of extraction?

Using these three questions, our examination is enhanced by the aspect of time.4 If, in contrast, we speak only of stores and extractions, we are performing a purely static examination. Initially we can say: the extracted quantity directly or indirectly serves the consumption of a living thing that consumes for its self-preservation or self-development (which is the 1. telos as defined in Chapter 8, pages 89–92). In non-human biocoenoses the quantity is generally directly consumed, or at the most stored for limited amounts of time, as we experience with bees or hamsters. Two things must be noted here in the case of direct or indirect consumption: 1

2

Every store is diminished by every extraction (as well as by uncontrolled flows). If stores are not replenished or supplemented from somewhere, in borderline cases they are entirely depleted. The quantity extracted from stores cannot be destroyed by the user. The consumption or the production leading to consumption may physically or chemically change the extracted quantity, but they are subject to the laws of

100   Stocks, stores, funds energy conservation and entropy. Consequently, the quantity does not disappear; it is only altered. Thus every extraction is supplemented by the dimension of waste in the broadest sense. Direct consumption produces unconsumed leftovers – e.g. the remains of plants or animal carrion – as well as faeces, gases (such as the methane produced in keeping cattle), sewage, etc. Even the carcasses of living creatures ultimately belong to such waste. Every extraction within a biocoenosis leads to a decrease of the store in question and an increase in waste. Why then have the stores of the biocoenosis Earth not been continuously decreasing over the billions of years since the emergence of life, and the waste not continually increasing? So if one views a living creature as an element of a biocoenosis solely under the viewpoint of store-extraction-consumption, two of the questions posed above are disregarded (Where do the stores come from? How do the extracted quantities develop after consumption?). Most living things do not concern themselves with how their stores are replenished. This fact is addressed in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6, 26): ‘Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.’ Bees collect nectar every year with which they produce their store of honey, but, as far as we can tell, they do not concern themselves with cultivating the plants from which they draw the nectar. For non-human living things, it appears neither possible nor necessary to ask where their stores come from and what happens with the waste they produce. The life of the living creature ‘human being’, however, is characterised by the fact that almost from the beginning we are faced with the question of the origin of our stores – on the other hand, what happens with the consequences of our consumption is a comparatively new problem.

The term ‘funds’ – definition and explanation Stores are not simply ‘there’; they are formed in one way or another, and are in many cases continually formed anew. In nature, this occurs without human input. In the sphere of human affairs, however, the employment of labour and capital is required. On the one hand, agricultural raw materials, which grow and are replenished every year, are the result of capital and human labour; on the other hand, they are the product of non-human nature. Climate, soil and weather conditions, etc. play an essential role for agricultural production. Those contributions of living things that directly or indirectly serve other living things we wish to call ‘services’. Thus the development and replenishment of stores in nature are services for those living things that are dependent on them. A source of services that can lead to the formation of stores, but can also represent other useful contributions, we call a ‘fund’. A ‘fund’ therefore is, in our terminology, understood as a source of services for one or more species of living things. These living things are to be regarded as the recipients of services. The terminological pair fund/service5 can be used to

Stocks, stores, funds   101 reformulate the question concerning the foundations of life of living things, species and biocoenoses as follows: which funds and which services are required for the conservation and development of a biocoenosis, a species or an individual living thing?

Sun, air, water and soil as funds On its own, nothing can be called a fund, for something is only a fund in so far as it is useful for something or someone else. Calling something a fund means being able to name for what or for whom it acts as a fund. Something can only be regarded as a source of services if it belongs to the foundations of life of one or more recipient of said services. A stock of fish can only then be called a fund when other living things extract utility from it in one way or another. Certain funds are necessary foundations of life for all species. Thus the sun provides services in the form of energy (warmth and light), which is absorbed by the most diverse living things in the most diverse ways, but is indispensable for all. Other requisite funds can be addressed by the generic term ‘water’. The water circulation of the Earth includes seas, humidity, clouds, glaciers, watercourses, lakes, ground water and vapour or evaporation from soils and plants, etc. Further funds of significance for living creatures can be summarised6 under the terms ‘soil’ and ‘air’.7 Such funds share the traits that their duration (by biological measurement) is never terminated. In the same way that we defined biocoenoses and species as immortal, we wish to define such funds as non-transient in the sense that they – from a human perspective – need not end.8 The importance of these funds differs, however, from one recipient to another. For some living things, these funds or a number of them are sufficient, for others only necessary, conditions for existence. Thus rural plants nourish themselves on ‘light, CO2 and water’ as well as ‘mineral resources [. . .], macronutrients [. . .] and a series of trace elements’.9 ‘Many of these chemicals are also essential to animals, although it is more common for animals to obtain them in organic form in their food than as inorganic chemicals.’10 Accordingly, most animals require other living things as part of their nutrition. From the perspective of funds we can say that species that are dependent on living things require living funds. The difference between the funds we have mentioned thus far and those we define here as ‘living’ cannot be precisely delineated. Farmlands, as well as river waters, are full of life, and for this reason alone provide services on which many living things depend. However, in our following considerations of living funds, we do not implicitly regard farmlands and river waters as such, but rather as spaces for a multitude of living funds as we will define them in the next section.

Living funds Living funds are by no means non-transitory in the sense of those mentioned so far. What they must possess, however, is the characteristic of immortality in the

102   Stocks, stores, funds sense portrayed above. For in so far as they are necessary for the survival and development of one or more species, they must possess the same trait of permanence as the species themselves. The result of this is that living funds are themselves species. Put more precisely, living funds are species in so far as they are to be viewed as service providers for other species. Such services can consist of specific contributions by the living things involved (such as the shade provided by trees), by parts of these living things (such as the blossoms, leaves and fruits of a plant), or by the whole of the living things if these serve the sustenance of other living things. Living funds differ in several essential aspects from non-living funds. Unlike non-living funds such as the sun, living funds have no permanent substratum. Their non-transience derives from a continual renewal of their elements. Thus a precondition of living funds is set by the first and second telos of living things, those tele through which a species preserves and renews itself. The first telos is linked to a constant cycle of material and energy, whereas the second telos is linked to a cycle of death and birth: the disappearance of individuals that are replaced by new ones. From our terminology it follows that species can be regarded both as funds, and as the recipients of the services of funds. When regarded as the recipients of services, then they are related to the first and second tele of the living things concerned. If, on the other hand, they are regarded as funds, then the third telos of living things shifts to the centre of attention, while the first and second tele are merely prerequisites. The services of some species are, however, not as directly recognisable as those of others. The services of the species ‘antelope’ for the species ‘lion’ is evident, not so however the services of the lions for the antelopes. However, predators often prevent the uncontrolled spread of the species they prey upon, something that could have an extremely damaging effect on both the species itself – whose intraspecific pressure of competition would increase enormously – as well as on the biocoenosis as a whole. From the viewpoint of a biocoenosis (for example, a steppe), it is not easy to say which services are more important and which ones less. It is precisely the interplay of all species in a network of services that leads to a balance in a biocoenosis. If one were to remove certain services from such a community, the result could be an explosive growth in other parts, or species could die out; both can also occur at the same time. The services of living funds can extend much further than it initially seems. The leaves and the bark of trees, as well as the shade they provide, are services for a multitude of living things. Particular emphasis is to be laid on the services of funds that reintegrate all those things that would seem to be waste from a human viewpoint back into the cycles of nature. One need but think of the many forms of micro-organisms involved in the decomposition processes of organic materials, or of ants, carrion-eaters, etc. These funds represent the practical answer of nature to the question posed above: what occurs with that which is consumed after consumption? The leaves and branches dropped from trees, the excrements of animals and carrion, are the basis of life for a multitude of living

Stocks, stores, funds   103 things which in turn serve as food for other living things. A particularly important role in this natural disposal is played by a large number of different bacteria and fungi. The term ‘disposal’, however, is not wholly suitable in this context, as what one is dealing with here is actually more a form of recycling in the sense of a perfect cycle of substances. The importance of the role ‘recycling’ plays in nature is made evident by the fact that the amount of biomass produced in a period of time (that is, the mass that enters the body of a living creature) must correspond to an approximately equal amount of ‘mass to be disposed of’.11 The leaves of a tree fall, the living things belonging to a species of plant or animal die, and they remain as carcasses or organic material in nature in so far as they are not consumed by other living things. Thus the impression can be evoked that nature chiefly produces overabundance. But such an impression is based on a too-narrow perspective: everything that nature produces ultimately enters a cycle, in which it is taken up as a service. All processes of decay or decomposition are the life-processes of living things. These are in turn the precondition for life of higher living things. When focusing on an entire community, rather than on individual living things, one can hardly separate production, consumption and disposal. As a true cyclic system, every process of production, consumption and disposal in nature can be regarded as necessary elements of one another: production implies consumption and disposal, consumption implies disposal and production, disposal implies consumption and production. In a biocoenosis, any differentiation of these terms is purely analytical. The distinction of production, consumption and disposal only gains any authenticity in a human economy. One further – from a human viewpoint, very important – distinction cannot even be made analytically from the perspective of a biocoenosis: the distinction between positive and negative services – between services and disservices, so to speak. Such a distinction exists for an individual living thing from the perspective of its first telos, but not for an entirety that, in the long-term, can make everything occurring within it to a moment of its own evolution. A further characteristic of funds in nature, both living and non-living, is socalled ‘joint production’.12 As a rule, funds produce more than one service. We have already offered the example of a tree which, while realising its first two tele, necessarily produces leaves and fruit, bark and shade as services for other living things. An extremely important service provided as a joint product by the respiration of all green plants is the oxygen other higher-living things require to breathe. Some biocoenoses (for example, the rain forests) even ‘produce’ their own climate in an interaction of their funds. Consequently, the climate of a tropical region is greatly changed if the predominant rain forests are destroyed.

Biocoenoses and moderation An important ‘rule’ in biocoenoses is that species use their funds in moderation. In a manner of speaking, such use is an expression of the nomos of a biocoenosis. The boundaries of such moderation are, however, not set by any inhibitions

104   Stocks, stores, funds of certain species in the realisation of their first two tele, but rather by technical limitations of the exploitation of the funds. However, such moderation is not always easy to recognise: in the short-term, living things frequently use their funds in a way one could interpret as overuse. In light of the activities of the temporarily arising swarms of locusts in West Africa, for example, it would be difficult not to get such an impression. In reality, however, even this is an expression of the dynamic development of moderation in biocoenoses. Two examples: Remmert13 describes the breeding behaviour of the sandwich tern: Terns breed only in small primary dunes which sometimes form after high tides, sometimes after island formation. Such primary dunes develop on sand slabs, and are destroyed by the next tide or, over the course of several years, become secondary dunes, those which island visitors generally know as dunes – the large dunes. Only in the narrow and brief period of transition between primary and secondary dunes can sandwich terns proceed to breed. The effect is an extremely erratic behaviour of the colonies. Very large colonies can suddenly emerge somewhere, and equally suddenly completely disappear. Small colonies can also appear here and there according to the  size of the primary dune area. The number of all breeding birds in the coastal region of the North Sea is relatively constant. [. . .] For science, an abundance of questions arises from this discovery. How do the terns learn of newly arisen primary dunes, and how is their communication accomplished? Why are they bound in such a characteristic way to a specific habitat? What is their effect on this habitat? It is likely that their close-quarter breeding, together with a great deal of excrement transport, results in a rapid growth of the primary dunes, and thus the self-destruction of their habitat. For the sandwich terns this is not a great problem as long as they find new breeding areas. The habitat ‘North Sea’ is for them a fund that continually provides sufficient primary dunes. Temporarily, the habitat seems overused. Understanding the species in such a habitat, however, means viewing it in its immensity, not only momentarily. What this example demonstrates for spatial structures holds analogously for temporal ones: understanding cannot be limited to a specific point in time, but must take long-term timelines into consideration. In fact, biocoenoses create internal time measures, as our second example shows:14 Larches and Arven in Engadine are above a certain altitude completely stripped of their needles by the caterpillars of a butterfly; the damage is considerable. Before introducing a large scale insecticide program, however, studies were permitted, the result of which was that, after such a stripping of needles, the needles formed in the following year possessed a harder surface which could not be penetrated by the young caterpillars. Thus the butterfly

Stocks, stores, funds   105 population collapsed. In the course of the following years the original needle form gradually developed until the butterflies could once more attack. This occurred about once every ten years. If one were to combat the pest with insecticide – which could be easily accomplished – one would make the needles more vulnerable to the butterfly caterpillars from year to year. Thus one would be forced to carry out insect control year for year until the end of time. However, the moderate interplay of different species does not imply that a biocoenosis remains constant over time, or periodically passes through certain states again and again. On the one hand, certain developments on the side of non-living funds, which caused considerable, sometimes shock-like climate changes, have over geological time periods led to radical changes in many biocoenoses, if not destroying them altogether. If, however, we viewed the entire Earth as a biocoenosis, we see that it has thus far been so stabile as to survive even enormous shocks in the form of meteorite strikes. Each time, such strikes appear to have caused a massive extinction of species, but they were simultaneously the cause of new and more complex forms of life developing. In the longterm, life has thus far proven itself capable of integrating such shocks into its evolution.

The development of oxygen in the atmosphere as a paradigm of the development of a new service and its consequences The following example is to demonstrate how the development of the foundations of life of the biocoenosis Earth can be described in the terminology of ‘funds’ and ‘services’: One of the conditions for life we take for granted the most would seem to be the availability of oxygen. At first glance we would hardly identify the air we breathe as a service based on the activities of any living funds. This is, however, the case: the oxygen in the air is the product of an evolutionary development of certain species which, by means of their production of oxygen, have acted as a fund for other species and still do. Until approximately 3.2 billion years ago, there was as good as no oxygen in the atmosphere. The first forms of life that developed at that time on Earth could not possibly have developed in an oxygen-rich early atmosphere. Conversely, the early atmosphere before the development of oxygen would have been harmful for most of the organisms today. It contained, among other things, hydrogen sulphide, carbon monoxide and hydrocyanic acid. All three compounds are poisonous gases one would not think of as precursors of biochemicals of primeval times: they are, however, only poisonous for aerobic organisms [organisms dependent on oxygen – the authors], for many anaerobes [organisms that require no oxygen – the authors] hydrogen sulphide is an important metabolite substance.15

106   Stocks, stores, funds How is one to picture the transition from this oxygen-free atmosphere to today’s oxygen-rich atmosphere? In other words, how was it possible that not only bacteria and blue-green algae, but also fungi, single-celled organisms, animals and plants could develop on Earth?16 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

The first organisms were single-celled anaerobes (organisms without oxygen consumption) whose metabolism consisted of fermentation of organic molecules which probably developed unbiologically in the so-called primeval soup. These anaerobes developed approximately 3.5 billion years ago. The next stage consisted of (anaerobic) organism emerging around three billion years ago, which were photosynthesis-active. This primeval form of photosynthesis occurred in a completely anaerobic process: oxygen was neither required nor released. Slightly more than two billion years ago, the third stage commenced through the emergence of oxygenic (oxygen-releasing) photosynthesis. This was the crucial step for the formation of an oxygen atmosphere. The aerobic photosynthesis was preformed by the first forms of so-called cyanobacteria (bluegreen algae). It can be described as follows:17 ‘The sunlight’s energy serves to create carbohydrates from carbon dioxide and water; molecular oxygen is released as a joint product.’ The first forms of cyanobacteria produced oxygen in the course of their aerobic photosynthesis as a ‘waste product’. They could not use it, but neither did it have a toxic effect on them. With the increase of the oxygen content of the atmosphere, forms of cyanobacteria emerged that were capable of using oxygen for their metabolism while continuing with their aerobic photosynthesis. With the increase of the oxygen content, the anaerobic (prokaryotic)18 organisms were forced to limit themselves to oxygen-free habitats. Thus they left the areas with the best photosynthesis conditions to the cyano­ bacteria. The ozone layer formed out of the oxygen in the atmosphere. The stronger this layer became over time, the more the ultraviolet radiation of the sun was reflected from the Earth. Approximately 1.5 billion years ago, the formation of the ozone layer was complete. Thus the Earth was protected from the greatest part of the ultraviolet radiation. Without this protection, life on land (that is, outside of water) could scarcely have developed, for ultraviolet rays are harmful for everything living.19 After the oxygen-enriched atmosphere (roughly 1 per cent of today’s level) had developed, oxygen-breathing organisms emerged. Thus their metabolism increased many times. ‘Finally, approximately 1,450 million years ago, the first eukaryotic20 cells developed that were completely adapted to an aerobic way of life. The methods of multiplication emerging with these eukaryotic organisms – in particular the later developed sexual reproduction – led to an abundance of species and a rapid spread of these organisms.’21

Stocks, stores, funds   107 9

A further large increase of oxygen in the atmosphere occurred approximately 600 million years ago, simultaneous to the evolution of higher or multi-celled animals. ‘The [. . .] new forms of life generated a different environment and this in turn changed the conditions of evolution.’22

The terminology of funds and services allows the processes leading to the development of the oxygen atmosphere and the related evolutionary changes to be described as follows. The oxygen atmosphere, which provides most of today’s living things with the necessary air to breathe, has not always been available. It is much rather a service that can be traced back to the interaction of several funds. The fund that set the development of an oxygen atmosphere in motion, originally (that is, two billion years ago) consisted of cyanobacteria that performed aerobic photosynthesis. The oxygen accumulating through these processes was initially not a service, being neither useful nor harmful. The more abundant it grew, however, the more it became harmful for anaerobic forms of life. The cyanobacteria were capable of adapting to the environment they had changed. The next stage consisted of them ‘discovering’ oxygen as a service by integrating it into their metabolism. The oxygen proved, however, to be a service that was by no means reserved for them. After the ‘discovery’ of the service oxygen, a sheer incalculable abundance of species developed, along with the eukaryotic organisms capable of making use of it. Today, oxygen is produced and consumed in a kind of cycle:23 ‘Currently the photosynthesis of green plants, cyanobacteria and certain single-celled organisms, together with the joint product oxygen, forms the basis for the synthesis of most substances produced on Earth.’ Accordingly, the green plants, cyanobacteria and the single-celled organisms mentioned are today funds providing services for most living things. The structure of funds emitting oxygen has qualitatively changed greatly over the course of the last two billion years. In the beginning it consisted entirely of cyanobacteria. Then a structural change occurred, and it was supplemented and expanded by single-celled organisms and green plants. The fact that oxygen was initially not used as a service led to an accumulation of an ever-larger store of oxygen. Only after a critical limit of the enrichment of the atmosphere with oxygen had been reached was sufficient oxygen available for the emergence of aerobic organisms that possessed a considerably more efficient metabolism. Thus we recognise that such a development could only occur after a sufficiently large supply of oxygen was available. Had the supply not been available in the necessary amount, the diverse living things dependent on it (the plants and animals as consumers) could hardly have developed. The length of time between the formation of a supply and the corresponding demand, which identifies it as a service, is hereby of great importance. What is unique to this type of service is that it has a determining effect on the development of the consumers themselves.

10 Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking

Every biocoenosis has its own history. Nature, in particular, as the embodiment of all biocoenoses on Earth, has its own history. Interpreting nature historically is not matter of course. In many cultures there exists no concept of nature in an Occidental sense,1 and no concept of history in the sense of a unique, unrepeatable sequence of events. Processes in the world have been interpreted cyclically in many past cultures: everything that was comes again; worlds come and go. In Judaism, Christianity and Islam, on the other hand, the world has a unique history with a beginning and an end. In the Jewish Bible, the Christian Old Testament, this history begins with the creation of Heaven and Earth and the cry of God, ‘Let there be light!’ It leads through the creation of the sun and the moon, of plants and animals to the creation of Man. This history will end in a manner determined by God in which creation as a whole will be administered justice. Non-human nature (which is extremely difficult to grasp as an autonomous sphere in biblical Judaism) appears within this act of creation as a manifestation of divine will on the one hand, and as the basis for the emergence of humanity on the other. A history of nature outside of its orientation towards humanity and its commission to be the agent of the revelation of its creator was not conceivable within the framework of such concepts. Speaking of a history of nature, one which evidently transpires independently of any intervention of a divine will, is a concept that emerged in the Occident only in European modernity, and did not catch on before the end of the eighteenth century, at which time a dynamic examination of nature took place. The prevailing concepts in this regard are even today still heavily influenced by the work of Charles Darwin (1809–1882), published in 1859. Darwin gathered a wealth of empirical material about individual species and their changes in order to argue, as the title of his principal work The Origin of Species states, that they (along with all the branches that became new species) descended from a few or even a single basic form. Further developing ideas and categories of the economist Thomas Robert Malthus (1766–1834) and the philosopher Herbert Spencer (1820–1903), Darwin intended to prove that all species were not created as they are today, but that they developed in a process of evolution that takes place according to certain mechanisms. What is today known as Neo-Darwinism put Darwin’s approach to a certain extent on a new foundation. Taking the results of

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   109 genetics into account (as they first appeared in the research of the Augustine monk Gregor Mendel (1822–1884)), in the latter half of the twentieth century Neo-Darwinism based these in biochemistry, thus integrating the discoveries of molecular biology. Although Darwinism and Neo-Darwinism concentrate primarily on the changes in individual species, they have made a significant contribution to the foundations of ecology; Haeckel (1866), the founder of ecology, was already an ardent supporter of the teachings of Darwin. In the following, where we devote ourselves to the Neo-Darwinist theory of evolution, we are striving to fruitfully employ some of their discoveries in the field of the scientific logos, particularly regarding the problem of time in non-human nature. At the same time, however, we wish to show the limitations of this approach. The Neo-Darwinist concept cannot claim to make the ‘essence of evolution’ comprehendible; it does not tell us what the ‘ultimate reasons’ for evolution are. It is a model explaining how to picture the important characteristics of the process of the evolution of life. Models of past things cannot tell us how something truly was, but only how it might have been under consideration of all available data, and how to explain why it might have been that way. Models are not representations of reality, but rather illustrations, in which we attempt to fit together the empirical data available to us at a certain point in time in a non-contradictory manner. The biological model of evolution is, in a manner of speaking, a ‘picture in time’, a representation of the processes throughout the time-span of life on Earth. It attempts, as it were, to explain the ‘technique’ of evolution as we can conceive of it with our current level of knowledge. At the end of our roughly sketched portrayal of this model, we will attempt to display it in the new light of our approach.

Genotype, phenotype, individual and species In the following we wish to present several important terms and concepts of the biological theory of evolution.2 The appearance of an organism, how it looks, its capabilities and characteristics, make up what is called its phenotype. The phenotype is the result of the interaction of factors in two fields: the first field is its potential, the possibilities of development the organism has inherited from its parents: its genotype. Since the discoveries of molecular biology, the genotype is attributed to the so-called genome of an organism. This contains the genetic information according to which the cells and organs of a multi-celled organism are formed. The second field is the environment of the organism. This second field leads to two organisms that cannot be genetically differentiated (identical twins, for example) nonetheless developing different phenotypes (in so far as they are subjected to different environmental influences). In short: the genotype represents the potential of an organism and the phenotype represents the realisation of this potential by the environment. Every phenotype develops its own life. The potential for this development is encrypted in its genes as if in a written text. From the viewpoint of biology, the first telos of the organism is realised by its metabolism and its second telos by its

110   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking reproduction. In this way, the organism contributes to the preservation and to the development of its species. With the genetic code, molecular biology possesses a set of instruments with which it can precisely represent the similarities and differences between species, but also between individuals within a species: no individual (except for identical twins and clones) is genetically identical to another individual.3 Thus, from a biological viewpoint, every individual is unique. With every new organism, not only new information, but a new reality, a never-been existence enters the world. This holds true for every mosquito, every frog, every mouse, every dolphin and every human being. The more differentiated an organism is, the more clearly the individual differences from other individuals of the same species come to light. A species comprises all organisms that can reproduce together over at least two generations. It contains individuals with similar (but by no means identical) genetic equipment.4 In the reproduction of (higher, sexually reproducing) living things, it is not only the genes possessed by the parents that enter new combinations. In new living things, it can occur that changes in the genetic stock, mutations, emerge. Mutations in free nature are, according to the view of biology, attributed to chance: they can either arise spontaneously or as the result of natural radioactivity. As these influences cannot be specified, natural mutations and their consequences are principally unpredictable (see Chapter 4). Not all mutations are of relevance to the development of species (for ‘only mutations in the germline and gametes [. . .] are passed on to the descendants’).5 Mutations that are passed down from one generation to the next often appear as defects in the phenotype of a living thing. Malformations such as missing limbs or deformities can be their result. Mutated organisms are therefore often not capable of life (or only in an extremely limited way). What may appear negative for a single organism can, however, represent significant potential for the further development of nature – for those mutants, which survive and can pass on their mutated genetic information to their descendants, enable the development of new species and thus of new living things. Mutations which are fixed in a population (that is to say that more than one individual bears this characteristic) become an evolutionary event [. . .]. Evidently the mutation rate of all organisms has in the course of evolution stabilised at a level which is advantageous to the further development of the organisms, and which brings positive and negative mutational effects into balance [. . .].6 The concept of mutation is of huge significance for the discoveries of Darwin and his successors. Its revolutionary character becomes particularly evident in comparison with pre-modern viewpoints. In ancient creation theory, each species emerges, as it were, complete – in the very moment it is called into existence by the creating word of God. Once it is here, it remains as it is. Aristotle reached the same conclusion, albeit on the basis of other preconditions. He saw the reproduction of species as a method of individual organisms to, as far as possible, partake

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   111 of that which is eternal and unchanging. The individual passes away, but not the species. Thus the species appears as an essentially unchanging, enduring self, while individuals which (in a manner of speaking) constitute the life of this self (as the material it is made of) are continually replaced. That we still today unconsciously adopt such a view can, for example, be seen in the fact that we can characterise a wolf without asking whether it is living today or lived in the thirteenth century. Here, however, the phenomenological view of the existence logos falls short. This is because the period of time in which we observe phenomena is relatively short, so that we cannot phenomenologically grasp the changes taking place over long periods of time (be this hundreds or millions of years). We could observe the variations and deviations from the normal phenotype since the beginning of the cultivation of plants and animals, and attempt to use these for cultivation purposes; but for a systematic comprehension of life, these observations would only become fruitful at a very late date. Ultimately, it was less the observations from the sphere of everyday life than the theoretical doubts concerning a literal interpretation of the biblical creation story, coupled with a new awareness for extraordinary fossil discoveries – petrified living things belonging to a species unknown at the time of their discovery – that forced humankind to go beyond the horizon of everyday concepts. These fossil discoveries, in so far as they were not dogmatically forced into the categories of literally interpreted biblical reports, confronted the human mind with the testimonies of a history to which it was lacking the text. The biological science of evolution represents an opportunity to put the history of nature, the signs of which are available in scattered discoveries, into a system that allows its processes to appear principally explainable. Species no longer appear as static, unchanging and ultimately unhistorical occurrences, but can be represented in their emergence and development, their different branches and their extinction. The concept of mutation in particular offers an explanation for how a species as a reproduction set can change and become several different reproduction sets which, because of their differences, can no longer reproduce among each other. Thus biology gave the aspect of novelty in nature a systematic significance. Not only is every individual new, but every species was new at some time, and new species can always develop out of the existing ones. Every new thing, which has emerged in a multitude of forms from its origin, must be viewed as the product of both chance mutation and its development under the influence of its environment.

The evolution of species Because of mutation, organisms can display conspicuously different characteristics from one generation to the next. Which of these mutations prove viable depends on their environment, which carries out a form of selection: not all mutants can survive in it, but only those that are equal to its demands. When the mutated individuals are equally ‘good’ or ‘better’ equipped for the particular environment, they survive and pass on their ‘advantageous’ characteristics. The

112   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking terms ‘good’ and ‘better’ and ‘advantageous’ refer comparatively to their samespecies cousins and individuals of other species with regard to their competition for the foundations of life provided by the environment. Biology speaks in this sense of ‘fitness’. In many cases the mutated individuals are less fit than the others are and die out – the disadvantageous characteristics, only just emerged, quickly disappear again. But mutated individuals with increased fitness survive and, over the course of generations, possibly drive back those that have not mutated. Thus the environment acts as a filter, leading to a – more or less stringent – selection of those individuals that can pass on their characteristics, having adapted so well to their environment as to reach reproduction maturity and actually reproduce. Mutation, selection and adaptation keep a process of evolution running, in which the ‘survival of the fittest’ leads to the survival of the genetically (relatively) best equipped, so that ever more complex and diversely equipped forms of life develop.7 According to most evolutionary biologists, most mutations determining the evolution of species occur solely on the level of the genotype; changes in the phenotype are not passed on. In other words: the genotype heavily influences the phenotype, whereas the phenotype with its individual form, its history, its experience and its learning does not enter the genetic make-up of the species at all. This is the reason why respected evolutionary biologists like Dawkins (1989) find the outwardly visible in evolution, the development of phenotypes, less relevant than the processes on the genetic level. The concrete individual, its life and its history are all nothing more than an instrument of genes – genes that are only interested in (if at all possible) conserving the information stored within them over generations, and multiplying it by making copies. It is not what we see with our eyes, the forms of living things, but rather what is only accessible to scientists through their procedures – the genes as the elementary building blocks of life – that is important. Thus biologists in the train of Dawkins speak of the ‘selfishness of genes’, something Dawkins regards as the principle of evolution. In this manner, the zoologist Schmid-Hempel writes:8 ‘[. . .] the fundamental object of evolution is the genetic information, which alone is passed on to the descendant and thus endures through the generations.’ With such statements, however, evolutionary biology runs the risk of unconsciously moving from the sphere of the scientific logos to that of the essence logos. What Schmid-Hempel calls ‘the fundamental object of evolution’ could more appropriately be called ‘the fundamental object of attention for many evolutionary biologists’ – for in their method of model- and hypothesis-formation, the individual organism under the conditions of current molecular biology is of secondary interest at best. Whether or not this describes what has really happened and is really happening in evolution is not scientifically verifiable. From the viewpoint of the existence logos, it seems certainly far more natural to view the transmission and mutation of genes as a mechanism for the formation of individuals: not the abstract genus, but the concrete individual form would then be evolution’s goal – the genes’ activity can only be seen in the shape, the capabilities and the characteristics of the individual living things.9

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   113

The coevolution of species Evolution in a biological sense is not observable if we only consider a single individual or one generation of individuals. At least two generations (but generally a far greater number) must be taken into account for evolutionary changes to become visible. Even an evolutionary analysis that limits itself to a single species is of limited worth. Whether or not species can survive depends not only on their own development, but also on the development of all the other species that are of significance for their existence. The term ‘niche’ draws attention to this fact. Individual organisms, as well as species, interact with a limited proportion of what can be found in their biocoenosis: the species of significance to them are those that they can use as funds for their self-preservation and self-development within the framework of their first telos, those they themselves serve as funds within the framework of their third telos, as well as those that provide for the preservation of their habitat (e.g. by disposing of ‘waste’). This limited proportion of a natural environment that is of relevance to a species is termed ‘niche’. Thus, in a forest, the niches of ants, birds, rabbits and foxes can be observed. In the course of the development of a biocoenosis, all niches are changed in the long run by mutations within individual species, causing changes in behavioural patterns. Often (disregarding disturbances) the degree of complexity in the biocoenoses, and thus the diversity of the niches, increases. Biological evolution is always coevolution10 – that is to say, the common development of different, inter-specifically correlated species (e.g. through competition), as well as the dynamic network of different niches within a biocoenosis. For this reason, the ecological fitness of a species need by no means consist solely of a unilateral superiority of a species, but can possibly represent no more than the ability to fit into a changing environment and assume a specific position within it (a position that can appear as an essentially serving role). In this sense we could speak of the ‘fitness’ of an entire biocoenosis. As such, natural communities are principally open – they can also develop through coevolution with other biocoenoses with which they are (through migration from one to another, for instance) in some form of exchange.

The role of funds in the evolution of biocoenoses Although the evolution of species (including humanity) requires mutation, that is the emergence of new genetic information in new forms, mutation is not a sufficient condition for changes in nature – for a new genotype can only then form a phenotype that is successful in a Darwinist sense if it manages to pass through the filter of selection of its natural environment. This filter must equally be taken into account when migration occurs, that is when members of a species turn up in a surrounding in which that species did not previously exist. Such a view, common to evolutionary biology, begins with species and then interprets the environment as the setting for its development. In the language of the reflections

114   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking proffered by us, this view refers chiefly to the first and second telos of living things. Another view and, correspondingly, another picture emerges when we begin with the third telos of living things and ask: how do the services living things provide for one another change? And how does an entire biocoenosis or even the biocoenosis Earth change because of evolutionary developments accompanying the emergence of species that are viable in the long-term? This line of questioning can be analysed using the terms ‘funds’ and ‘services’. Such an analysis leads to a reversal of the view presented above: what appears as a secondary condition in the biological analysis of the evolution of species under the heading ‘environment’ is now placed in the centre of the analysis as a network of funds; what was previously in the focal point, namely the individual species, now becomes a subsection among other subsections – subsections that can only be comprehended in their mutual interaction through services. Although we defined living funds as species (see Chapter 9, pages 101–103), whether we view something as a species or as a fund, it is not irrelevant: unlike species, funds can never be viewed in isolation, as a species can never be considered a fund all on its own. A species can only be addressed as a fund if certain services it provides can (ultimately) be used by a living unit. A fund is always a ‘fund for [. . .]’, namely for a service-receiving species. Funds can therefore only be conceived of in context with other species, ultimately only in context with a biocoenosis. Consequently, ‘fund’ is a relational term, i.e. it is all about what can be viewed as a fund in regard to its relationship to other things. When we now consider the evolution of the biocoenosis Earth, we are dealing with the way the networks of funds and the services they provide change through viable mutations, i.e. through the emergence of new behavioural patterns on the side of new forms of existence. Thus we are examining the historical structures of this biocoenosis. Here it must be taken into consideration that every new species can potentially introduce a new form of usage of funds. At the same time, however, the new species can potentially provide a fund for other species in a new way. Thus the problem of time is accentuated within two different time-frames: 1

2

When a new fund develops, other funds must already exist as the precondition for its own existence, for the development of its self and its renewal, i.e. the past must be taken into account as its particular prehistory. One can only speak of the development of a fund if the new species is a provider of services for an already existing or yet to come living thing, i.e. both the present and the future, the effects of a species, must be taken into account.

1  A new species developing means that within one (or more) biocoenosis(es) a new population of living things appears.11 These carry out their lives within the framework of the first two tele, those of self-development and self-renewal. For these tele to be realised, the new species must be able to make use of already existing funds. It will possibly make use of something as a service that was not previ-

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   115 ously used in this manner. One need but think of the appearance of a tree-pest in a forest that previously knew no such pests. In this case the tree is discovered as a fund in a new way. In order to understand this new species, we must on the one hand know the past of the ecological entirety in which it has appeared. We must therefore inquire as to which ‘history’ exists, and how the populations were formed which now (as a fund) are at the service of the new species in this new way. 2  On the other hand, potential new services develop along with the new species. It can, however, be the case that what the new species has to offer cannot be identified as a service for anyone in the present. It might be that only further evolution can add new living things to a biocoenosis, which can make use of these services in a new way. Only in this instance is the species to be defined as a fund. It follows from this that the future of the biocoenosis must be taken into account in order to understand the evolution of a fund. In so far as the future is unknown to us (we are ignorant in this regard) only incomplete statements can be made about present funds: as yet nothing is known of the many potential services inherent to them. The view developed here has consequences for our examination of the process of evolution: we can suppose that a potential of services usually exists within a biocoenosis, not currently used by the existing living things. In this case it is probably only a question of time before mutation leads to the appearance of organisms capable of picking up some of these services. These new organisms ‘discover’ existing species as funds. In this view evolution consists above all else of a particular existing service-potential being discovered and realised by a new living thing. This entails potential funds becoming real funds. At the same time, however, the living thing in question will increase the service-potential of the biocoenosis. Thus the history of the discovery and the provision of new services essentially belong to the history of evolution. In this sense it is not only human history that is a history of discovery and of learning. The same holds equally for the history of nature. Out of a multitude of mutations, generally only those survive that can use the existing funds no worse than the previous living things and/or can develop new funds or new dimensions of existing funds which were previously not used in this way. These tendencies can be viewed as forms of learning: from the viewpoint of a biocoenosis, but especially from that of the entire Earth, every newly developed genotype is a new possibility of existence. If this genotype is successfully realised as a phenotype, it could be said that, with the new phenotype, the biocoenosis discovers itself in a new way. Even for an outsider, the biocoenosis is more extensive and more diverse than before; she discovers potentials of this natural community she could not have been prepared for ex ante, before the mutation. The knowledge of a biocoenosis in regard to its available funds is stored in its gene pool. By means of a new genotype that develops new funds, the natural community increases its knowledge about its available funds: it learns and preserves what is learned in its gene pool. The new genotype itself can, however, also be discovered as a fund.

116   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking In the Neo-Darwinist view of evolution, it is chiefly the aspects of chance on the one hand, and mechanistic determination on the other, that dominate. This stems from its concentration on random changes in the genetic stock and their consequences, in accordance with the mechanisms of adaptation and selection. Our approach leads to a slightly different emphasis. When dealing with biocoenoses, we turn our attention to funds and fund-potentials and, in so doing, see the following: because of the unused fund potentials, biocoenoses are prepared for the arrival of new living things capable of realising these potentials. They are, so to speak, a space in perpetual expectation of novelty. What biology sees as chance is nothing other than the fact that new living things spontaneously and unpredictably appear and realise the potentials of their sphere of existence. Thus our observations on the topic ‘evolution’ are expanded by a new aspect: the ‘success’ of a new genotype (or the corresponding phenotype) within a biocoenosis essentially depends on the extent to which it is able to recognise existing and developing fund-potentials, or to discover new fund-potentials. It can even occur that, because of genotypic changes, living things develop that can make use of substances previously to be regarded as harmful as services. An example for such a substance would be oxygen – as we learned in Chapter 9, it was toxic for primeval organisms before being later integrated by different organisms into their metabolism, increasing their competitiveness.

The meaning of evolution: entirety and suffering Evolution The term ‘evolution’ is often associated with a purposeful development leading to ever higher forms of life, ultimately reaching its pinnacle and (depending on one’s point of view) its temporary or absolute culmination in humankind. The deep aversion many biologists have against this teleological view of evolution is based in the assumption that such a view has been refuted by science. They assume that evolution is without purpose, and that its paths of development were the result of chance within the framework of the mechanisms of adaptation and selection. As an indication that the development of life did not follow any reasonable order, they point to the phenomenon of mass extinction as it has occurred many times in the history of life, leading, for example, to the disappearance of the dinosaurs toward the end of the Cretaceous period (approximately sixty-five million years before our time). All in all, it is estimated that over the course of evolution over 90% – perhaps over 99% – of all once existing species have disappeared again. [. . .] Not taking into account the extermination of animal and plant species by modern humankind currently taking place on a large scale, at least five mass extinctions of global proportions have occurred in the Phanerozoic [the time in which organisms have been spreading across the Earth on a large scale – the last 570 million years – the authors].12

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   117 Causes that can be named are climate change and meteor strikes. If evolution were a process oriented towards a goal, why then these interruptions? A further indication that evolution is not directed towards any specific result can be derived from an analysis of isolated, primarily secluded habitats. Thus Darwin made his most famous discoveries on the Galapagos Islands: in their remote habitat, the Galapagos finches developed particular characteristics that existed nowhere else. In addition to this, a comparison between Eurasia, Australia and New Zealand is considered particularly instructive. Forty million years ago, Australia and New Zealand were one landmass, connected to the Eurasian continent. Then a separation occurred, initially causing a new continent to emerge, independent from Eurasia, before (after a geologically short period of time) New Zealand then separated from Australia. This led to developments taking place in Australia and New Zealand with considerably deviant results, ones which were also completely different from those in Asia and Europe. In Australia a unique fauna of marsupials developed – kangaroos and koala bears are among the best known examples. In New Zealand, on the other hand, certain eye-catching flightless birds like the Moa or the Kiwi developed that exist nowhere else.13 Both the abundance of species that appear and die out, as well as the different developments in secluded habitats, are regarded as indications that a purpose, direction or a goal cannot be identified anywhere in evolution. According to this, the emergence of humanity, but also the development of its sciences (including biology) would be the result of chance within the framework of the mechanisms of evolution. With the discoveries of modern biology, evolution would then have gotten wise to itself, so to speak: chance and the mechanisms of evolution would have led to the emergence of human beings as creatures that by chance recognised chance and the mechanisms of evolution after having entertained illusions about nature and themselves for so long. As Dawkins, referring to the zoologist Simpson, claims, this discovery took place, in the work of Charles Darwin: We no longer have to resort to superstition when faced with the deep problems: Is there a meaning to life? What are we for? What is man? After posing the last of these questions, the eminent zoologist G.G. Simpson put it thus: ‘The point I want to make now is that all attempts to answer that question before 1859 [The publication date of the first edition of the principal work of Darwin – the authors] are worthless and that we will be better off if we ignore them completely.’14 In evaluating such views one must, however, consider that statements in regard to the meaning and goal of the evolution of life, as well as the essence of humanity, overstep the horizon of the scientific logos. The empirical findings of biology are for the most part compatible with the manner in which biology describes the mechanics of evolution, even if some evolutionary chance occurrences seem highly improbable (see below, pages 118–119). The biological

118   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking model of evolution is, however, completely unsuitable for judging the meaning of those findings: ‘meaning’ is not a category of scientific evolutionary research. For this, alongside critical reflection within the medium of the scientific logos, the dimensions of the existence logos and essence logoi are indispensable. In the light of these dimensions, the evolution of life, both as a whole and in its individual discontinuous stages, appears as a miracle. Here, ‘miracle’ does not denote the violation of natural laws. A phenomenon that contradicts these laws is not a miracle, if only for the reason that these laws are no more than model-based assumptions – whatever contradicts them is only an indication that the assumptions are not tenable in their current form. A miracle is the directly experienced existence of novelty: its essence is not subsumed under the laws of nature in the same way that the essence of a mountain-climbing accident is not subsumed under the use of the law of falling bodies. A miracle breaks open our ordinary patterns of thought and life by pointing to a new presence beyond the familiar or predictable passage of time – past, present and future. A miracle requires the ability to recognise novelty as novelty. In so far as a form of seeing is constitutive to its experience, a miracle is not merely objective. Within the sphere of the scientific logos, we see no miracles as here miracles are logically excluded. As scientists, as people who deal with science, we should, however, not shut ourselves off to the experience of the miraculous in the midst of what we are dealing with. First, it must be regarded as a miracle that there is life on Earth at all. Between non-life and life there is no transition: compared to non-life, life is radically new.15 Even prominent biologists admit this – if somewhat indirectly and unwillingly. They proclaim that the fact of life is a miracle in that they, in order to describe the development of life from non-life, use explanations with preconditions that do not (as a purely scientific approach) lie within the sphere of non-life. If there is no life, then there is certainly no reason, no thinking, differentiating, foreseeing and planning. Yet, for the development of life, biologists imply a principle of reason, one which methodically causes life to emerge from non-living chemical compounds: the production of life would be the telos, the goal of this methodical principle. How could such a goal emerge from the conditions of non-life other than through a ‘planning principle of reason’? Thus biologists speak of an ‘organising principle’ within an unordered ‘primal soup’ when attempting to formulate a strictly scientific explanation for the development of life. They endow this principle with the qualities of a reason which can differentiate between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, ‘useful’ and ‘harmful’.16 This argumentation is obviously teleological: the ‘organising principle’ organises with an eye to that goal which is to be the final result: life. If these authors were questioned about their teleological argumentation, they would probably emphasise that it is meant metaphorically, in a figurative sense. It is, however, conspicuous that even strict scientists cannot avoid teleological figures of thought for the representation of certain evolutionary processes.17 In this way they express the novelty of life in contrast to non-life.

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   119 The second miracle of life consists of the fact that life on Earth has not only survived cosmic catastrophes but also – though possibly only after millions of years of disruption – integrated them into its development as an impetus for the production of new forms. The third miracle is the abundance of life-forms. An indication of this abundance that transcends all imagination is that biocoenoses with a common starting point – such as those in Australia and New Zealand – have developed completely differently. The fourth miracle is the increase in the complexity, diversity and integrationcapability of life in every phase of evolution. This increase cannot, at least for  the human mind, be derived from what already existed. Each later phase could not have been predicted on the basis of the information provided by the earlier one. That an eye or an ear were possible – no reason could have even  understood what an ear or an eye could be before they were there. That dolphins were possible could not have been suspected before they existed. That the emergence of life would lead to the construction of holy sites like the Mountain of a Thousand Buddhas of Borobodur on the island of Java, or the Cathedral of Chartres in France; to works of art like the dramas of Shakespeare or the art of the fugue of Bach; to scientific discoveries like calculus, quantum physics or the deciphering of the genetic code – all this would not have been foreseeable even if all information from the phase in which life emerged were available. Creativity In an unbiased view, therefore, there exists a characteristic of evolution that we wish to call ‘creativity’. Evolution, which includes the creations of human beings themselves, appears enormously more creative and intelligent than anything human beings are capable of – a sheer infinite abundance of creations. It is precisely the apparent purposelessness in the development of this abundance that points to a further trait of evolution. To the impartial observer it appears playful and quasi prone to experimentation in the play of emerging and vanishing species and habitats. It is to this creative character of evolution that the creation stories of different cultures do justice. The beginning of the book of Genesis in the Bible presents us with the species of animals and plants as they suddenly, at a word from God, are simply here. Biologists teach us that a long path lies before this ‘simply being here’, along which a new species develops from an old one. Now, let us imagine a biologist who discovers that, after a long period of intermediate forms (which were quasi ‘lugged along’, serving no apparent function), an eye suddenly exists that is able to see, or who finds out that a voice has come into being, only recognisable as a voice because an ear to hear it exists as well. Such a biologist may understand why creation is portrayed in religion as if every creature were completed in a moment: all the preliminary stages are forgotten in face of the wonder of the miracle of the complete form. This (in the way we experience it) was what was strived for from the beginning; now it is here and

120   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking the path towards it is abolished in that which is here. Such a view of nature is unscientific, but probably phenomenologically appropriate. Seen from the point of view of playful creativity, however, there exists no species, no biocoenosis that could be considered indispensable – whether in this way or that. In everything and through everything evolution takes its course; here there is only a becoming and a passing away without further meaning. Only life itself preserves and develops itself in an abundance of new varieties, and the individual life is no more than an expression of participation in this development. Such a view could be described as a holistic point of view in so far as here every individual living thing is regarded from the standpoint of the whole of life – life which continually represents its ‘being alive’ through a process of becoming and passing away. Entirety The holistic view sees nature as a harmony, as a form of dance of life itself. When the early biologists saw the entire evolutionary process in the context of a struggle for existence, they used the perspective of parts which, by no means interested in the harmony of the whole, made life difficult or even impossible for each other. This process looks different, however, from a perspective that enquires after the logos of a house comprising the entire Earth. Ecology, in the sense of this oikos, recognises that the entire interaction of organisms and species contributes to the evolutionarily changing existence of an entirety, the biocoenosis Earth. Be this interaction a struggle, a communication or a game, in every case it is an expression of the harmony of the whole that preserves itself through every movement. However, misleading associations are often connected with the term ‘harmony’. ‘Harmonia’ is a Greek word and initially means ‘joined-together’. A ‘harmonia’ exists between the planks of a ship or the beams of a half-timbered house. In a further sense, ‘harmonia’ also means ‘accordance’, ‘accord’ or an ‘ordered, regular proportion between different parts of a whole’. Thus in a healthy organism a harmony exists between its different life-forces and organs; in a good soul a harmony exists between different urges and the forces of reason and will that order them; in a good state a harmony exists between citizens. Harmony is not really a state (for example, one of peace) or a steady, tensionfree development. Opposites, intense conflicts (e.g. a wrestling match), even a duel of medieval knights ending in death, may be viewed as harmony as well. In fact, our entire existence on Earth can (if from a rather unusual vantage-point of the essence logos as it can be found by certain mystics) be experienced as harmony. Yet harmony is also not simply a form of subjective perception of random developments and states. Harmony is both at the same time, the coherence of the most disparate things on the one hand and the ability to recognise this on the other. Heraclitus alludes to this ability when he says: ‘The invisible harmony (the invisible accord, the invisible interaction) is greater than the visible harmony.’18

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   121 In this sense harmony is always a holistic term. This type of holistic viewpoint is, however, one-sided: if we regard nature solely from the viewpoint of harmony, a certain aspect of experience is lost which, from a certain phase onward, cannot be removed from the evolution of life: the suffering of the individual living thing. Suffering is not a perspective that a living thing can choose to adopt or not. A living thing is made to suffer and this occurrence cannot be set off against any higher harmony. Suffering Nature and its development can be viewed in a way that is indifferent to the suffering of living things. Such a viewpoint is adopted by biology, whose object is not the existence of the individual in its uniqueness, but rather the biochemical processes on the level of cells and their building blocks. The same indifference was, however, part of the argumentation presented by us up to this point, in so far as we argued from the standpoint of biocoenoses. Viewed from this standpoint, life appears as a harmony, if rich in tension and conflict. Suffering, on the other hand, can only be addressed if we adopt the perspective of the individual in its uniqueness – in a way in which it does not appear as a part of the whole. In order to see what this means, we return once more to our terminology of the three tele as it was introduced in Chapter 8. From the standpoint of the biocoenosis, the three tele of the living things within it are merely prerequisites for the actualisation of the network of services and funds. For the individual living thing, on the other hand, only its own first and second telos, as well as the third telos of the living things it uses, are of importance. Its own third telos, however, in so far as it is linked to injury or even death, is valuated negatively, as we see in the fact that the living thing seeks to flee injury or death. Many living things can, however, only realise their first – and thus also their second – telos by consuming other living things or vital parts of them. Thus the processes in a biocoenosis are arranged in such a way that seems to necessarily include the suffering of many living things. In this, a form of injustice seems to dominate. Not all living things are consumed by others and generally the services seem not to be mutual: many plants are consumed by herbivores, which are in turn consumed by carnivores, which must in turn look out for larger predators. The larger predators, however, might have no enemies at all – as long as humans do not appear. The idea that smaller things are subjected to larger ones seems therefore to be confirmed in nature. Such a view from the standpoint of the individual living thing is nonetheless one-sided. If one views the entire biocoenosis instead of a single living thing, then suffering and injustice appear quite differently: from the standpoint of the whole, that of the biocoenosis, it is not only the being-eaten of the smaller things, but also the eating of the larger ones that constitutes a service, one that contributes to the harmony, the moderate order of the biocoenosis. From the perspective of the whole and the species that constitute it, suffering

122   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking therefore disappears. It does not disappear because it ceases to exist, but rather because it is not observable on this level. Suffering always refers to individuals: individuals suffer and can, in so far as they belong to higher living things, suffer through empathy. On the other hand, the term ‘suffering’ cannot be meaningfully referred to species or biocoenoses. The fact of suffering draws our attention to the circumstance that not only the view of the scientific logos, but also many other views that call themselves holistic – perhaps with a certain justification – are one-sided. In every holistic view the awareness of suffering is at risk of being lost, as suffering can only be perceived by the individual in its separation from the whole. Now what does suffering consist of? Suffering is the result of a tension between the first and third telos. In the first telos the living thing clings to its individual self and strives, if possible, to improve its development; in the third it must partially or wholly – namely in death – let go of its self. All life consummates itself to a higher or lesser degree within this tension between clinging-to and letting-go. Suffering arises wherever a living thing is not prepared to let go because it is able to experience the partial or entire loss of its individuality as a threat, and to fight against it. Suffering can, on the one hand, result from its being coerced to let go against its will. On the other hand, it can also stem from the fact that extreme effort is necessary to avoid the injury or loss of its own existence. Suffering is thus derived not only from actually dying, but also from the threat of death as it is experienced not only by human beings but also by animals – i.e. in the flight from enemies. Suffering is, however, at its most intense in the experience of pain which, once it is there, can hardly be escaped. Suffering seems to increase in nature the more differentiated the living thing’s capacities of perception are. No living thing can take the place of another’s suffering so that we cannot know whether and how bacteria, snails and flies suffer: every individual experiences its suffering directly. Nonetheless, the reaction of an earthworm which, after having been cut in two, continues on its way in separate halves, allows us to assume a far lesser capacity for pain than seen in the reaction of a horse being beaten. Suffering seems to have pervaded nature long before the emergence of humanity, and appears to increase with each development stage of living creatures. If we take suffering seriously, we touch that moment of evolution which throws the most doubt on any concept of meaning in evolution. The model of biology delineated by the scientific logos cannot even formulate the question of meaning. But the existence logos experience of suffering – within the sphere of non-human life, but particularly within the sphere of humanity – lends the question weight: why all of this? How can one ascribe meaning to a development that allows suffering and seems to increase suffering with the existence of every new living creature?

Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   123

From nature to human beings If we attempt to envision nature without suffering, yet with all its abundance of life, we meet with difficulties. For every form of perception, of sensitive receptiveness, is – as we learn from Aristotle – a certain suffering, one that can become pain if experienced in abundance. What would nature be if there were no perception within it? If, in the course of its evolution, no creature had ever opened its eyes and seen colour, opened its ears and heard sounds, registered smells and experienced its body in movement and at rest as the life of its self? In the forms of perception of the most varied living things nature begins, so to speak, to reveal itself, even beyond the borders of individual species – e.g. when the colours and scents of certain blossoms attract the insects which pollinate them. However playful and random the evolution of life may be in detail, evolution is inconceivable without the possibility of living things experiencing their life, and discovering that other things live and experience their life. In this regard we can hardly avoid ascribing the development of life an orientation in the direction of the possibility of experiencing life, without closing our eyes to the fact that this includes suffering. This logical step entails one more: can the evolution of life be viewed holistically as long as it lacks a creature in which life can regard itself, enquire after itself and recognise itself in ever-new forms? This would be a creature in whose perception life achieves a consciousness and the perception of itself; a creature in whose own creativity and suffering the creativity of nature and the potential for suffering of all creatures is replicated and expressed in a special way. May we not assume that life throughout its evolution was unconsciously waiting for such a creature in the same way that, before an eye existed, it was, as it were, waiting to be seen? In this case humanity would indeed be, as Novalis once put it, ‘the messiah of nature’.19 If, therefore, humanity were entrusted with the selfperception of life and the intensive reproduction of its creative power, it would also be entrusted in a special way (as empathy) with the suffering of all receptive living creatures – entrusted with the task of answering the scream or silent gaze of the suffering individual, not as something foreign, but as something we know from our own experience.20 Indeed, the wise men of all cultures and ages have concerned themselves with suffering in all of nature and the suffering of human beings, in particular those in the great world religions. Buddha’s teaching in the first of the ‘four noble truths’, that all life is suffering, is the principle motivation for the faithful to seek salvation from being bound to this sorrowful life. A thought from Paul’s letter to the Romans in the New Testament can stand for the Christian view:21 The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning

124   Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. The fact that human beings view their existence as a means of nature of recognising itself is a statement that probably very few people would apply to themselves. Indeed, this does not describe ‘normal’ people, but rather people in their highest facilities. The difficulty in viewing the existence of human beings in and with nature before the background of the previous reflections lies in the fact that a deep ambiguity seems innate to humankind. The very creature which, according to Novalis, has a messianic mission towards nature cannot escape the stipulation to be nature itself. Human beings are conceived, are born, live, suffer, rejoice, place descendants in the world, age and die. Our biological life, viewed by itself, takes place within the three tele of living things – equally unconsciously as that of all other living things. Human beings, however, do not blindly perform regulations of nature, although they are nonetheless subject to them. We are far more likely to find ourselves (in so far as we recognise ourselves as human beings) at a certain distance from all natural things – even from our own bodies which we can sometimes encounter as something foreign. This distance is a constituent of our being human: for distancing ourselves from our inevitable state of being subject to the regulations of nature is a condition for our perception and self-perception. Only a perceiving, self-determined creature can enter into a free relationship with nature, confront and face it in such a way that it can both formulate the question of what nature as nature is, and seek an answer to this question. It is part of the ambiguity of human beings that we, like all other living things, can live according to our first and second telos, completely ruthless towards the biocoenosis to which we belong. All other living things serve through their existence and, despite their ruthlessness, the development of their natural community; a form of moderation is given to them within their biocoenosis without them needing to know it. Human beings, however, must find moderation, a humane moderation in their dealings with nature, and voluntarily accept it.22 If we don’t, then the freedom that would allows us in our perception and our action to let nature come into itself can lead us to exploit nature without measure, and change it beyond recognition by means of our technology. The dealings of humankind with nature take place within the tension of determination in the sense of being subject to the three tele of living things on the one hand, and self-determination in the sense of a free choice of how to realise our three tele on the other. We will turn to the foundations of these in the following two chapters.

11 Human beings, our world and our needs

Viewed merely as living things, human beings can be regarded simply as one of the many results of the evolution of life. They can be viewed within the framework of the three tele, and placed within the structure of a biocoenosis as a species that uses other species as funds and serves other species as a fund themselves. As that living creature, however, which confronts non-human nature in order to essentially understand it, scientifically explain it, and technologically master and use it, a human being is not properly understood within the categories we use to describe non-human life. When comparing human beings with other living creatures, one of the first things we notice is that the development and behaviour of human individuals is far less predictable than the development of most individuals among animal and plant life. Thus we can characterise the development and typical behavioural patterns of a lion, in so far as it lives in freedom, fairly precisely, independent of the time in which it lives, neglecting for the most part its individual traits. Human behaviour, on the other hand, is very different according to the particularities of epoch, culture, place, and not least the range of variation in individual capabilities and character traits. If every living thing is, as biology teaches us, unique and novel, the human being is that creature in which uniqueness and novelty can reveal itself in a special way. It is possible for human beings to recognise as well as to create novelty, produce it in works and make it the product of deeds – be this in a good or bad sense. Whereas novelty in nature occurs – e.g. through mutation within the mechanisms of evolution – with human beings it is discovered and accomplished. Thus the characteristic of unpredictability chiefly belongs to the actions of human beings in so far as they are perceptive, producing and acting creatures. In the philosophical tradition, this difference between human beings and other living things has been described as follows: animals and plants are determined by their nature, whereas human beings are influenced by their biological nature, but are free in the sense that they can follow its influences or not. Human beings are not determined by anything foreign, they determine themselves. Thus their behaviour is generally unpredictable. Independent of the difficulties linked to such a statement, it clearly expresses a phenomenological circumstance. To a great extent, we know and can predict

126   Human beings, our world and our needs how animals behave, if we know their species-specific characteristics; the behaviour of human beings, however, remains to a certain extent unpredictable. Human behaviour is open in a way for which no parallels exist in nature. In our terminology we can say: every species of animal and plant life has a way and means of living out its three tele that we can define fairly precisely through sufficient research. In this sense it is also not difficult to infer typical individual behaviour from species-specific characteristics – in fact, even possible deviations are known as a type. In the case of human beings such inference is far more problematic. It is not possible to either cite species-specific characteristics in the same way as with other living things, or, even if they were known, to make any sure statements about a concrete individual without having met the individual in person or collected information about him or her. Every new human being is a new beginning, or at least the possibility of a new beginning. One can at most cite general behavioural patterns which, however, don’t hold for the whole of humanity, but only for a certain culture, epoch or area.1 In regard to an individual, we can at best form expectations as to what extent these patterns will be adhered to or not. Even a human being we know well, and with whom we can form reasonable expectations concerning his or her behaviour, can suddenly act in a completely new and unexpected way. In concrete terms this means that for human beings we generally cannot cite a specific manner in which the three tele will be realised. Such realisations are more likely to be very different according to the culture, epoch, living area and individual development involved.

From the nomos of a biocoenosis to the nomos of the human economy Within the framework of our questioning, the special position of human beings within the course of evolution reveals itself in our treatment of our foundations of life, our funds. Hunting and gathering cultures are able to fit into the order of biocoenoses without coming into conflict with them. That the possibility of such a conflict exists even on the level of such cultures, however, can be seen indirectly in that some of these cultures display a highly developed consciousness for the fact that they live in a common house with other living things. Their myths emphasise that their nomos, the way they divide up their living space and distribute their foundations of life, must correspond to their logos, the inner order of their house. This correspondence is not to be taken for granted. Jensen2 gives the following example: The reindeer hunters of the Naskapi tribe in Labrador have the concept of a divine Master of the reindeer. He, however, has human shape, white skin, and wears black clothing. In a big cave-house live thousands of reindeer in an inclosure into which the ‘White Master’ allows no one to enter. The conjurer of a group of hunters asks the Master of the caribou for prey. The rules of the hunt which are given to him must be followed exactly. The Master of the reindeer grants the hunters only a specified number of animals

Human beings, our world and our needs   127 as prey. Beyond that number, all hunting is in vain. [. . .] Similar [instances] are found not only among many hunting peoples but also among more recent cultures all over the world. [. . .] The ‘Master of the animals’ is protector of all game. At the same time he leads it to the hunter and generally determines the relationship between hunter and prey, since without him there can be no successful hunt. The significance lies in the limited and measured taking of animals and the observance of many rules; their violation would transgress the religious ethos. These hunters know that the measure of their hunting is not something to be taken for granted. Contrary to the predator which, simply by being what it is, fits into the measure of its biocoenosis, the human hunter must be aware of such measures, and be willing to act accordingly. The religious ritual expresses respect but also bears witness to the temptation to use living funds without moderation, i.e. to overuse them in the long-term. A high technological standard of hunting weapons, together with a diminishing obligation of such rituals, can suffice to lead to living funds (i.e. a species) being decimated or even brought to extinction. As a rule, such tendencies intensify as soon as the human population within the biocoenosis increases sharply – something that can occur as soon as technology allows humans better access to other species, or to hinder other species (such as bacteria which cause illnesses) from using humans as funds. Humans multiplying and increasing their use of the living funds they need for self-preservation in their area means that there is a possibility of them destroying several living funds.3 But the destruction of funds need not necessarily lead to the end of the corresponding human service-recipients. Human beings have the capability of substituting certain funds with others to obtain the same or equivalent services. Even if funds no longer exist that seemed indispensable up to that point, societies can still appear sustainable as long as they are able to place their lives partially or primarily on new foundations. In agrarian cultures, contrary to the cultures of hunters and gatherers, something fundamentally new occurs: human beings no longer fit into existing biocoenoses; they create their own. Certain funds exist inside an enclosed area of life, areas which are used for building, gardening, farming and livestock breeding: livestock and domestic animals are kept, useful and ornamental plants are cultivated, whereas other species which do not appear useful for humans are, as far as possible, kept at a distance. Spatially, the area of humans is delineated from non-subjugated nature by fences, hedges, walls or other features. Thus humans gain extensive, if not total, control over the living funds necessary for their survival. A separate world develops that is mostly reserved for human beings and the funds they use. However, this world must be continually tended to and preserved on a long-term basis. Otherwise it falls prey to non-human nature which, once having been shut out, often takes on a foreign and hostile character. In agrarian cultures we see for the first time a bisection: on the one hand, we have non-human nature on the outside – the wilderness which is left to itself in

128   Human beings, our world and our needs so far as it is not affected by hunting parties and a sometimes ruthless selective use of resources; on the other hand, we have the house of human beings – buildings, gardens, fields, pastures, traffic routes, etc. In this house, the nomos of human beings reigns. But this nomos is not defined by the measures of the biocoenosis, as in the case of the hunting societies described by Jensen (see pages 126–127), but must be established anew in the world created by people. Only here can the nomos become a legal order in which division and distribution solidifies to ownership of property, protected by law. The separation of the world of people and wilderness in agrarian cultures does not lead, however, to inflexible borders shutting out non-human nature – points of transition and permeable places do exist. Humans enter the wilderness to hunt, gather berries and herbs, or chop wood. Welcome guests like swallows, but also unwelcome thieves like crows and wild pigs, break into the human enclosure. Weeds threaten the seedlings, mice attack stores, swarms of locusts occasionally bring the hard work of people to naught. Nonetheless, it remains obvious that, surrounded by a diffuse environment, there is a shaped world – the world whose use human beings both share and dispute over. In agrarian cultures, people’s attention is directed chiefly towards their selfformed world, with the funds which are tended and cared for by them. What occurs outside of this area can escape their attention – even if people are responsible for it. Thus a sharp increase in the growth of the human population can, for example, lead to free-living animal species in the wild being made extinct, or forests being irreversibly cleared for firewood or construction timber. The environmental history of Germany since the early Middle Ages offers sufficient examples for this. Still, the world of humans in agrarian cultures has a lot in common with nonhuman nature. Their processes are nearly all linked to natural movements. The rotation of work and rest corresponds to the rotation of day and night; the rhythm of the seasons defines the course of sowing and harvesting; heat and cold, wet and dry, the experience of birth, sickness, death and the occurrence of natural catastrophes are constant challenges for people. All this reminds them that they are living things among other living things, dependent on a nature they themselves have not created. The measures of this nature bind them into the life and the suffering of all living things, and though their first and second telos may be more strongly accentuated than with other animals, the third telos can hardly be forgotten. The delineation between the wild and the formed world appears differently in modern industrial cultures. Even agrarian production occurs industrially here. In many of these countries, the wild exists only in the form of reservations, ones which must be protected against the ferocious growth of the area used by human beings. The rhythm of day and night is abolished in the worlds of both work and leisure; the changing of the seasons is only experienced in the distances between premises that are kept at an even temperature; the supply of food is basically the  same all year round. What appears ‘natural’ for the people in industrial societies (in the sense of being ‘taken for granted’) has little in common with the

Human beings, our world and our needs   129 frameworks of a biocoenosis. Unlike the agrarian world, the industrial world is not a world of sowing and harvesting, a world of tending and caring for natural processes, but rather a world whose artificial processes are instigated and managed by humans. Contrary to the agrarian world, the members of an industrial world are only coerced to accept the measures of nature to a very small degree – however, they are all the more forced to determine the measures of their world for themselves. But how are people to orientate themselves if the nomos of a world must be determined in which nature still exists, but is no longer present as a free area, not dominated by human beings?

Funds and stores in an industrial society Today, the industrial society is a global phenomenon – its nomos, the method of its partitioning and distribution, shapes (if with a different degree of force) the whole Earth, the house of all biocoenoses. In regard to non-human nature, however, this society finds itself confronted with problems on a global scale which other societies had at most to deal with on a local or regional level. We describe these problems under three headings: we are dealing with (1) huge fund-similar structures that people construct for their use; (2) a handling of stores from which huge amounts are extracted, although they are not renewed through the activity of funds, and (3) a handling of living funds that are treated as though they were stores. 1  For a long time now, people have been producing things and creating structures to serve themselves: the hunting weapons and the shelters or caves of a hunting society; the tools and buildings, markets or forms of power, temples and rituals of more highly developed agrarian societies. We denote these things and structures as artificial funds or quasi-funds. They are service-providers for people. They differ from the funds dealt with so far in that they neither provide services by themselves nor renew themselves (i.e. preserve themselves): they require resources (in particular energy), labour and care. The face of the world of human beings is today formed to a huge extent by artificial funds; natural funds only figure on its borders or for its decoration. The most conspicuous modern-day artificial funds – such as a skyscraper, an energy plant, a shopping market, a highway, or an international airport – possess the characteristic of not fitting in as a part of the biocoenosis they are set in. With these artificial funds, humankind sets its apparently autonomous world against every form of natural biocoenosis. For this very reason, natural biocoenoses, which appear as random environment, can be extensively destroyed through the construction of such artificial funds. The space for these living communities is viewed and treated as mere unstructured terrain. 2  Artificial funds (viewed globally) are, however, dependent on what nature provides. This is often used as a store. For example, the manufacturing of cans (from the mining of bauxite to the production of aluminium) directly requires a huge number of artificial funds such as a mineral mine, an aluminium factory

130   Human beings, our world and our needs and a cannery, as well as systems of electricity supply, transportation, insurance and financial markets. Furthermore, the services of the atmosphere and different waters are required as natural funds, and a massive extraction of both the store ‘bauxite’ must be undertaken, as well as of the stores of fossil energy sources necessary for energy production. People have been extracting from stores since the earliest times: in the Stone Age it was flints, in the Bronze Age copper, tin, silver and gold; in the Iron Age stores of iron ore were particularly important. Stores of sulphur, quicksilver, mineral oil and coal were also used very early on. These simple stores are fundamentally different from funds in nature. In a very comprehensive analysis, many of them can be traced back to the services of past or still continuing funds: hard coal, for instance, developed in ancient times from forests in the Carboniferous period (360–286 million years ago) which, after their death, sank and were crushed under enormous pressure. For our present times, however, the significant thing about important resources is that the provision of new stores through nature stands in no relationship to the extraction from the existing ones by people.4 For this reason the activity of funds in regard to the new formation of such exhaustible stores is negligible. This means that these stores can be – and often have been – depleted. Such a depletion of stores, ones which have formed over the course of millions of years, can take place within the space of centuries or decades when correspondingly vast amounts are extracted. 3  A further problem is the fact that living things, which could under different circumstances (different treatment) serve as funds, are treated as stores. When, for instance, over a long period of time more fish are extracted from the seas than new ones arrive; when primeval forests are burned off or more timber is felled in northern forests than can grow back; when more animals are shot in a herd of buffalo than are born – these living funds are reduced to a form of stock, treated like non-living stores. The possibility of such a stock acting as a living fund (in the sense of reproduction) is largely annulled. Whether a plant species or animal species (or a combination of species like a forest) is used by people as a fund or a store depends entirely on the behaviour of human beings, and thus on the decisions guiding their behaviour. What must be decided is whether a living fund will be used in moderation (i.e. under consideration of its rate of reproduction) or without moderation, i.e. above and beyond its rate of reproduction. Thus a specific problem for the nomos of a human economy arises. Whereas the measures for other living things in regard to their funds are mostly given (through their natural capabilities of usage, their reproduction rates and their own third telos, i.e. their usage by other species), human beings are able to massively increase their technological capabilities of exploiting other funds in biologically relatively short periods of time, while the number of human beings can simultaneously dramatically increase. For this reason only human beings are capable of treating certain funds without moderation, i.e. of degrading them to stores and destroying them. The condition for this is that both the first and second tele of the species ‘human being’ have increased enormously, while at

Human beings, our world and our needs   131 the same time the serving of other species has been largely repressed – for no species knows how to make humanity serviceable as a fund as humans are capable of doing with other species. This power that humanity possesses is derived not only from its science and technology. Above and beyond this, humans know how to motivate each other to provide services so that humanity itself is, in a special way, a fund for human beings. The sphere of the usage of such funds, regulated by politics and law, is the economy. What, however, is the measure for the nomos of humanity? Does it lie solely in our scientific and technological capabilities and in our economic possibilities? In order to clarify this question we turn to a topic which, ever since Plato and Aristotle, has been attributed crucial significance for the nomos of the house of humanity, i.e. the economy: the question of human needs.

The three layers within the structure of needs The physical layer of needs: the urge Like other living things, the human being requires certain things to live. A machine also requires certain things to function but, contrary to a machine, a living thing knows or senses itself what it requires – this is felt as an inner lack which must be remedied. The perception of such a lack is the basis of what is called ‘a need’. The needs of human beings differ from those of other living things in several aspects – so much so that the term ‘need’ in its comprehensive meaning should perhaps be reserved exclusively for human beings. In every need there is something that links human beings to animals: the urge. ‘Urge’ and ‘need’ do not, however, mean the same thing. The human being who blindly and uninhibitedly follows his or her urges, a person driven by urges, must be properly distinguished from the needy person, a person who lacks certain things to live – one who experiences need, and either satisfies it or not. An urge is not a need, but is, so to speak, a layer within every need.5 Phenomenologically, we all experience urges as a sometimes coercive feeling of being driven. This feeling is, in a manner of speaking, the flipside of the perception of a lack that belongs to a need. In certain situations it seems almost overwhelming, in other situations weaker and more assessable to rational thought. The person seeing a dress in a shop window, or sitting spell-bound before a television screen following a football match, experiences something of the particularity of urges. Wherever a sense of being driven can be felt, without it controlling us, we can transform an urge into a motivation for intentional action. It is not improbable that hormonal and neuronal processes build the basis for this, ones which invite analysis through the medium of the scientific logos. Attempts to make certain biological processes causally responsible for our striving to attain certain things or bring about certain situations are, however, rather problematic. Hormonal and neuronal processes build a foundation of which we can say that it is significant for our needs, but not how it influences individual needs.

132   Human beings, our world and our needs If the urge is that level of our needs which we share with animals, still the needs of human beings are by no means animalistic in nature. In the case of an animal, the inner drive and the outer action are generally one and the same. In the case of humans, most likely also in the case of some of the more highly developed animals, an interruption or breakage of this unity can occur. Most animals (and little children as well) seem so at one with themselves because we see no obvious break between inner urge and outer action – something that often makes us human beings seem broken within ourselves. The possibility of such a break belongs to the particularity of human needs. This is due to the fact that further layers belong to human need other than just the physical aspect. In the following we will call these layers the ‘imaginative layer’, or ‘layer of imagination’, and the ‘reflective layer’, or ‘layer of reflection’. The imaginative layer of needs: the image or the idea For an urge to become a need, two further processes must take place. The urge must (1) be turned into an image, a concrete idea of its satisfaction. In our terminology: it must be imagined. And (2) the urge and the idea of satisfaction must be made conscious. In our terminology: it must be reflected upon. Both processes probably occur simultaneously. We generally become conscious of a need as a need for something, and in our imagination this something is a concretely imagined thing, or an idea of a desired state. In the following we will make a terminological distinction between the layer in which needs are imagined and that in which they are reflected upon. The content of a need we have become conscious of is an image in the widest sense. This image develops in the imag-ination of human beings. From the viewpoint of their content, all needs are imagined needs. When we say that every need is ‘imagined’ in this sense, we do not mean that they are unreal, fictional or illusionary. We mean that every urge, every form of being driven, and every impetus must be formed into an image to appear as a need. Initially, this image is indeed merely ‘imagined’ for it describes an absent state, a state of satisfaction. This holds also for the dress one sees in the shop window, for the image of satisfaction is not the dress as it hangs in the window, but the dress as it would look on the wearer. The image that forms into a need is not an illusion, for the absent image can, if one satisfies the need, be translated into a present state. We define the layer in which needs are formed, i.e. formed into an image, as the imaginative layer of needs. Herewith the creative side of the formation process of human needs is addressed. But this can also be the source of many illusions. The actual satisfaction of the need often remains far behind the image of satisfaction which was formed in the imaginative layer. This layer is open to extensive manipulation – one need but think of advertising which, as well as providing the image of the product that is to be purchased, often provides images of situations that are generally regarded as happy ones. Thus a form of happiness is promised along with the purchase of the product that has little or nothing to do with the product itself.

Human beings, our world and our needs   133 Although the imaginative layer essentially belongs to all human needs, its significance can be very different in different societies. In static societies, the imagination, in so far as it leads to needs, is limited to a few well-known things and states. It is little more than the concrete form of elementary needs. In our society, on the other hand, the imaginative layer has taken on a new meaning: it continually directs our needs towards ever-new objects, generating ever-new needs. Immanuel Kant discovered the source of this formation process, one in which the imaginative layer of human needs largely emancipated itself, as represented as early as in the Bible story of the Fall. Here he saw an attempt by human beings to become ‘conscious of reason as an ability to go beyond those limits that bind all animals’. This ‘becoming conscious of reason’, however, occurred in such a way that reason increased the extent of human needs far beyond all natural urges: However, it is a characteristic of reason that it will with the aid of imagination cook up desires for things for which there is not only no natural urge, but even an urge to avoid; at the outset these desires go by the name of greediness [Lüsternheit], and from them arise a whole swarm of unnecessary, indeed unnatural, propensities that go by the name of voluptuousness [Üppigkeit].6 Kant sees two sides to the formation of human needs. On the one hand there is a creative aspect; he addresses this when he says that reason ‘cooks up desires’ with the help of the imagination, for here human beings become conscious of their creative power. On the other hand, reason, effectively used for the pursuit of ‘unnatural propensities’, does not place humankind above, but rather against, nature. According to Kant, it cannot, however, be the destiny of humankind to achieve a state in which there are no longer any ‘imaginary desires’.7 Let us now look more closely at the process of imagination through which needs pass. When an urge becomes a need, a finished fact is not simply reproduced. Thus even a natural need (such as the feeling of an empty stomach) is not simply represented as such, for in its original state it is, so to speak, imageless. Instead, it is generally formed into an appetite for a specific food. This formation process alters the urge all the more, the more diffuse the urge itself is. When, in the following, we compare some urge-like forms of need with the forms they assume in our imagination, we see at once that the diffuse perception of a need can pass through a shorter or longer phase before becoming an imagined state of satisfaction. • •

On the level of urges: desire for protection of the body from unpleasant weather conditions → the fashions of the clothing industry. On the level of urges: desire for movement → cars, aeroplanes, motorbikes, hang-gliding, sport.

134   Human beings, our world and our needs •

On the level of urges: desire for variety and novelty, ‘curiosity’ → newspapers, radio, television, stereo systems; in a sense this includes our ‘wanting to know’ and the immense increase in knowledge entailed.

In their imagination process, needs open up a sheer limitless space for the formation of ever-new forms of fulfilment. However, this limitless space requires some correlation in the outer concrete reality with all its limitations. Here the goods required for the specific new form of need satisfaction must be provided. Thus the imagination process of needs sets a dynamic of enormous proportions in motion, the end of which cannot be foreseen. The reflective layer of needs Only once there is an awareness of the urge and the image formed from it can the urge become the impetus for a specific action. We say: urge and image are mirrored in one’s consciousness; in other words: reflected. Human needs have the particularity that they always pass through the process of becoming conscious. In our terminology this means: they pass through the layer of reflection. Reflection means mirroring or diffraction, and both translations are appropriate for what we mean here. On their way to being realised, both the idea and the urge are ‘diffracted’ by reflection in so far as reflection inserts itself between the ‘driving image’, if one might call it that, and its being put blindly into action. Reflection ‘diffracts’ the urge on its way to realising the image. In his essay On the Puppet Theatre, Heinrich von Kleist makes reflection, in the sense of diffraction, responsible for humankind’s loss of our ‘natural grace’, the unity of urge and action. Whereas with animals urge and action are one, in the case of human beings this unity is broken as urge and action are reflected upon. Reflection allows one to consider whether, under which conditions, in which way, and to which measure, one wishes to fulfil individual needs. Such needs may appear directly, but they are not directly followed up and fulfilled, but rather fulfilled or not fulfilled after examination by reason. Thus, on the level of reflection, the processes of need formation can be interrupted; one can decide not to follow the need. In summary we can represent the process of need formation as follows: • • •

Emergence of a lack (diffuse feeling – instinct, undefined sense of being driven) – layer of urges. Imagination of a desired, non-existent state (through one’s power of imagination) – layer of imagination. Perception of the sense of being driven and of one’s imagination – layer of reflection.

It should be noted that these three moments need not necessarily occur in a specific temporal sequence. It would appear that (1) must lie before (2) and (3), but we know from experience that we are often only directed towards a need

Human beings, our world and our needs   135 through images: in these situations the image seems to provoke the urge. A dress in a shop window, a poster announcing a concert – these can be the starting point for the development of a need.

From the need to its satisfaction After having passed through these three layers, we have still by no means arrived at the satisfaction of the need. Only at this point do the critical dimensions of reason and will come into play. 1 2

3

The urge to achieve an imagined state finds inner confirmation through reflection. Thus the urge becomes desire and a concrete want. ‘Wanting’ requires, however, the faculty of reason for, contrary to an urge or a need on the level of imagination, ‘wanting’ includes the willingness and ability to employ means to satisfy the need. Considering the means necessary for this purpose is a task for the intellect. Deciding to acquire and employ such means to satisfy a need requires intellect and will coming together on a higher plane, where it must be examined to which extent the satisfaction of the need accords with a person’s self as far as he or she sees it in its entirety. Here those dimensions come into play that we shall discuss in Chapter 12 under the heading of ‘interest’. This level of decision deals with that intellectual sphere which is referred to in philosophy as ‘Reason’.8

The whole structure of human needs as presented thus far is, in a manner of speaking, the basis for will, intellect and reason, although it is not to be actually equated with will and reason. In this structure of needs, will and reason find their footing, although there must at the same time be constant friction and work. Manifestations of this structure can sometimes be in contradiction with will and reason, and sometimes in accordance with it. This structure is also not static; it can be influenced – at least within certain boundaries – by upbringing and habit.

The three groups of needs Elementary needs Both our needs themselves, as well as the ways in which they are satisfied, are of great significance for the way in which humanity defines the nomos of the Earth – in other words, for the regulations to which the House of all that Lives (which humanity views as its own) is subjugated. In order to better understand the nature of human needs and the corresponding questions, we differentiate between three headings under which needs can be viewed and collected into groups.9 These correspond to the three layers that every need passes through in so far as they emphasise the nature of the needs characterised by each particular layer.

136   Human beings, our world and our needs We differentiate between 1 2 3

elementary needs, imagined needs and the need for participation and recognition.

The elementary needs correspond to the physical layer, the layer of the urge. Here we are dealing with all those needs, the satisfaction of which (at least to a certain degree) is necessary for the survival of human beings, both as individuals and as a species. Elementary needs are primarily directed towards food, protection from heat and cold, as well as sexuality. From Aristotle to the important economists of the nineteenth century, the view was taken that elementary needs were the most significant ones for the nomos of the House of all that Lives as it corresponds to human beings. The economic life of a society should, in the first instance, be ordered in such a way that these needs can be satisfied on a long-term basis (today we would use the term ‘sustainability’). This should result in a principle for humanity’s dealing with nature. Thus around the mid-eighteenth century the important French economist François Quesnay10 (1694–1774) emphasised that the wealth of a country should be measured solely according to the productivity of its agriculture and the corresponding branches of production necessary for it. People who see their wealth in luxury goods, precious metals, magnificent buildings or the possibility of an extravagant lifestyle were for him ‘like children who, in a garden, place greater value on flower beds than on the plants and trees in the kitchen garden’.11 According to Quesney, it is only after the ‘kitchen garden’ has been taken care of, and the elementary needs have been provided for, that further means of addressing other classes of needs can be sought. Based on present-day experience, however, the metaphor of the garden can be interpreted in a way entirely opposed to Quesnay’s intentions. Is not the kitchen garden precisely that part of the garden which is the least attractive? Would it not suffice if only that section of the labour available to society necessary for satisfying our elementary needs be dedicated to this purpose? Though the contribution of agriculture in Germany to the gross national product of Germany today amounts to 0.9 per cent,12 our food situation seems far better now than it was at a time when agriculture represented far more than half of the national product. And does human life not only become interesting when it extends beyond the area of the kitchen garden? Economic history since Quesnay clearly shows that those dimensions which Quesnay disparagingly compares to flower beds in a garden, namely the dimensions of non-agricultural production and the service sector, have increased their share of the national product to an almost unbelievable degree. In his eyes, almost all of us today would seem ‘like children’.

Human beings, our world and our needs   137 The imagined needs A sharp criticism of the idea of a nomos that takes solely the elementary needs as its measure for the ordering of the world was formulated by the jurist and economist Schlosser (1739–1799).13 Schlosser criticises the supposition of ‘natural’ needs – namely the elementary ones – and ‘unnatural’ needs, namely all those that extend beyond the elementary. His counterargument is that ‘his [the human being’s] power of imagination and fantasy have created needs which lie entirely outside the ways of nature’ (Binswanger 1986: 21, our translation). With Schlosser we name this class of needs the ‘imagined needs’. In an economy orientating its production chiefly towards natural human need, little essentially new can occur. In contrast, Schlosser sees a dynamic inherent to modern European economies that stems from the interaction of needs and imagination. The imagination continually drafts, as it were, new images (imagines) of need satisfaction. At the same time, there emerge also creative people – artists, scientists, tradesmen, technicians and entrepreneurs – who manage to provide the corresponding concrete form to these images: namely the goods with which to satisfy imagination-directed needs. Thus a second world arises beside the world of elementary needs and their satisfaction (a world which originates from nature). This second world is that of imagined needs and their means of satisfaction through the sources of technology or art. But this second world is not completely separate from the first. Even in the world of imagined needs one cannot ignore the aspect of the elementary: that which we know as the ‘urge’. With his theory of imagined needs, Schlosser sees, not nature, but rather human creativity as the crucial factor in the development of an economy. The terminology with which he operates, ‘fantastic needs’, ‘needs of the fantasy’, ‘power of imagination’ or ‘imagination’,14 can all equally be used in the sphere of art, of aesthetic production. Indeed, the products of art are the purest expression of the power of imagination and human imagined needs. Schlosser is, however, less interested in art than in the dynamics of modern economic processes. He sees a particular side through which these dynamics fundamentally differ from all static economic systems that are orientated towards elementary needs. In such an economy, needs are not simply given, but are continually newly formed in acts of one’s fantasy, one’s power of imagination. Thus ever-new images of need satisfaction are also produced. However, this structure seeks some real counterpart if it is not to remain pure illusion. In the real world it also requires some form of creativity that can lead to ever-new means of new need satisfaction – or to new means for satisfying elementary needs that have been qualitatively or quantitatively augmented by a component of the imagination. To this must come a reason that provides for the ‘rational’ employment of these means so that the needs can be satisfied to the highest possible degree. It is inventors, engineers, entrepreneurs15 and labourers who provide the means for the satisfaction of imagined needs in ever-new forms. Viewed in this manner, it is the imagined needs that cause human beings to question every measure and every apparent limitation in regard to external nature

138   Human beings, our world and our needs in the same way as humanity recognises no natural internal limitation for the saturation of their needs. This lack of a measure results in the principal insatiability of imagined needs – as expressed in the so-called ‘assumption of non-satiation’ of economic sciences. Non-satiation states that human beings, no matter how much they have, always want to have more. Non-satiation16 is a concept that has succeeded an idea of Plato and Aristotle which they expressed in the term ‘pleonexia’. Pleonexia is the constant desire to have more than one does. This desire rationally seeks ways and means to continually acquire more. In the view of Aristotle, pleonexia is an attitude that has direct implications for an economy. From this follows that the principal objective of human beings is profit – profit in order to constantly acquire new goods. The need for participation and recognition Similar to the way the reflective layer interrupts the activities of the physical and imaginative layers, a further aspect exists which, on the one hand, accentuates a form of needs different from those mentioned so far, but on the other massively changes and redirects those needs we have already addressed. Human beings are, as Aristotle already emphasised, creatures that by disposition seek a place in a society of their peers. This disposition corresponds to our third aspect – the aspect which accentuates our need for participation and recognition. These needs are different from those mentioned so far. They may demand satisfaction with the force of an urge or be linked to a multitude of diverse images, but their particular characteristic is that they find their source in the relationship of human beings to a group or a society.17 Every human being has the aspiration to be acknowledged and respected, valued and praised by others. This aspiration can find expression in the fact that, through their actions, people strive to be worthy of respect, esteem and praise – something they would be, even if they were not to actually be given respect, estimation and praise. For some people, these needs extend even further: from the standpoint of the essence logos, they desire to live their life under the eyes of God, in the countenance of the origin of creation, and express their participation in his creation through every part of their existence. They seek recognition as it is not given by human beings, and see themselves as participants in a divine order not dependent on the inconsistency of human beings. On the other hand, the need for participation and recognition can be expressed by human beings becoming greedy for the respect and admiration of others, regardless of whether or not such respect and admiration are deserved. This last factor leads to people becoming accustomed to seeing themselves through the eyes of others, and their sense of self-esteem feeding entirely on the esteem of their peers. The purest expression of this class of needs includes the need for education, for participation in that knowledge which appears important to a community, as well as the need for activity profitable to the community, activity that earns the respect of the community. At the same time, however, needs of this type relate

Human beings, our world and our needs   139 back to those needs that have already been introduced under our other two headings. For the satisfaction of elementary and imagined needs is permeated with the desire to participate in the lives of others and be recognised by them. The way people dress and behave, the way they eat, the music they appreciate, the type of events they like to attend, the places they travel to, and the things they do on vacation – all these things are needs that stem from their own nature and fantasy, mixed with the desire to be affirmed by others in their so-being. It is often this desire that forms the basis for needs which, on the surface, seem to stem entirely from one’s inner self, one’s most personal motivations. In this context one speaks of the ‘awaking of needs’. The awaking of needs occurs in many everyday situations. Many people become smokers by being ‘encouraged’ in a group. In the case of children, such an assimilation of needs is particularly conspicuous. How often do we experience that children, seeing other children with a toy, a speaking puppet or an especially clever toy car, react with the cry, ‘I want that too!’? The family, a person’s association with friends, education, changing customs, new forms of piety, and so on are responsible for the awaking of needs. The media also play a special role: by operating with images, especially the moving images of television, the media create, so to speak, ‘pre-images’ of needs and their satisfaction. In this sense, people such as actors, sport stars, pop stars or members of royal families or the international jet-set often become ‘idols’.18 One should not be too quick to judge the structure of such need formation. While it can create peer pressure, it also contributes to a person’s socialisation. The importance of this process of socialisation becomes apparent when we keep in mind that one of the principal tasks of education from kindergarten to university consists of enabling people to live with others in a shared world. Reflection on the question of what form such a shared world must take in order that internal (see Chapter 6, pages 58–61) and external sustainability can be guaranteed, lead, however, necessarily to questions of valuation and judgement. In any case, the ways and means by which the need for participation and recognition are satisfied are of great importance for the form of the existence logoi of a society. Such needs are also important for our treatment of our natural foundations of life. For the apparent limitlessness of imagined needs often expresses nothing more than our striving to equal or exceed others. This need is often particularly pronounced in many young people who do not yet know themselves. People are often not happier when, instead of remaining in the surroundings of their place of habitation, they traverse the entire globe. But simply living alongside others who have done so gives rise to the desire to emulate them. If the renunciation of forms of consumption that lead to the over-exploitation of our natural foundations of life often seems difficult or almost impossible, this is seldom because we have to suppress our most elementary or innermost desires. But by sparing the environment and doing without the mobility offered by automobiles and aeroplanes, we would demonstrate that we are no longer like many of those around us, that we no longer properly belong to their world. But then we must ask ourselves: what actually is our world?

12 The three interests of humankind

Human beings do not derive the measure for their nomos, according to which they allocate living spaces among themselves or apportion the services of nature and their own labour, directly from their needs. Needs come and go; generally more than one surface in people’s consciousness at any one time, so that people must choose which they wish to satisfy first, and which they will postpone or even ignore. Ultimately, human beings can, by virtue of capacity for reflection, distance themselves – at least for a certain period of time – from almost all the needs they become aware of. Needs are a basis for the actions of humankind, but they never entirely determine what people do. Human beings prove themselves to be human beings in that they can make needs the object of reflection. Reflection, however, opens up alternatives; it shows that several possible solutions exist for the needs one experiences. A human being, choosing to act upon reflection, has the possibility (but also the onus) of choice between alternatives. Reflection that leads to a decision orients itself by a standard belonging to a different sphere other than that of needs, namely the sphere of rationality. We will discuss this standard for choice under the term ‘interest’. Interest is linked to need: it is the layer of reflection that enables us to subject needs to the viewpoint of interest, and which, in reverse, links the viewpoint of interest to the physical layer of human existence. Nonetheless, the physical layer and layer of the imagination, separated by reflection, appear to human beings only at a certain distance. As soon as human beings experience themselves in their humanity, they are already distanced from everything natural – including their own bodies, which can at times be encountered as something foreign. This distance is a constituent of being human. This is why human beings can postpone satisfaction, transfer it or even relinquish it. This ability to distance ourselves from almost everything directly affecting us is the source of many complex, partially conflicting possibilities of being human. Distancing ourselves enables us to obtain an overview (if a somewhat limited one) both of ourselves, as well as of whatever else currently exists. This overview extends even far beyond what exists in the external world: the imagination and (especially) our rationality, cause non-existent things to pass before our inner eye – as an image or a thought. Gaining distance enables human beings to  move beyond what they directly perceive within and without themselves.

The three interests of humankind   141 A human being can direct his or her attention and empathy towards other people and other things. The capability, the result of distancing oneself, of voluntary concern for something – be it one’s own life, the life of others or another living thing – is addressed by the term ‘interest’. The answers to the following questions are determined by interest: is it reasonable or functional to satisfy a particular need? How valid is one need in comparison to others? How compatible are the needs with certain images and ideas one has of oneself, one’s relationship to others, the world and one’s origin? How compatible are they with higher ethical concepts? Finally, interest also plays a role for the question: which path of need satisfaction is the appropriate one, and which means are to be chosen? All these questions demonstrate that the concept of interest, contrary to that of needs, is oriented towards longer periods of time. The interests we put into practice show who we are, or at least how we wish to represent ourselves to others and the world (and to what extent we are capable of doing so). Interests are, so to speak, points of orientation by which we measure how meaningfully we are dealing with external events and internal aspirations. Interests are perspectives from which human beings view their lives, society, the world and (in so far as they look beyond the world within the essence logos) their origins, and according to which they seek to shape their lives as far as possible. In a wider sense, interests can encompass everything that human beings participate in – though be it purely intellectually. In a more narrow sense, however, interests are those aspects that help determine human activity. For this reason, the logos linked interests is primarily the existence logos – despite the fact that, as is the case in a technological world, it can also be extensively permeated by structures belonging to the scientific logos. Interests can have different points of reference. They can refer to: • • •

the individual person, groups and communities, the entire world.

Accordingly, we differentiate three headings under which interests can be regarded from the viewpoint of a single human individual. The first is the viewpoint of one’s own person: self-interest; the second is the viewpoint of the community: the interest in the community; and the third is the viewpoint of the entire world: the interest in the entirety.

Self-interest Self-interest and the first telos The most natural form of interest appears to be the interest in the development of one’s own self: self-interest. Although it appears as the conscious form of human self-preservation and self-interest, it is not entirely congruent to the first telos (see Chapter 8, pages 89–92). An animal follows its first telos by largely

142   The three interests of humankind appearing to be one with its particular urge. An animal does not, however, have an interest in the development of its self – for this would mean that it weighs up alternative possibilities of self-development. It would be better to say: the animal is the development of its self. Apart from highly developed animals such as apes, elephants, dolphins and perhaps dogs and wolves etc., it therefore seems rather pointless to ascribe interests to animals. As the term ‘interest’ includes the possibility of distancing oneself from a state of being in the pure present and turning towards alternatives of actions beyond the present, it cannot be applied to animals as we experience them.1 Contrary to other living things, human beings place their first telos within the horizon of their interest. Thus it becomes self-interest. The term ‘self-interest’ is a generic term for all those interests of a human being that refer to the preservation and development of his or her own person. Different and even mutually contradictory aspirations can enter into the self-interest of a human being. Drives from the physical layer – hunger, sexuality, weariness – accompanied by wishes and illusions from the layer of the imagination are confronted within the horizon of self-interest with a certain image that humans create of themselves and their lives. Self-interest provides practical and effective answers to the questions: who am I in my individuality? Who do I wish to be as an individual human being in my delineation from other human beings? What is good for me in the light of who I wish to be? It is the answers to these questions that provide a measure for how human beings deal with their needs. In this it is, however, possible that a human being is sometimes or often entirely unable to act according to this image. Individual freedom and ‘rational utility maximisation’ Does every human being always know what is truly in his or her interest? Are not some, or many, or perhaps even most people often mistaken about what is good for them? Do we ever really know who we truly are? If we do not know this, then what value does the image we form of ourselves and seek to communicate to others have? These questions, which almost every unprejudiced person occasionally asks himself or herself, provoke counter-questions: according to which measure can one judge whether someone has defined their selfinterest aptly? Is, for that matter, anyone other than myself justified in identifying what my ‘true interests’ are, or should be? Throughout history, attempts have continually been made to force people into things ‘for their own good’. The powers that be – be they the representatives of a religious hierarchy or the functionaries of a unity party – like to view themselves as possessing the knowledge that tells what is good for people. Powers of this kind coerce all people within their sphere of influence to follow their ‘true’ self-interests as dictated to them, and whoever does not obey can be punished, even killed: these alleged true interests principally disregard individuality, the uniqueness of the particular person. On the basis of these considerations it is understandable that in Western liberal societies another way has been chosen. It is part of the foundations of these societies that every person be conceded the right to define and to pursue

The three interests of humankind   143 their self-interests according to their own discretion as long as these do not come into conflict with the self-interests of others. This implies: every person is assumed to have a standard for measuring what is beneficial to himself or herself, and what is not. Thus it becomes impossible to commit a person to a standard that he or she has not made their own. Thus humanity’s standard for the treating of each other and of nature must be developed out of the personal standard of individuals. Today, self-interests are understood as the personal interests of free people. The stipulation that human beings must be allowed to freely decide to make interests (which represent the standard for their lives) their own was articulated particularly during the time of the Enlightenment of the eighteenth century, and played an important role in the foundation of the United States of America and for the first French constitution after the revolution of 1789. Its principal content can be summarised as follows: every individual is to be granted freedom and self-determination. Every individual should be able to lead a life according to his or her own goals. In the sense of the American Declaration of Independence of 1776, every individual is granted the right of the pursuit of happiness. Today, this European–American idea of individual freedom is asserting its rights globally – if not always successfully – as is demonstrated in the struggle for human rights, for instance. Every interest that a human being makes his or her own can be viewed as a self-interest. In a more narrow and more common sense, however, the term ‘selfinterest’ comprises all those interests of a human being that refer to one’s own person. Everybody experiences themselves directly within the boundaries of their own body; they individually experience joy and pain; they know that everyone will die a personal death, and thus every human being is, as a person, something distinct and unique in regard to everything else. In its uniqueness the individual person cannot be represented by anyone else. However, linked to this uniqueness are aspirations and interests through which every human being wishes to preserve and develop himself or herself as an independent, autonomously existing unit. Self-interest in this sense is familiar to all of us in our everyday experience. The economic–scientific concept of self-interest is derived from human selfinterest, interpreted in this sense. This concept, however, determined by the strictures of the scientific logos, is a reduction of the interest in one’s own person. The human being is reduced to the figure of the ‘egoistic, rational utility maximiser’.2 This means: self-interest is understood in modern economic theory egoistically or, more precisely, egocentrically as the rational pursuit of the goal of the maximum need satisfaction of an individual. Modern economic sciences often stipulate granting the alleged egoistic nature of human beings the widest possible space. This stipulation is a result of the fact that, in mathematical models of economic processes (whose correspondence to reality is, however, a point of debate),3 it can be shown that, when rational egoists strive for maximum need satisfaction, this can, under certain circumstances, result in a state of the entire economy which can (from an economic perspective) be described as optimal.4

144   The three interests of humankind The fact that this form of optimality is not to be confused with what we normally regard as happiness can be demonstrated by the following consideration: on the level of the existence logos, the idea of maximal need satisfaction is nothing foreign to us: non-satiation – that always wanting to have more (see Chapter 11, pages 137–138) continually tells us: ‘more, more – and if not of this, then of that!’ Indeed, it is conceivable that, driven by such an always-wantingmore, we manage to employ our means of need satisfaction in such a way that (under the given circumstances), we actually achieve a maximum of satisfaction. Yet this maximum is relative; from another perspective it is always too little. Furthermore, we not infrequently experience that such need satisfaction is followed by the stale feeling: ‘Actually, what I wanted was something completely different.’ And we know that this is still not ‘it’. Everything we attain shows us: here is not what you seek – at least after a short moment of believing to have found it. If this feeling comes often, the result is a fundamental dissatisfaction; our forms of life become unstable. However, those who finally realise that all the means of need satisfaction ultimately cannot provide satisfaction may become haunted by the fear that – in the end – all of life could turn out to be a state of dissatisfaction. Such a fear can turn into panic – one can feel driven to devise (aided by one’s imagination) ever more extreme or exotic means to end the cycle of dissatisfaction. Yet it is this very search for ever new means that keeps the cycle going; this search is even the impetus of the cycle – for it is precisely the craving for maximal satisfaction that is principally insatiable (as none of the already attained, relative maximums can be enough). If this fear becomes too great, a person might become incapable of experiencing satisfaction or fulfillment, and so can say with Faust: ‘Thus I reel from desire to fulfillment, and in fulfillment languish for desire.’5 As ever new things are required to sustain this structure, the fear and craving drives this cycle into dimensions of the illimitable. This is one of the sources of the momentum of the dynamics of our society which in Chapter 7 we called the ‘Faustian dynamics’. The nomos resulting from this structure grants space to other people under the weight of the severity of the law, but not to nature, which has no law of its own to protect it. Nature is nothing more than a form of store for the self-service of human beings, futilely pursuing the goal of maximal need satisfaction. Thus the economic concept of self-interest in the sense of egoistic, rational utility maximisation is certainly appropriate for one side of our humanity. If, however, the human being were nothing more than this one side, our lives would be little more than the agony of choice: greed and agitation on the one side, exhaustion and listlessness on the other. From self-interest to an interest in community Even an egoistic person needs other people in order to successfully pursue his or her interests. This is expressed within the sphere of the economy: the area within which people lay claim to the services of other people by providing their own services for the use of others. The exchange, the basic form of all market

The three interests of humankind   145 relationships, is the particular way in which people extract the services required by themselves from the huge fund of humanity. Before people exchange, however, they must have distinguished between different spheres of interest and mutually recognised the established borders: here the concept of private property emerges, the condition for the possibility of exchange. For this a legal system must be implemented; laws must hold without their being subjected to the egoism of one individual. So even a society of egoists requires that human beings serve one another, and that areas exist in which the egoism of the individual does not have the last word. For spheres like the sphere of law to be established and preserved on a long-term basis, however, interpersonal communication is required – communication that cannot be characterised by egoistic self-interests seeking to take advantage of others. In the context of the implementation of a legal system in a previously lawless situation, the dilemma of a purely egoistic, self-oriented self-interest lies in the fact that it must set itself aside (in some circumstances for a long period of time), in order for a state of law to emerge in which someone can pursue their goals without hindrance. The relevant period of time can be so long that the bearer of the interest may die before it ends. For a rational egoist it would therefore be best if everyone else were to engage themselves in the establishment of a system of communication and law – the result being, if everyone were to think alike, that no form of communication would occur.6 In reality, there is no necessity to derive those interests of human beings relating to the society from their egoistic strivings (a certain exception is that narrow view of the scientific logos as it appears in the so-called ‘rational choice theories’ to which extensive parts of economics can be included). As Adam Smith also recognised, ‘being human’ includes having an interest in community, an interest which is no less elemental than the interest in one’s own person.7

The interest in community The interest in community and the second telos of living things As was the case with the first telos, self-reproduction and self-renewal are not goals that living things have, but rather ones that they are through their activities – even human reproduction is often not a goal human beings have, but one that they realise by being sexual creatures. When, on the other hand, the second telos becomes an interest by way of reflection, reproduction can be either consciously prevented or intentionally induced (thanks to advances in modern medicine). In the latter case, a human being makes the second telos the content of an interest; in the first he or she expressly rejects it on the basis of an interest. However, an intensified interest in either reproduction or its prevention, although related to the second telos of living things, is often more a variant of self-interest than the human version of the second telos. Although the second telos is the biological basis of human society, the interest in community is far more than a simple representation of the second telos through reflection. For this

146   The three interests of humankind interest characterises human beings in a way for which few parallels exist in non-human nature. A human being is not only an independent individual, but to an equal extent (if not originally) a creature that is dependent on other creatures; a creature that could hardly survive for a large part of its life without the attention and care of other human beings.8 The whole ‘becoming human’ of a human being (if successful) never occurs entirely outside the relationship to other human beings. On the one hand, a human being experiences himself or herself directly and initially within the borders of his or her own body. But what a human being in its earliest infancy first sees as a whole, integral person is not itself, but another human being – usually the mother. Generally, we only see the whole of ourselves (and even then not completely) in a mirror – reflected in a foreign medium. But even the inner picture of our own person we see as if in a mirror. From earliest infancy onwards, we see ourselves as we think we appear in the eyes of others: ‘An eye cannot see itself,’ says an old Buddhist wisdom. We encounter many disguised aspects of ourselves only when we try to see ourselves as others do. On the other hand, in our consideration of imagined others, we sometimes lose all sense of ourselves. In any case, it could be said: our image of ourselves as it guides our self-interest always contains the view of others. And because it is difficult to develop a sense of self-worth without the recognition of those we live with, a dimension pointing beyond our own person is already within what we have defined as our personal self-interest. The need to participate in and be recognised by a world shared by all members of a society places human beings within the horizon of the second telos. Within these needs for participation and recognition, the self-development (the first telos) of human beings drives them beyond a self-interest fixed solely on the own person, towards an interest in some form of community. In one of its most original forms, this community is the family (in this form, the second telos of human beings is most closely related to that of other living things). A circle of friends, a gang, a firm, a party, a sports club, a religious community, the state, or even the whole of humanity – all these are equally communities to which human interest extends. Those interests that relate to participation in a community are forms of the interest in community. Such interests represent the manner in which human beings realise their second telos in their human way. Human self-reproduction and self-renewal does not consist solely of natural reproduction. For human beings, the passing on of life is the performance and passing on of what constitutes ‘being human’. This includes the exercising and passing on of capabilities that allow human beings to be communal – in the philosophical tradition this is known as ‘virtues’; these include the reception and further development of proven forms of life – traditionally, one speaks of manners and customs. This also includes the expansion and passing on of technical, practical and theoretical knowledge, as well as the practice and passing on of art, wisdom and religion.9 These interests in the community extend to the whole of social life in all of its different cultural forms. In particular, almost everything that is part of education is only possible within the framework of an interest in community. Since it is only education that makes the

The three interests of humankind   147 development of a reasonable self-interest possible, the interest in community is a prerequisite for any such self-interest. The interest in community reveals an aspect, which in self-interest is concealed: the aspect of service. Whoever actively serves the development of a community, disregards (if he or she acts rightly) all those private needs that are not in harmony with the community. Interest in community is realised in a form of selflessness. This can be observed in team-rowing, choral or orchestra music, and group dancing. The same is true whenever tasks and positions involving responsibility are taken up (for example in a firm or the government). Serving something other than one’s own person is experienced by many people as an essential form of self-development. Conversely, not being needed by others, although one might have a great deal to offer them, is experienced as humiliating. As a result, many people think: ‘If others can’t use me, then I’m also worthless to myself.’10 However, not every case of selfless service within a community is praiseworthy – in fact, in many cases it is not even to be condoned. A properly understood interest in community requires a critical examination of the quality of the community in question: thus National Socialism instigated the cult of the so-called ‘national community’, declaring selflessness and dedication to this national community as the highest virtues. Selfless service within groupings such as the community propagated by National Socialism is often reprehensible to the highest degree. This example shows how necessary the capability of developing an individual self-interest is for the education of humanity. A sensible interest in the community demands voluntary and conscious service within the community by self-confident individuals, not the dulled sacrifice of a perhaps not yet properly developed personality. The interest in the state Two forms of interest in the community are of particular significance: the interest in the state and the interest in the whole of humanity. We differentiate the state from other communities for several reasons: 1

2

Today, it is almost impossible for a person not to be a member of a state. In the case of most other communities one can choose whether or not one wishes to belong. One can join a sporting club and leave it again. If one relinquishes membership in a state, one must at the same time become a citizen of another state, or comes into the highly problematic situation of statelessness. The rules of a state have a different form of obligation for its citizens than the statutes of a club or association do for its members. The worst consequences of violating an association’s statutes consist of being expelled and eventually losing one’s invested money. The consequences of violating regulations laid down by the state extend to a prison sentence of many years; in many states the result could even be death.

148   The three interests of humankind 3

4

The state is that space in which interests principally gain an obligating legal or political form, making them effective in society. In a state governed by the democratic rule of law, a will can develop that is sustained by the majority of its citizens. On this basis such a will can attain the power of law. This last aspect has special significance. The interest in the preservation and the development of the biocoenosis Earth does extend beyond the interest in the state, but it must be taken into consideration that such an interest remains a purely private affair if it is not given a political form in public. If the state is the space in which interests can become a will that is binding for all, it is only from this space that a nomos concerning nature can be fixed in binding rules. Strictly speaking, the state is the only institution that makes it possible to commit a community on a long-term basis to an interest in ecology with all the consequences this entails. The framework of the state is equally indispensable for those who criticise the ecological policies of current states. If they relinquish this framework, then their criticism becomes either impotent or destructive.

During the twentieth century, attempts to raise obligations of national state institutions to the level of supranational obligations have multiplied. One need but think of the League of Nations after the First World War and its successor, the United Nations, or the World Bank and the environmental conferences in Rio or Kyoto. Such attempts are of the greatest significance in the light of the global nature of environmental problems. The interest in humanity, ethics and the idea of sustainability ‘The dignity of a human being is inviolate.’ The constitution of the Federal Republic of Germany begins with this sentence. The subsequent articles contain what is known as the fundamental rights – rights every human being possesses, solely for the reason that he or she is a human being. From the existence of ‘human rights’, of which many are globally acknowledged (at least in theory), flow obligations that are addressed to both states and individuals: when dealing with human individuals, all other individuals, but also and especially the state, must refrain from all actions that would hinder or make impossible the exercise of these rights. In the idea of human rights all of humanity is envisaged as one community – a community in which all other members mutually respect each other’s rights. This by no means requires that all members of the community like each other – they need not even know each other – yet there is a particular interest in one another they must display: they must intercede for one another wherever they perceive a threat to human rights. If they fail to do this, it is only a question of time until the validity of human rights fails worldwide. A precondition of the concept all humans possessing certain rights is the idea of a humanity in which every human being has a part. Such an idea is by no means a matter of course. In ancient Greece at the time of Aristotle (fourth-­ century bc) no concept of ‘humanity’ in the sense of bearers of inviolate dignity

The three interests of humankind   149 existed – there were only Greeks and barbarians. Greek entitlements did not necessarily extend to barbarians. In the eyes of the Greeks, many barbarians were destined by nature to be slaves. Greeks, on the other hand, were by nature free citizens. In this respect the Greeks moved within customs of thought, of which remnants can still today be observed in many people: in most communities it is customary to feel and think in term of a contrast between ‘Us’ and ‘Them’. It is this very contrast that allows a communal spirit to develop, that lends both support to the individual members as well as stability to the community as a whole. The price, however, is a devaluation or even contempt of the others, simply because they are ‘different’, because they don’t belong to ‘Us’. Communities are in this sense narrow-minded; they can adopt an aggressive and vicious character according to how they treat ‘the others’ who are not ‘like us’. This interest in humanity lies at the foundations of all the great ethical designs of the previous centuries. Thus Kant formulated the following categorical (i.e. absolute and without exception) imperative: ‘Act so that you treat humanity, whether in our own person or in that of another, always as an end and never as a means only.’11 This demands relinquishing the separation between ‘Us’ and ‘Them’. From the perspective of humanity, all others are no longer others, but included in ‘we humans’. One particular significance of the interest in humanity for environmental education lies in the fact that, as Hans Jonas (1979) demonstrated, no concept of environmental education can be formulated without including an interest in the long-term survival of humanity. Accordingly, Jonas formulates the following categorical imperative: ‘Act in such a way that the consequences of your actions are compatible with the permanence of true human life on Earth.’ In other words, this interest includes the dimension of sustainability. The struggle for human rights and the commitment to a sustainable economy are two inseparable sides of an interest in humanity. Justice and sustainability would be the two criteria by which the measure for the nomos of the House of all that Lives in the sense of all humanity must be established. It is, however, a difficult task (one which can only be mentioned within the framework of this analysis) to concretise the contents of the two terms ‘justice’ and ‘sustainability’ to such an extent that concrete political recommendations could follow from them.12

The interest in the whole The interest in the whole and the idea of sustainability It is evident that living things generally do not have the goal of serving other living things. Nonetheless, this third telos is also part of their being. This is equally true for humans in that they, too, are living things: as natural funds, human beings provide services to the Earth as the sum of all biocoenoses. The human body is the living space of multiple micro-organisms which, symbiotically or parasitically, find their foundations of life here. Human respiration is part of the cycle of oxygen and carbon dioxide, which encompasses all of life.

150   The three interests of humankind Even human excretion enters the processes of non-human nature wherever it directly enter into the environment. In its truest sense, however, human beings do not perform their third telos through their natural being, but rather provide services as cultural creatures, as founders and shapers of their own world within the framework of self-interest and the interest in the community. However, the consequences of this worldfounding and -shaping do have the greatest effect on non-human nature as well. What kind of services are these? If we look back at primarily agrarian epochs, we see that humankind has created artificial landscapes with meadows, fields, irrigation plants, terraced slopes and mountainsides, hedges, strips of bush and woodland, gardens, buildings, streets and walking paths. It is to human activity that we owe living spaces such as the Lüneburg Heath or the secondary forests of the low and high mountain ranges in Europe. Humankind has bred new species of animals, and further developed older ones. Furthermore, humans have taken many plants and animals to places where they never would have reached on their own. So the conditions in biocoenoses have often been fundamentally changed. Free-living species have found new habitats within the cultivated areas of human beings – be this as invited guests (like the swallows in many parts of Europe), or as disreputable pests and vermin (like mice or cockroaches). Although in the course of these processes original habitats such as forests or savannas were destroyed, and species driven out or completed eradicated, new possibilities of life also developed at the same time. In this manner the diversity of animal and plant species in agrarian Germany of the eighteenth century was greater than ever before. Today, however, it is difficult to shake the impression that (in regard to nature on the whole) the scientific-technological-economic world of humanity represents a giant fund of disservices for many non-human life forms, and in certain respects even for humans themselves. The human being is the only creature that can behave in such a way that its actions are not in harmony with the biocoenosis in which it lives: during the lifespan of human beings, the third telos is not an inescapable fate for them, even if they cannot escape suffering, sickness and, ultimately, death. As a perceptive, selfdetermined creature, a human being can enter into a free relationship with nature. Humans have the possibility of using their gifts to serve the life they find there. As Albert Schweitzer put it: to show reverence for life in attitude and action. Reverence for life requires freedom from the determinations of nature, for in non-human nature one can find few, if any, indications that living things encounter the life of other living things with reverence.13 On the other hand, the perception of nature and the freedom to creatively reshape it also enable human beings to treat nature, once it is subject to them, without any respect for all things that be and live as mere material for their needs and interests. Such a disregard for nature is not only expressed in a nomos based on private self-interest or the interests of particular separate communities – even a nomos which aims for sustainability can fail to correspond to nature as the comprehensive House of all that Lives. For even in the centre of the idea of sustainability there is an anthropocentric (see Chapter 3) interest referring solely to humankind. Nature itself appears only

The three interests of humankind   151 in so far as it serves this interest. This in turn has implications for the nomos of a sustainable human world. If, for example, huge expanses of Germany were to be covered with wind turbines, or previously untouched valleys and glaciers in Switzerland were to be turned into giant catchments, both in the interests of creating energy, this could be in accordance with such a nomos. In the same way one could approve of enormous genetic modifications to animals and plants in so far as it were assured that this would improve the food provision and health of future generations. In such a nomos, nature would be regarded ‘[. . .] primarily as an input-provider, and thus the ecosystem [. . .] as a subsection of the economy’.14 Such a nomos would remain within the framework of what we called the project of the English philosopher Bacon in Chapter 7. This does not speak against the nomos of sustainability, but does demonstrate that it lacks an essential dimension. The space of the interest in the whole It is not easy to say what precisely an interest in the whole is to mean. If it were an interest for the whole, then this would mean that the bearer of this interest would not himself belong to the whole. If, however, the interest in the whole is to be formulated by a creature which is itself part of the whole, one can ask: is this interest identical to the interest of the whole itself? If we answer this question in the affirmative, we seem to be designing a somewhat arrogant image of humankind: as human beings, do we know, can we know, what the whole that we belong to is? How can we know what the interest of the whole, to which human beings belong, is? What should the whole be interested in apart from itself? How is it to differentiate within itself? Where are the limits of its interest? Or is not humanity, after all, that is called upon (with all the possibilities of error) to define the interest in the whole? For the nomos of humanity, the fact that humankind as a population is part of the biocoenosis Earth is relevant. If we limit what we regard as ‘the whole’ to this biocoenosis, we can say: from the viewpoint of the interest in the whole, the nomos of the Earth and the nomos of humanity should be one. However, this unity, is (ever since human beings have stepped out of an unconscious state of being in regard to the third telos of living things) no longer a ‘natural’ given. On  the contrary, such unity must be in part discovered, in part invented. This discovering and inventing cannot be achieved by either the scientific or the existence logos, although both can contribute. It leads human beings into the dimension of the essence logos – with all its associated problems. Just as the  third telos of living things cannot simply be placed in sequence with the first  and second teloi, the interest in the whole cannot be viewed simply as the  next step in the progression that led from self-interest to an interest in the community. Despite such difficulties, some indications can be made as to how an interest in the whole can be meaningfully understood in such a way that it becomes significant for the nomos of the whole Earth.15 Here it must be taken into consideration that human beings are a part of life that can only provide services

152   The three interests of humankind within nature and for nature in their own particular way. A concept one occasionally encounters, namely that humans can best serve nature by removing themselves entirely from it, therefore makes no sense. Human beings cannot serve the biocoenosis Earth in any other way than by being wholly human. If the human pursuit of happiness is in some way at work in all forms of interest, then this must be equally true for the interest in the whole – perhaps even especially so: for whatever is ‘whole’ lacks nothing; whatever is not whole (is incomplete, divided, isolated, mutilated, injured, broken) lacks something. Perhaps all human longings ultimately aim at being whole; i.e. being in a state where nothing is lacking. To be ‘wholly human’ means that all dimensions of being human, the body, the soul and the intellect, are integrated into a unity in the sense of accord, or harmony. Such harmony, if it is to be perfect, must not be limited to the bodysoul-intellect of a single individual, but must rather comprise all our fellow human beings, as well as our non-human fellow creatures. Much speaks against the notion that such a unity is possible in its perfect form in the span of life between birth and death: ideals of perfection seem to lead away from such unity rather than towards it. At best, as Plato points out in ‘The Seventh Letter’, it becomes suddenly real for a single moment in the flash of an experience that transcends the commonplace. Nonetheless, the idea of such a unity has meaning for the lifespan between birth and death. If being human represents an openness for all that lives – indeed, all that is – then being ‘wholly human’ means transcending all dimensions that exclude and separate, including those of one’s own person, those of specific communities and even those of the whole of humanity (in so far as nature is excluded). An interest in the whole, which is appropriate to the essence of the human being, initially shows itself in the transcending of all that is not whole. Accordingly, John of the Cross (Juan de la Cruz, 1542–1591), one of the great Christian mystics, writes in his book Ascent of Mount Carmel: If you cling to anything, you refrain from casting yourself into the whole. For to come wholly to the whole, you must let go of yourself completely. And when you reach the point of holding the whole, then hold it without desires.16 For John of the Cross, a properly understood interest in the whole is a continual process of opening oneself up and of letting go. It is expressed when human beings do not cling to their own needs and interests, nor allow themselves to be directed by the particular demands of their community, but rather develop their listening and hearing potential beyond all that seeks to lay claim to them. This potential to listen and hear gives its name to the highest human faculty of perception (in German): the German expression for reason, Vernunft, is derived from the verb vernehmen, which means ‘to listen’, ‘to hear’. Reason, understood as Vernunft in this way, can be conceived of as the organ of limitless hearing. What must be heard is the logos of the house, the oikos, whose inhabitants we

The three interests of humankind   153 human beings are – along with all else that lives. The particular reason why we pursued the question of such a logos so extensively over several chapters was this: in the search for this logos, the interest in the whole is expressed in its truest manner. Whoever hears the voice of nature in this logos recognises in it a ‘you’, a counterpart to the human being, engaged with us in a constant dialogue. Novalis writes: ‘Does the cliff not become a unique [You], whenever I speak to it? And what am I but the stream, when I look sadly down into its waters and lose myself in its flow?’17 This logos, which precedes all humanity, and yet is secretly and perhaps even most especially expressed in all humanity, seems (in a way that is difficult to grasp) open and disguised at the same time. It is open in every moment as long as we are able to open ourselves to the nature around and within us. It can be felt in every breath – our breathing, which bears us along before we become conscious of it, precedes all forms of interest; indeed, we hardly ever become conscious of it as a need at all. Our breathing is a pure expression of the first telos – but in a form that simultaneously links us to all breathing creatures as a third telos – even with the clouds and the wind as they represent the breathing of the Earth, and particularly with the green plants that integrate the air human beings exhale into their cycle. Yet the nature that surrounds us, the natural community of the Earth, nourished as it is by sun, air and water, accompanied by the moon, planets and stars – nature, which sustains us before we become conscious of it – only opens itself to us with difficulty and after much practice. For the language of nature, its logos, is far too heavily drowned out by the clamour of human activity. And so the poet Friedrich Hölderlin (1770–1842) writes in his poem ‘The Archipelago’: But alas this race of ours inhabits the night, it lives In an Orcus, godless, every man nailed Alone to his own affairs, in the din of work Hearing only himself, in a crazy labour With violent hands, unresisting, pitiable, and all Their trying, like that of the Furies, brings nothing forth.18 When people, caught up in their self-interest, are ‘nailed to their own affairs’, their apprehending ear, the gift that allows us to be addressed by others, withers. Someone who, as Hölderlin puts it, ‘hears only himself’, ‘inhabits the night’ and ‘lives’ in a world of artificial funds created for his benefit as if in a realm of shadows – something similar to the term ‘Orcus’ (the Roman realm of the dead). When we become earnestly interested in the whole, we must first recognise that we are separated from it by a multitude of barriers. Its logos cannot reach us because we find ourselves, as Hölderlin puts it, in ‘a din of work’. This expression addresses the almost baffling network of the many intertwined structures we have erected as artificial funds, as service-providers for human needs. If we wish to listen to what is on the other side of these, we must first admit that they have made us almost deaf. When we become quiet, they initially only cast the echo of innumerable human interests and needs. These needs and interests are, however,

154   The three interests of humankind perhaps not truly our own. When we take a closer look at the network of all human artificial funds within the freedom an interest in the whole, we recognise that all artificial funds of the present are nothing but the precipitation of past needs and interests. Factories, supermarkets, brown coal mines, power stations, roads, airports, cars, aeroplanes, schools, administration offices and courts of law – all these things as they are presently before our eyes are a condensation of the interests of people who have gone before us. Some of these interests were current shortly before our time, but others are the interests of people living decades and centuries ago. In the light of self-interest, we look at these structures only from the perspective of whether they are useful or harmful for us. In the light of an interest in the community, we ask how they serve the community. In the light of an interest in the whole, however, we see them simply as they are in our lives, and in how they define essential contours of our lives. The first thing we notice is to what extent the consequences of past interests define the present: what was built up or constructed long ago largely defines and delimits the space of the interests of today.19 The way this space is configured today, it allows no other nomos than that of humanity, for it is permeated by next to nothing of the logos of natural biocoenoses. This space can only be changed in the future – in some cases after a short, but more often after a long period of time. However, instead of opening it up, we leave future people with new such structures, generally ones that are even more complex than the ones before them. Such structures in turn limit human freedom to form and pursue new interests. They do not simply form a static part of our lives, but also absorb a large part of our energy. Artificial funds exist and provide services only as long as they are operated by human beings – that is to say, kept running, cared for and renewed. In addition, the further we progress, the more they begin to demand our services for reason of the environmental damage they cause, the pollutants they deposit, and the raw materials they deplete. As such damage is often of a long-term nature, our concerns are extended ever further into the future. The more complex the network of artificial funds becomes, the more these funds themselves, as well as the effects they cause, place demands on those who operate them. The richer we are in such funds, the more concern they cause us. For this reason we can say: human beings tend to be too busy with the world they themselves have created for anything to be heard that might be speaking to them from beyond that world. Within the framework of an interest in the whole understood in this manner, environmental education has two tasks: 1

To call people’s attention to all those structures – within both themselves and the world that surrounds them – that are hindering them from the perception of this interest. These structures do not consist merely of their own self-interest and their limited interests in the community, but equally of deposits from the past that still exist; i.e. they are stocks (see Chapter 8, pages 98–100).

The three interests of humankind   155 2

To introduce practices that can cause people to open themselves to the logos of the House of all that Lives.

Only once these two tasks (which we can do no more than identify here) have been tackled can we begin to seriously search for a concrete human nomos of a kind, which is appropriate for the House of all that Lives. The interest in the whole and the corresponding appropriate attitudes The interest in the whole is harder to grasp than the other two fundamental forms of human interest. This does not mean it is insignificant. Where it affects people, it does not do so by directly guiding their actions in a specific direction. But it does have an effect on the attitudes that are the basis for action – for activity, in the context of an interest in the whole, loses some of that exclusively active element naturally associated with the term ‘to act’. The interest in the whole reveals that beneath every right action an essentially receptive aspect lies. Actions are made responsible by interest in the whole, in so far as this interest represents the response of humankind to the logos that exists before all forms of self-determination, Three attitudes in particular express human receptiveness in regard to nature: (1) attentiveness, (2) the willingness to freely serve, (3) gratitude. These three virtues, which express the activity of receptiveness (so to speak), generally do not receive their right in modern ethics; even Kant had no proper place for them in his philosophy of morals.20 1  Attentiveness teaches us to openly recognise and accept what we have received before having achieved anything on our own, and what we still continue to receive in every new moment. The air we breathe, the water we drink, the soil that produces our food, the living creatures that serve us by being consumed by us – all these things are the foundations not only for all of life, but also for the world of human beings, yet all these things cannot be produced by us in our world. Attentiveness requires the ability to distance ourselves from our own concerns – indeed, even to a certain extent from our own ethical concepts, in so far as these detract from the openness with which we approach nature. Although attentiveness is one of the original approaches of humankind to the world and to themselves, it is, however, not matter of course, a natural given. Under presentday conditions, attentiveness is an endangered attitude. Inattentiveness and sensation-lust make it all-but-impossible. Today, attentiveness cannot be assumed; it must be practised and nurtured. 2  Attentiveness also teaches us to see the way we are disfiguring the face of this world, thus showing us what our service could look like. In contrast to attentiveness, service towards nature expresses a certain attitude of care. On the one hand, such care is directed towards the preservation of free nature, untouched by human beings. Places where nature is still capable of its own development, such as the tropical rainforests, require protection from intrusions that do not respect

156   The three interests of humankind its own development capability. On the other hand, care is also about humans using nature in such a way that natural biocoenoses are allowed space for their own development. It has already been mentioned that cultivated landscapes in Germany during the eighteenth century displayed a far greater diversity of species than the original primary forests before their cultivation. Nature, shaped in this sense, sustainably cultivated, can express a harmony that can even seem superior to that of natural biocoenoses. Service towards nature has nothing to do with servility; on the contrary it is owed to the insight that humans are receiving beings as long as they live. As humans receive services from so many other living things, the latter may expect to receive of human gifts as well. Our service is a form of freely giving of our own power to form and shape, knowing that we, too, are beneficiaries. Our service demonstrates a free binding of our human selves to the foundation that sustains us. 3  Attentiveness and service are preparation for an attitude of gratitude. For far too long human beings have carelessly extracted whatever they thought they needed from nature as if from a store, without remembering that it was given to them. Our own nature, our physical bodies, have become so estranged from us that we attempt to subject the boundaries of our existence (procreation and death) to human control. Gratitude in its original sense means directing our attentive thought towards the source of what has been given to us, and lovingly accepting what is given. Gratitude towards nature is rooted in attentiveness towards the source of every possibility of life-shaping. Yet within gratitude, such attentiveness gains a specific quality, a trait of loving attention and feeling obligated, which goes beyond mere perception. In earlier times (in part also today), such gratitude was at the core of religious rituals: thankfulness for our received existence was and is celebrated in the community – e.g. in the Thanksgiving Day. Gratitude has been incorporated practically into many religions within a nomos that limited the use and the subjugation of nature – one need but think of the Sabbath year, recurring every seven years, in ancient Israel, during which farming of fields was prohibited. To rediscover such forms of gratitude and, where necessary, to find new ones (forms that give nature space, yet are simultaneously forms of human life that can influence the life of a community) seems to us to be one of the most important tasks of environmental education.

Final remark: the interest in the whole, power and powerlessness The fact that we have just attributed virtues to the interest in the whole, which seem primarily passive, tells us: the interest in the whole as such cannot become political, it cannot actively intervene in practical affairs. When it does become political, there is a danger of it becoming totalitarian: totalitarianism is a fractional, often limited and truncated concept of the whole of being, one that commissions people to fulfil it in historical missions – as was propagated, for example, in the ideologies of Marxism–Leninism or National Socialism.

The three interests of humankind   157 However, even the visions of an environmental state can become totalitarian.21 In the light of extreme shortages of resources (a threat likely to arise in regard to water in many parts of the world over the next decades, see Jöst, Niemes, Faber, Roth 2006), it is to be feared that governmental institutions will demand extensive powers to allow them to implement solutions, ones that could result in a restriction or even disregard of human rights. In such situations, it is particularly imperative to point out that the entirety, which concerns us both as human beings and living things, transcends the horizon of any political activity and that, conversely, political activity must come to terms with the fact that it is limited – and must recognise the limits it is set, the foremost of which are human rights. The interest in the whole, if it is to be a true interest in the whole, must remain inconspicuous and unassuming, almost silent. Thus it is, though not ineffectual, outwardly powerless. Individual aspects of this interest, if they are to become visibly and audibly effective, must become political, and enter the horizon of the interest in community. But in so doing, they must limit themselves, thereby relinquishing the entirety of the whole. However, the quietness of the interest in the whole and the willing acceptance of its powerlessness lend us the necessary patience and perseverance to surrender neither what is human in its humanity, nor our responsibility towards non-human nature, whenever – in the political sphere –our own strength fails in the face of its own frailty or the force of resistance.

Appendix Some remarks on the concepts of ‘environment’ and ‘environmental education’

Environment and world The term ‘environmental education’ does not enjoy the very best of reputations outside of those circles professionally involved with it. The difficulties with the expression begin with the etymological history of the word ‘environment’: ‘Only rabbits and their kind have an environment, humans live in a world’ – up to the 1960s, this is what was taught in German schools by teachers who were chiefly concerned with precise idiomatic correctness. Indeed, for a long time the expression ‘environment’ found its place mainly in biology: it was assumed that plant and animal life, unconscious and instinct-dominated, existed in their individual environments. Humans, however, were believed to have been allotted a unique role to play as the only beings that are ‘free from the environment’ and ‘open to the world’,1 as the philosopher Max Scheler (1874–1928) put it (our translation). Humans differ, according to Scheler, from all other living creatures in that they have part in the dimension of the mind. Recognising himself or herself as a cognitive being, a human being explores and shapes his or her surroundings. As the observer, interpreter and shaper of all he or she encounters, a human being places all this within the horizon of his or her experience and interpretation, thus transcending its mere physical presence. Forms of such an encounter are religion, art, science, politics, law, technology and economy, etc. At the same time, within these forms humankind interprets its own existence: ‘the world’ is for humans a horizon of encounters which are, beside perception, interpretation and transformation of what is encountered, always simultaneously a means of selfdiscovery and self-realisation. That which exists and is discovered only becomes part of our world in its encounter with observing, comprehending, interpreting and shaping humans. The encounter transforms that which is encountered. Only through humans does it become part of a world – the social, cultural or technical worlds, etc., with all their components are all human creations. In comparison to a ‘world’ conceived of in this manner, a mere ‘environment’ was always regarded as something lesser, even inferior, something not really worthy of humans in their humanity. The environment as the living space of animal and plant life is, as it seemed, something that simply exists. In this sense the environment proves to be, in contrast to the world, something given which,

Appendix   159 in spite of all conceivable structural and quantitative changes, remains accessible to mathematical calculations and measurements and can be described through empirical data. The living creature whose environment it is – that is to say, an animal or plant – is simply ‘inside’ its environment, bound up in its entirety as something that exists itself. For other creatures it is itself no more than mere environment and can be catalogued along with other data through calculation and measurement.2 The expression ‘metabolism’ has come into use for that essential part of what a living creature performs and executes in its environment. The term implicates that what it describes is in principle measurable and quantifiable. Living creatures and their living environment taken together are also measurable and quantifiable – as a biomass. Of course, humans also have a metabolism, but this plays the smallest part in that which appears to them human. They are part of a biomass, but it seems that as such they can hardly be addressed in their humanity. What does it mean, however, for human beings as human beings that they nevertheless ‘live in an environment’?

The environment in general and the environment of human beings The expression ‘environment’ is used in several different ways. A first differentiation must be made between (1) the environment in general terms and (2) the environment as the specific environment of humans. 1  An environment is generally the environment of one particular living creature, a particular population or a natural community. ‘Environment’ is comprehensible only in terms of relation: an environment exists only in reference to something or someone which it is the environment of.3 There is no such thing as ‘the environment’ but only the environment of a rabbit, the environment of a population of galahs or the biocoenesis of a forest, etc. Thus the environment would be nothing but a generic term for the environments of all possible living creatures.4 2  In specific terms, ‘environment’ in many prominent modern usages is not the environment of just any living creature or system, but specifically that of human beings. The expression ‘environment’ used in such a manner can also have several different meanings. Its first meaning can be that humans as living creatures are bound up within a biological environment with which they communicate by means of specific metabolite processes. By this we do not dispute the human characteristics of being ‘open to the world’ and capable of interpreting and shaping it. But the expression ‘the human environment’, in the sense that we use it here, is a reminder that the world, as humans interpret and shape it, is not their exclusive realm of existence. Concealed within the expression ‘environment’ is the reminder not to forget that human existence is not primarily derived from the rationality, interest or autonomy of the individual, but is founded in planes of life on which humanity does not substantially differ from animals and

160   Appendix plants.5 The environment of humans, formulated paradoxically, is the world before it became a world through the activities of human mind and human creativity and before humans became humans in it. Perhaps it is even the world how it will never really become a world for humans. What are we to understand by this? On the way to an answer, two other questions must be addressed: 1 2

What principally differentiates the environment of humans from that of other living creatures? What differentiates the environment of humans from a world?

Both questions merge into one. The environment of humans differs from that of other creatures in that it is the environment of a being which is open to the world in a special way. This does not mean that it is principally impossible to subject the human environment – in a similar manner to the environments of other living creatures – to measurement and calculation; to catalogue it in tables and to quantify all that is biologically human in an appropriate manner. All this notwithstanding, the environment of humans remains that of a being that must perceive itself as open to the world, even when referring itself to its environment. In this respect it is not inappropriate to regard the environment of humans not simply as an ‘environment’ like that of a rabbit, but to view it as a unique case, perhaps even a borderline case, of a ‘world’. Now we are able to illustrate what we meant when previously saying that environment is the world before it became a world for humans: environment is what surrounds human beings before they open themselves to the world and what always has existed in a certain shape or form.6 Environment, however, never truly is and never truly will be a world, although it is only out of it that a world can be formed. Environment is not that which encounters the world-open human being, invoking him or her to experience, interpret and shape, but is rather an indefinite existence out of which an encounter can emerge. In this regard one cannot truly say that the environment ‘exists’; for what really exists is only that which is experienced as existing within the process of an encounter. Thus the environment can be understood as the world within which human beings in their humanity have not yet recognised themselves and their surroundings, in which interpretations have not yet appeared or disappeared and all form of shaping yet lie hidden. One might say that environment is that ‘worldless world’ in which human beings do not yet or no longer know who they are and what they are encountering. Regarded in this manner, the environment of humanity lies somewhere between the environment of non-human life-forms in a purely biological sense, and the human world. So far it is a sort of blank space of perception, knowledge and understanding.

Appendix   161

The term ‘environment’ since the so-called ‘environmental crisis’ It took the so-called ‘environmental crisis’, as it has been increasingly clearly diagnosed since the 1960s and 1970s, to bring about a process of rethinking the relationship between humankind and nature. This relationship includes rethinking that which lies between the two, is affiliated to both, and yet does not belong entirely to either: the environment. Whenever speaking of humans in the or in their environment, one is dealing with (1) human beings in dimensions in which they do not principally differ from other living creatures, but at the same time with (2) what this non-difference means for humans in their humanity. 1  On a planet where the air is full of pollutants, where the climatic system has been thrown out of balance and natural living conditions have fundamentally changed, where waters and springs are polluted or are drying up, where the soil’s fertility is decreasing, humankind suffers for reasons that are principally the same ones as those for our non-human relatives – we share ‘life’ with animals and plants, we share the facility for suffering with the more highly developed ones, and much of what is harmful for our relatives in the animal and plant world is equally harmful for us. 2  The environment of humankind as it has been viewed since the diagnosis of the environmental crisis resembles that of other living creatures in that it is regarded as principally quantifiable. Everything that serves as a foundation of human existence, as well as everything that threatens that existence, seems to be, in principal, an empirical circumstance, one which can be translated into data by means of the modern scientific method. At the same time, reflections on the environment of humans lead to completely different questions to those that are analysed in context with the environment of animal and plant life. For the expression ‘environmental crisis’ actually refers less to that ‘environment’ in which human beings (like animals) simply exist, than to phenomena which are closely correlated to the way in which humans perceive and shape their world. These phenomena are of a kind that raises fundamental questions about how we live our lives. The expression ‘environmental crisis’ referred originally to undesired changes in the living space of humanity – to the loss of nature, the depletion of natural resources, and the accumulation of pollutants in the air, water and soil. Right from the beginning, however, ‘environmental crisis’ was also used to describe the fact that the creature ‘human being’, so proud of its openness to the world, in shaping that world today (and perhaps for a long time now) plunders, damages and destroys all those areas in which it finds itself. The processes of plundering resources, damaging free nature and exterminating species etc. take place in the shadow of how we shape our world. ‘Environment’, as referring specifically to human beings, differs in a particular way from ‘world’. It is the opposite of all the shaping of the world, a ‘something else’ – that which our opening up and shaping of the world to form those worlds as we know them (the cultural, social, political worlds, etc.) does not incorporate.

162   Appendix This ‘something else’ is old in a certain sense of the word – it can be traced back at least as far as the first agricultural societies. The awareness of it, however, is relatively new. For a long time it was only possible to observe this shadow of all forms of the shaping of the world, and all that this concealed, on a limited regional level or for a short space of time, if at all. Thus the question of their own environment was not one that concerned human beings in their humanity and their approach to the world. But ever since humanity began to encounter something starting to emerge from the consequences of its behaviour – that is to say, of its exploitation of raw materials and creation of pollutants – it has found itself confronted with something entirely unfamiliar. People have had to discover that they do not only exist in worlds in which their will and reason manifest themselves, but within something else as well, something which, one could say, preserves their ‘non-will’ and unreason and occasionally brings them face to face with it. The challenges this ‘something else’ presents are what differentiate the environment of human beings from that of animal or plant life. Certainly, human beings are alive and as such have an environment just as a rabbit does. But as the environment of human beings, it is above all else the sphere out of which something approaches them, something they didn’t desire and yet was brought about by them – even if this occurred in the past and was set in motion by other representatives of the species. In this sense we see the environment of human beings as the shadow of their world. Humans cannot shape their world without depleting raw materials, modifying lands and waters and, in so doing, producing waste, exhaust and sewage. The consequences of this behaviour, however, come back to haunt us as something unknown existing in the world; something unintended, incomprehensible and unincorporated. Of course humanity can, having been confronted with them, begin to deal with the consequences of its activity. Like the environment in which the metabolism of animals and plants takes place, that of human beings, with its attenuation of resources, loss of landscapes and disappearance of animal and plant species, can in principle also be the object of measurement and quantification. It is incorporated in the form of data into the sphere of science. In the form of theories, scenarios, hypotheses and recommendations, the processed data is then made public. Finally, as a consequence, measures can then be taken within the spheres of politics, law, technology, economy and education to ensure that much of the originally diffuse environment is successively integrated into our different worlds – for example by means of the preservation of resources or environmental protection. But the environment as such can never be entirely assimilated into the structures of our separate worlds; there will always be a certain unknown residue that simply exists. Beyond all knowledge, which encompasses only certain parts of the environment, the environment itself remains a sphere of ignorance (see Chapter 5). Until now, without expressly saying so, we have regarded the environment of humans as their ‘natural’ environment: a field of scientifically measurable, in particular physical or biological, circumstances. But what about other ‘environments’? Is not that which surrounds people today above all ‘unnatural’? Are we

Appendix   163 not encircled by humanly built and technologically constructed worlds? Are our lives not greatly influenced by social and cultural institutions? Must we not speak in this context of a human environment in an entirely different sense? In a first general approximation, we can say that this is not the case. Cultural, social and technological aspects, as well as our institutions, tools, machines and buildings, differ from any other natural environment only in that they have their significance within the world of humans. If they lose their meaning within our world – that is to say, their worldliness – and vanish from our concepts of usage and interpretation, they become strange and unfamiliar to us. Institutions that no longer have any meaning become incomprehensible; tools, machines and buildings that are no longer needed become objects of concern and must be ‘disposed of’. The moment those worlds that derive from us are no longer regarded as worlds, but as environment, they also become part of that ‘something else’, that shadow of the world of humanity. This aspect was recognised far earlier than the corresponding problem of the natural environment: ever since thinkers such as Rousseau, Hegel and Marx began to deal with the topic of the experience of estrangement, we have had an inkling that it could occur that humans might no longer find themselves in what they have done and thus become ‘worldless’. So, even when dealing with cultural and social environments – and not, as in most cases, with the natural environment – we still associate something indefinite with the term that we must accept, observe and experience in its strangeness. Even the cultural environment, if the word ‘environment’ is used correctly, describes something other than the world of culture: something that exists and which, however it came into existence in the past through human input, must be simply accepted as environment before true culture – in its original sense of ‘care and maintenance’ – uses it to shape its world.

Humanity, nature and environmental education Far less prominent than terms such as ‘sustainability’, the term ‘environment’ seeks to face two directions: it opens the world of humans to that diffusion which lies before, behind and beyond all structures, while at the same time bringing ‘nature’ closer to or within the radius of human beings. Although ‘environment’ may be indefinite in contrast to ‘world’, and blind for certain autonomous aspects of ‘nature’, it still possesses a unique capacity to open our imagination in both directions. ‘Environment’ describes that area in which human shaping and planning dissolve into diffusion, incomprehension and, at times, fear and alienation. But it also describes that area out of which the alienating, previously overlooked consequences of our planning and shaping return to haunt us. In this sense ‘environment’ describes a form of encounter between humans and nature, though not a form of encounter where they can meet each other as they truly are. In order to understand this area, we will have to step outside of it and search for clarification of a type that lends itself to comprehending that which is to a certain extent incomprehensible. On this path we will have to consider humanity

164   Appendix with its means of perceiving the world and itself on the one hand, while simultaneously taking nature into equal account as an autonomous context of life on which the former must necessarily be founded, but which is constantly changed and estranged by humans up to the point of incomprehensibility – an incomprehensibility that then returns to haunt them in the form of the environmental crisis. Thus environmental education deals neither with the entirety of human existence, nor with all of nature. But since ‘environment’, conceived of as the indefinite area between both these entireties, can only be illuminated with all its problems from the viewpoint of one or the other, the existence of means of access to both becomes – viewed from a rather uncommon perspective – a precondition of any environmental education in the first place. They must both be understood in certain fundamental characteristics in order for the diffuse area in which they interact to be made fruitful for insight. This was the prerequisite of our argument in this book. Therefore we have always directed our questioning towards both human beings and nature. More specifically, however, we have continually examined questions pertaining to human knowledge and ignorance concerning both themselves and nature. We have been searching for possibilities of shedding light on the grey area between the spheres of humanity and the sphere of nature in both their distinctiveness by approaching it from its ‘edges’, that is to say, from what is either distinctively human or ‘natural’. Right from the start, both spheres will have been viewed in such a manner that ‘environment’ as we experience it today with all its problems is ever kept in mind. Environmental education is an attempt to gain insight from the way in which the entirety of human existence and the entirety of nature appears to us when viewed from the current grey area between humans and nature. This, however, implicitly raises the question: what would humans and nature be, if one were to view them outside of the environmental crisis, in their fundamental and uniquely characteristic possibilities? The utopias of a humanity that does not necessarily destroy nature, and of a nature that is not by necessity disfigured by humans, are both an essential part of environmental education. Environment as a place of alienation of humans from nature also remains the place where it becomes possible for both to meet.

Notes

1  Introduction 1 ‘Akademie des Sächsischen Landesstiftung Natur und Umwelt.’ 2 Freud (1973: 9). 3 This chapter differs significantly from the more constructive, systematic arrangement of the other chapters in its more illustrative style, something which one can see in its form – namely an interpretation of certain passages of Goethe’s Faust, Part II. 2  Environmental education: problems and possible solutions 1 See Funtovicz, Ravetz (1990) and Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1992). 2 See also Baumgärtner, Faber, Schiller (2006, Part III). 3 See, for example, von Weizsäcker, Hunter, Lovin (1995). 4 See Jöst (2002). 5 See, for example, Brown, Johnson (1984). 6 Kant (1800/1992: 538). 7 See Baumgärtner, Faber, Schiller (2006, Part III). 8 See Faber, Manstetten, Petersen (1997). 3  The meaning of ‘economy’ and ‘ecology’   1 For pioneering work on ecological economics, see Proops (1989) and Costanza (1991); for further reading see Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996), Costanza, Perrings, Cleveland (1997), Roepke (2005) and Faber (2008).   2 See Bürgin (1993: 243).   3 See Haeckel (1866: 286). Quoted in Stauffer (1957: 140).   4 See Schröter (1902).   5 ‘Autos’ is Greek and means ‘self’.   6 The Greek syllable ‘syn’ means ‘together’.   7 This definition is broader and thus naturally less precise than the currently widely accepted version proposed in 1972: ‘Ecology is the scientific analysis of those interactions which determine the distribution and frequency of organisms’ (quoted according to Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: x).   8 See Meyer-Abich (1984). ‘Anthropocentric’ and ‘physiocentric’ are often contrasted with each other when one is dealing with a basis for evaluation, in particular the evaluation of non-human nature. In our context we are not as interested in valuation as we are in different means of perception from different angles. Of course, different means of perception can become the foundation of different methods of evaluation.   9 See, for example, Schäfer (1993: 152 ff). 10 One could go on to ask why inanimate existence should be excluded from such an

166   Notes ecology. Such an exclusion makes sense, however: a science that speaks of ‘living spaces’ can only incorporate the environment of living creatures. A different question would be, however, whether and how a border between animate and inanimate, living and non-living can be drawn. Perspectives are conceivable in which stones, mountains, rivers and air are alive (see Chapter 11). Such perspectives, however, are, as a rule, founded on an ecology that does not have scientific ambitions. 11 Perhaps it would help to address this question if we were to be absolutely clear on the point that, however we conceive of the ‘house’, we are always dealing with the habitation of this house. Is it possible for us humans to ‘make ourselves at home’ in a way that allows our ‘flatmates’, all non-human life forms, to be at home as well? The terminology of ‘habitation’ and ‘being at home’ indicates that these questions belong to the dimension of a way of life that, according to Kant’s Critique of Judgement, relates to the field of aesthetics. 12 See Ehrlich (1989: 14). 13 This has been recognised as a problem by the public, as well as by economic science. Thus environmental quality is now viewed as a public good, not only on a national, but also on an international level. This is, for example, expressed in international treaties for the conservation of the ozone layer and the reduction of CO2 emissions. 14 See, for example, WCED (1987), Solow (1992), Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996: chapter 5), Proops, Faber, Manstetten, Jöst (1996) and Ott, Döring (2004). 15 To the question of the ‘dignity of nature’ see Chapter 5, pages 46–47; see also Manstetten (2002). 4  Scientific logos and ignorance   1 According to a widespread agreement, the validity of any scientific theory is subject to a certain caveat: it holds only as long as it hasn’t been falsified. This implies that a theory based upon something that categorically rules out falsification cannot be viewed as scientific. This is stipulated by Karl Popper (1959) and the closely related school of Critical Rationalism.   2 See Remmert (1980: 1).   3 For the most recent insights in this regard, see in particular Begon, Harper, Townsend (1990: xf).   4 Begon, Harper, Townsend (1990: xi).   5 Björn Lomborg’s book (Lomborg 2001) found no small resonance with its claim, based upon the theories of Julian Simon (see Simon 1996), that the warnings in regard to ecological catastrophes are mere ‘myths’ with no relation to reality, nothing but a ‘case for psychology’. The fact that people believe we are headed into an ecological crisis is, for Lomborg, nothing but an ‘expression of a Calvinistic sense of guilt’. According to him, we are in truth better off than ever before and people after us will have it better yet: We ought not to punish ourselves in shame. We ought to be pleased that we have thrown off so many of humanity’s yokes and made possible fantastic progress in terms of prosperity. And we ought to face the facts – that on the whole we have no reason to expect that this progress will not continue. This is the real state of the world. (Lomborg 2001: 330)   6 The following deliberations are by no means intended to constitute, in the sense of a Theory of Science, an evaluation of modern science and its results – be it either a philosophical justification or a fundamental casting of doubt. The term ‘truth’ in regard to scientific discoveries is to be viewed as problematic (at least since Popper’s criterion of falsification – see Popper 1959) and the concept of unequivocal; absolute universal laws, in particular natural laws, have been fundamentally shaken by the

Notes   167 discoveries of twentieth-century physics. That, however, does not hinder scientists (who are generally neither scientific theorists nor well versed in the philosophy of  physics of the twentieth century) from adhering in practice to an ideal of the scientific logos as it will be presented in the following, nor does it hinder society from  regarding the postulations of scientists as true in a very special sense. This does not, however, hold for the humanities, which only partially adhere to the ideal of the scientific logos and concordantly have a far lesser reputation within general society.   7 In the following only the methodology of the classical natural sciences will serve as a paradigm of the scientific logos. This should by no means imply that the others are any less ‘scientific’, only that they less closely match the modern widespread (but by no means unproblematic) ‘scientific ideal’.   8 See Faber, Manstetten (1988).   9

Only in the West does science exist at a stage of development which we recognise to-day as valid. [. . .] The Indian geometry had no rational proof; that was another product of the Greek intellect, also the creator of mechanics and physics. [. . .] A rational chemistry has been absent from all areas of culture except the West. (Weber 1930: 13f)

10 Kant (1787/1929: 20, B XIV). 11 It must be noted, however, that the laws of gravity only have the character of absolute validity within the framework of classical physics. 12 See Schäfer (1993: 103ff.). 13 For this reason the institution of the Nobel Prize was originally reserved for the natural sciences alone. On the strength of the argument that the economic sciences meanwhile share the same stringent mathematical approach, a Nobel Prize for this discipline was established in 1969. 14 On the topic of ‘ignorance’ see in particular Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996: chapter 11). The following orientates itself greatly towards the thoughts presented there. 15 Shackle (1955: 58). 16 See Luhman 2001; Faber, Manstetten, 2007, Chapter 10. 17 It must at this point be noted that, from the viewpoint of modern physics, all scientific statements hold at best with a very high probability, so that in regard to their accuracy they belong to the category of risk (see Faber, Manstetten, Proops 1996: 224f.). 18 See Laplace (1996: Introduction). 19 On this, see Lorenz (1963), and the popular-scientific portrayal of Gleick (1988). 20 This does not exclude the possibility of proving the axioms of a certain science within the framework of another science. But the other science, whatever it might be, is also based on axioms, so that at some point we will finally encounter axioms we cannot prove. 5  The essence logos   1 In the following we will be referring to the 2nd edition (B) of 1787 (Kant 1787/1929) according to the original pagination.   2 See Kant (1787/1929: 71–74, B 42–45. See also 82ff., B 59ff.).   3 The enigma must be distinguished from the riddle: a riddle is solved or unravelled and thus loses its enigmatic character. An enigma, however, can remain concealed or be revealed and unveiled: even in the revelation or unveiling it remains an enigma, in so far as it, as the foundation of the revelation, never entirely emerges in its beingrevealed.   4 Kant places particular emphasis on the fact that, in regard to such a ‘primordial being’, one has to carefully avoid the concept of it existing in time and space (Kant 1787/1929: 89–90, B 72).

168   Notes   5

If the truth of religious doctrines is dependent on an inner experience which bears witness to that truth, what is one to make of the many people who do not have this rare experience? One may expect all men to use the gift of reason that they possess, but one cannot set up an obligation that shall apply to all on a basis that only exists for quite a few. Of what significance is it for other people that you have won from a state of ecstasy, which has deeply moved you, an imperturbable conviction of the real truth of the doctrines of religion? (Freud 1953: 49)

  6 Kant (1787/1929: 24, B XX. See also 46, B 7).   7 Kant’s line of argumentation is comprehensively portrayed in Manstetten (1995).   8 Kant (1787/1929: 46, B 7).   9 In this manner Freud accuses the defendants of religious ideas: You would have the state of bliss to begin immediately after death; you ask of it the impossible [. . .] Of these wishes our god Λóγος (Logos – the author) will realise those which external nature permits [. . .] We believe that it is possible for scientific work to discover something about the reality of the world through which we can increase our power and according to which we can regulate our life. [. . .] No, science is no illusion. But it would be an illusion to suppose that we can get anywhere else what it cannot give us. (Freud 1953: 94–98) 10 See The Gospel of John, Chapter 1, Verse 3. 11 Nikolaus Cusanus (1405–1464) expresses this concept within a philosophical dialogue in the following manner. A heathen asks a Christian philosopher: ‘In which manner is it known to me what a human being is, what a stone is and, accordingly, what the individual things are that I know?’ The philosopher answers him: You know nothing of all these, but rather believe that you know. For if I were to ask you what the essence of the things you believe to know is, you would confirm that you are unable to express what the real truth of the human being and the stone is. (Cusanus 1964: 302/303, our translation) 12 Kant (1787/1934: 22, B XXX). 13 The concept of the essence logos used here is limited to several of its fundamental aspects within the framework of this book’s intentions. In connection with ‘pure ignorance’, there are further questions relating to religion and mysticism, as well as such categories as revelation, miracles and salvation, that could be developed – a task which can be mentioned here, but not undertaken. Some part of this will, however, be at points included in our reflections on nature (Chapters 8–10). Our remarks on the essence logos are in any case certainly not to replace theology and religion, but rather to remind ourselves of the fundamental right – the necessity, even – of theology and religion. 14 The claim one often hears, that Heisenberg introduced the perceiving subject into modern physics with his Uncertainty Theory, is in this form not correct. Heisenberg did indeed introduce the observer as part of the system under observation, but only in his/her role as observer and experimenting scientist, not with those personal qualities that makes him/her a human subject. 15 See, for example, Bernholz (1991, 1995, 2001). 16 See Kant (1786/1983: 53). 17 On this concept, see Manstetten (2002). 18 See Albert Schweitzer (2001). 19 See Kant (1787/1929: 22–24, B XVII–XIX). 20 At this point the fact must be noted that, in following our line of argumentation, one

Notes   169 question that is otherwise of the greatest significance must be put aside: the question of what ‘the right thing’ actually consists of. People can in this regard have many differing points of view, and yet know that they must stand up for what they earnestly believe to have recognised as right. Many of those who currently believe that whatever is considered right is merely a subjective affair use this opinion as a pretext for not seriously dealing with the question of an inter-subjective or trans-subjective right. 21 Abbreviated according to Gunsser (1957: 46f., our translation). 6  The existence logos   1 As significant representatives of phenomenology, one must name among others Edmund Husserl (1859–1939), Martin Heidegger (1889–1976), Alfred Schütz (1899–1959) and  Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1908–1961). The late work of Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889–1951) also displays many links to the phenomenological approach. An introduction to phenomenology is offered in the book by the same name by Waldenfels (1992). That Plato’s thought already followed phenomenological patterns, and that his approach is amazingly applicable to modern problems, can be seen in Wieland’s book (1982).   2 ‘Quid est ergo tempus? Si nemo ex me quaerat, scio; si quaerrenti explicare velim, nescio’ (Augustinus 1987: Buch XI, 14, our translation).   3 A good introduction to the economic theory of institutions is offered by Furubotn, Richter (2005). From a philosophical viewpoint, Gehlen’s (1956) thoughts in Chapter 14 are still relevant.   4 That such intuitions can be verbally articulated in the form of a judgement of taste thus (within discourse on beauty) contribute to the communal sense of human beings, was convincingly demonstrated by Kant in his Critique of Judgement (Kant 1793/1892).   5 Our reflections should not imply that the arts, humanities and social sciences deal exclusively with the existence logos. Conversely, however, one can say that the sciences of the existence logos belong exclusively to the arts, humanities and social sciences.   6 This holds only in so far as the social sciences and humanities do not subjugate their subjects, human beings, to standardised empirical tests and mathematical theories, as parts of psychology and large parts of economics do.   7 On this see Luhmann (2000).   8 On this see Haffner (2000).   9 To claim that Islam around the year 1000, or Christianity around the year 1250, were alive and flourishing, is not the same thing as saying that life in various areas was, as a whole, good. It merely means that social and intellectual history shows that an extraordinary social, cultural and intellectual life was taking place in the corresponding societies. 10 In this sense Pericles states in his Funeral Oration: The sacrifice which they [the war dead of the first year of the Peloponnesian War, 431 bc – the authors] collectively made was individually repaid to them; for they received again each one for himself a praise which grows not old, and the noblest of all tombs, I speak not of that in which their remains are laid, but of that in which their glory survives, and is proclaimed always and on every fitting occasion both in word and deed. For the whole earth is the tomb of famous men; not only are they commemorated by columns and inscriptions in their own country, but in foreign lands there dwells also an unwritten memorial of them, graven not on stone but in the hearts of men. (Thucydides 1954, Book 2: 34–46) 11 Kant (1787/1929: 177–178, B 172f.). A thorough examination of Kant’s theory of judgement which, adhering to the strictest philological precision, demonstrates its significance for modern practical philosophy is offered by Wieland (2001).

170   Notes 12 Luther did not say this literally, saying rather that he could not renounce his theses merely because they were in defiance of contemporary institutions. He would stick by his conviction: Unless I am shown by the testimony of Scripture and by evident reasoning (for I do not put faith in pope or councils alone, because it is established that they have often erred and contradicted themselves), unless I am overcome by means of the scriptural passages that I have cited, and unless my conscience is taken captive by the words of God, I am neither able nor willing to revoke anything, since to act against one’s conscience is neither safe nor honest. God help me, Amen! (Quoted according to Fife 1957: 666) 13 Our translation. 7  Forms of knowledge and the economic dynamics   1 This does not mean at all that these existence logoi have become forms of the scientific logos; they remain unconscious knowledge, developing into habit, and can thus also petrify into new conventions and prejudices. We all know the statement ‘It has been scientifically proven that [. . .]’, which we often encounter in everyday situations as an argument intended to bring a debate to an end. In many cases, however, such a statement is merely the expression of a faith in science (or a faith in something disguised as science) and has nothing to do with genuine scientific evidence.   2 Schäfer (1993: 96, our translation).   3 Bacon (2000: 75–76, XC).   4 Bacon (2000: 75, LVVVIX).   5 Bacon (2000: 80, XCVII).   6 Bacon (2000: 221, LII).   7 Bacon (2000: 93, CXXI).   8 Bacon, quoted according to Schäfer (1993: 102, our translation).   9 Bacon, quoted according to Schäfer (1993: 102, our translation). 10 Schäfer (1993: 105f., our translation). 11 Schäfer (1993: 110f., our translation). 12 Bacon (2000: 221, LII). 13 Schäfer (1993: 102, our translation). 14 Schäfer (1993: 96, our translation). 15 Schäfer (1993: 112, our translation). 16 The origin of the following derives from the Faust-interpretation of Binswanger (1985). See also Binswanger, Faber, Manstetten (1990a, 1990b) and Faber, Manstetten (1994). 17 Faust I, Verse 383. 18 Faust II, Verse 10219. 19 Faust II; Verses 10227–10231. 20 Faust II, Verses 11091–11096. 21 See Faust II, Verse 11563. 22 Faust II, Verse 11580. 23 Faust II, Verses 11585. 24 Faust II; Verses 11446–11452. 25 Faust I, Verse 1338. 26 Faust II, Verses 11151–11154. 27 Faust II, Verses 11253–11259. 28 Faust II, Verses 11263–11268. 29 Faust II, Verses 11275–11277. 30 Faust II, Verses 11306–11337. 31 Faust II, Verse 11371.

Notes   171 32 Faust II, Verses 11569f. 33 John Maynard Keynes (1930/1963: 373). 34 Faust II, Verses 11433–11439. 35 Faust I, Verses 3249f. 36 Faust II, Verses 11557f. 37 Faust II, Verse 11592. 38 Faust II, Verses 11544–11548. 39 Kaiser (1994: 16) comments on Faust’s radicalism of self-fulfilment, in which he makes his own Self the measure of all things. He [Faust] displays an egocentric standard of life which, trivialised and banalised, has today become the primary characteristic of the individual who, isolated in our mass society, becomes disorientated and manipulated. Kaiser (ibid.) refers in particular to a ‘magnificent aspect of Goethe’s work: the unleashing of anthropological transformation-energy in a new constellation of nature, economics and technology that leads to the modern industrial society and its degeneration.’ In Faust the ‘historic aspects do not evaporate in an everywhere-and-nowhere, universal-humanistic setting. Instead we find the basics of a human being as a particular embedded in a historical situation of development’ (ibid, our translation). 40 Faust II, Verse 11587. 41

This is a strong assumption in that it says no matter what one’s level of consumption, a bundle with slightly more of anything is preferred to what one has. This amounts to saying that individuals are greedy and when we come to study the choices that individuals make, the significance of such an assumption will become clear. (Hildenbrand and Kirman 1976: 44)

For a critical discussion of this assumption from an ecological economics perspective, see Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996: 87–91). See also Chapter 11, page 138 for further discussion of this crucial assumption in economic theory. 42 See in more detail Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1992). 8  The term ‘nature’ and the three purposes of life   1 On this see Haeckel (1866: 286).   2 There are, however, strong tendencies to attempt to enhance the status of ecology by turning it into a mathematical science, one which simulates ecosystems as mathematical constructions in a computer. In so far as this is accompanied by a decline in field research, it is to be regretted from the standpoint of environmental education. Whoever simulates the development of a marshland species on a computer screen does not necessarily know what a marshland is –lacking, in a manner of speaking, the ‘sense’ of the landscape and the unspecific, open attention of one who roams such a landscape with alert, open senses.   3 In ecology there is – despite all tendencies towards a mathematical, experimental science – an alert consciousness for the necessity of field research. In regard to research on questions of competition in ecosystems, Begon, Harper and Townsend (1990: 195) say: ‘We have a very sophisticated science concerned with the experimental and theoretical study of competition, but we are still fearfully ignorant about just how often it occurs and how important it is as a force in natural communities.’ And yet the latter issue belongs to the very ones that ecological field research should clarify.   4 Plato (1990).   5 For English perspectives on humankind, nature and economy in the writings of Robert Malthus (1766–1834) and William Wordsworth (1770–1850), see Becker, Faber, Hertel, Manstetten (2005).

172   Notes   6 Novalis (1977a: 85, our translation).   7 Novalis (1977b: 344). Translation from Wood (2001).   8 Novalis (1977a: 99, our translation).   9 Novalis (1977a: 100, our translation). 10 MacIntyre (1999). 11 On this see Hogan (2000). 12 See, for example, Storch, Welsch, Wink (2001: 61). 13 Kant (1793/1892). On the significance of the teleological viewpoint for modern natural philosophy and anthropology, see Spaemann, Löw (1991). 14 Through the discoveries of twentieth-century physics, the concept of universally valid natural laws has been fundamentally shaken, if not made entirely untenable. Nonetheless, this concept continues not only to prevail within society, but to shape the practice of modern scientific research (see Chapter 4, pages 53–63). 15 Strasburger (1991: 7) sees this differently, regarding the question ‘Why?’ in biology as ‘meaningful and justified’ without, it seems, being able to assess the far-reaching philosophical implications of such a position. 16 Aristotle (1987: 91, Physics, Book II, 8, 199, a26, ff.). 17 Kant (1793/1892: 278, §65). 18 Modern biology in general does not seem to share Kant’s view: ‘No adherent of a teleological theory has, despite all efforts, ever managed to describe even a single process (excluding the supernatural) which would support teleology. Microbiology has meanwhile dispensed of any possibility that such a mechanism could exist’ (Mayr 1988: 13, our translation). Biology, drawing on Darwin and Haeckel, as well as such theories as those of Monod (1971) and Dawkins (1989), claims to be able to represent the processes of life without teleological implications. However, Monod’s concept of teleonomy in particular, despite its explicitly anti-teleological intentions, is often understood by biologists in a teleological way. Thus the following statement can be found in a well-respected textbook (Strasburger 1991: 7, our translation): With the characterisation of living creatures as self-reproducing systems, a further point is addressed which emphasises the special position of organisms: biological teleonomy. Living creatures act purposefully [. . .], react ‘suitably’ and appear ‘sensibly constructed’. Next to the question ‘why?’, [. . .] in biology – and among the natural sciences, only in biology – the question ‘what for?’ is reasonable and justified. 19 Thus it becomes possible to reformulate the assumption (censured by Kant) of an external purpose of things in the sense that this would heuristically represent the internal purpose of relationships within a natural biocoenosis. 20 A species is a group of living things that can fruitfully reproduce among one another. A group of same-species living things, which can reproduce among one another, is called ‘a population’ in biology. When in the following we speak of ‘species’ in the context of natural biocoenoses, we always mean the species within the particular biocoenosis under consideration – the population. ‘Species’ and ‘population’ are only the same thing when examining the biocoenosis of the entire Earth. 21 One should note that the term ‘individuality’ in nature is not as self-evident as it might seem – and as it is implied in our reflections. In this sense ecologists (see Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: 122–131) differentiate between unitary and modular organisms. Unitary organisms are what we generally understand as individuals – organisms of mostly determined form, whose sequence of life-stages are to a large degree fairly predictable. Modular organisms, on the other hand (for the most part plants, fungi, but also sponges, coelenterates, etc.) are not predictable in either form or the sequence of their life-stages. A modular organism as a whole often does not age, though individual modules certainly do. Even the death of modular organisms is often only the consequence of overgrowth or disease, but not of programmed ageing. This holds only

Notes   173 for the entire structure, however – the individual modules share many important characteristics with unitary organisms. 22 A more detailed definition of the ‘classic characteristics of life’ can be found in Strasburger (1991: 2f.), whose final comments are: ‘The criterion of life which, it seems, has precedence in all living things is their ability to reproduce. All other characteristics are either a precondition or a consequence of this central quality’ (Strasburger 1991: 3, our translation). 23 A detailed description of the Second Law of Thermodynamics (Law of Entropy) can be found in Faber, Niemes, Stephan (1995: chapter 3). 24

The struggle for life, or the battle for existence, or the contest of life (Struggle for life, perhaps most fittingly referred to as a ‘competition for the needs of life’) is one of the most important and powerful natural laws which rules the entire world of organisms, not excluding that of humankind, and which is at work everywhere and at all times in the unremitting life-movements of organisms. (Haeckel 1866: 231f., our translation)

25 Angelus Silesius (1985) Book I, Nr.289. Quoted according to Heidegger (1996: 41). 26 By double-sex plants we see no such effort, however. Here we only observe a suitability of two living things for reproduction which has no effect on their behaviour. Thus such plants (e.g. willow) are related to each other in the sense that they must be placed within a suitable distance from one another, and that the wind or insects must be able to transport the pollen of the one plant to the blooms or blossoms of the other. But such plants do not actively relate by means of any recognisable activity. 27 In this an asymmetry between the male and female can exist, however. The offspring of birds and mammals already consume resources within the body of the mother, whereas the father is generally not involved. The mother serves more directly and to a greater degree than does the father. 28 To predict the works of artists like Leonardo, Shakespeare or Mozart would be hardly conceivable without actually producing them oneself. 9  Stocks, stores, funds   1 Here we are dealing with terms whose interrelationships and significance for the theoretical understanding of the relationships between economy and environment were presented in Chapter 9 of Georgescu-Roegen’s (1971) ground-breaking book, Entropy and the Economic Process. Wodopia (1986a, 1986b, 1986c) uses them within the framework of capital and interest theory. Georgescu-Roegen focuses his attention chiefly on production theory.   2 In Faber, Frank, Klauer, Manstetten, Schiller, Wissel (2005) we have generalised the following ideas and attempted to develop the foundations of a General Theory of Stocks.   3 As formulated by Georgescu-Roegen (1971: 233): ‘a flow is a stock spread out over a time interval.’   4 Aspects of time in ecological economics are dealt with in Faber, Proops, Speck (1999).   5 The word ‘fund’ is derived from the Latin ‘fundus’. ‘Fundus’ means ‘ground and soil’, but can also refer to the principal element of something. In this sense one can refer to the main course of a meal as ‘fundus’. The theory of funds developed in the following owes important stimuli to Chapter 9 of Georgescu-Roegen (1971). See also Wodopia (1986c: 188–191) – our following reflections are based upon Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1995, 1996, Chapter 9), and in particular, Faber, Manstetten (1998).   6 Heavenly bodies such as the moon are also to be regarded as funds. Thus the tides, which are necessary for certain species living in mud-flats, are produced by the moon.   7 The surface of the ground and the oxygen in the air are, however, not (as in the case

174   Notes of the sun or the mere existence of the ground) a prerequisite of life, but are in themselves the result of the past and continuing activity of living things. The case of oxygen will be dealt with in detail below (pages 105–107). In regard to the soil, our use of this term (one which is customary in economic science) includes the pedosphere (the surface soil, which in many parts of the Earth is permeated with life, and must in a certain manner of speaking even be regarded as alive), as well as the lithosphere (the layer of rock and minerals). Even stone can be formed by living things: Pure limestone only emerged on a noteworthy scale in the Cambrian period [570–510 million years before our time – the authors]. Examples are the marbles on the southern border of the Fichtel Mountains, Carinthia and Styria. These calks, as practically all the others of later development, are of organic origin, in other words bioorganic. This was succinctly formulated by Linné as early as the 18th century: ‘All calk comes from living things’. The most important location of carbonate production are the oceans. The conditions are similar to the already mentioned free oxygen: organisms have produced a significant part of the world, in which they live, themselves. (Storch, Welsch, Wink 2001: 67, our translation)   8 The expressions ‘immortal’ and ‘non-transient’ are not meant to exclude the possibility of cosmic catastrophes destroying the entire Earth, and the furthest limit of their validity is – if the physicists are correct – set by the burning-out of the sun in approximately five billion years. Here we mean nothing more than the fact that a necessity and a time for the death or the termination of such funds are not in advance foreseeable in either the immediate or the distance future.   9 Macro nutrients include, among other things, nitrogen, phosphorus, sulphur, potassium, calcium, magnesium and iron; some trace elements are manganese, zinc, copper, boron and molybdenum (see Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: 95). 10 Begon, Harper, Townsend (1990: 95). 11 Zwilling, Fritsche (1993, our translation). 12 See Faber, Proops, Baumgärtner (1998), Baumgärtner (2000), Baumgärtner, Faber, Schiller (2006). 13 Remmert (1988: 95f., our translation). 14 Remmert (1988: 100f., our translation). 15 Schopf (1988: 97, our translation). 16 The following adheres closely to Schopf (1988:94–99). More modern research would describe certain particulars slightly differently, without, however, fundamentally changing the structure of the process. 17 Schopf (1988: 94, our translation). 18

Organisms whose cells contain nuclei are called eukaryotic [. . .], cells without nuclei are all prokaryotic [. . .] all green plants and animals are eukaryotic, as well as the fungi [. . .]. Only two groups of organisms are prokaryotic: bacteria and blue-green algae. (Schopf 1988: 86f., our translation)

19 In the case of human beings, ultraviolet rays can lead to skin cancer. 20 See the penultimate footnote. 21 Schopf (1988: 95, our translation). 22 Schopf (1988: 83, our translation). 23 Schopf (1988: 96, our translation). In phases of approximately four million years, the oxygen in the atmosphere is completely substituted.

Notes   175 10  Evolution, neo-Darwinism and holistic thinking   1 On this see Röllicke (2002: 9ff.).   2 See also the following: Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996, Chapter 8) and Faber, Proops (1998, Chapters 2 and 3).   3 See Ayala (1988).   4 Biologists differentiate ‘species’ and ‘genus’. The latter comprises several closely related species, so ‘genus’ is the higher category of ‘species’. For example, lions and leopards are included in the genus ‘panthera’.   5 Storch, Welsch, Wink (2001: 211, our translation).   6 Storch, Welsch, Wink (2001: 210, our translation).   7 Ever since humankind to a large extent adopted the role of the environment in acting as a filter, many species also survive whose fitness consists merely of being useful to humanity, ones which would immediately die out in a biological biocoenosis uninfluenced by us: one need but think of the dairy cows which, owing to the large milk yield their udders contain, can hardly move.   8 Schmid-Hempel (2000, our translation). See also Richard Dawkins (1989). It remains, however, unclear how the expression ‘selfishness’ – one which first implies the possibility of self-reference and second stems from a certain everyday experience in the sphere of human interactions – can be meaningfully referred to genes, which can only be the object of experience for scientists under laboratory conditions.   9 At this point it must be mentioned that there are biologists, occupying a minority position in the current discourse, who ascribe the individual existence a far higher value within evolution than in the theories presented above. Thus Rupert Sheldrake (1992) suspects that knowledge certain specimens have accumulated on the level of the phenotype can be stored in the genotype and passed on. Such feedback from phenotype to genotype would lead to the ‘memory of nature’ becoming ever richer. 10 Coevolution is ‘The process by which members of two (or more) species contribute reciprocally to the forces of natural selection that they exert on each other, e.g. parasites and their hosts’ (Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: 848). This somewhat awkward definition at least draws attention to the fact that the evolutionary development of species always occurs through interaction. However, ‘it should be noted that the role of coevolution as a widespread and important evolutionary force is by no means fully established [. . .]’ (Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: 109). Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996: 152) suggest referring the expression ‘coevolution’ to the development of an entire biocoenosis. It is along these lines that we argue in the following. 11 This formulation is somewhat oversimplified. New species often develop through isolation, through the separation of populations: A new species can develop when members of a reproduction set are divided into two separate populations, the members of which continue to reproduce within, but no longer between populations. One differentiates between allopatric (i.e. populations developing in geographical isolation), parapatric (i.e. populations sharing borders) and sympatric (populations overlapping) specification. (Storch, Welsch, Wink 2001: 235, our translation). 12 Storch, Welsch, Wink (2001: 88ff., our translation). 13 See Keast (1981: 1). 14 Dawkins (1989: 1). 15

Life appeared on Earth: what, before the event, were the chances that would occur? The present structure of the biosphere certainly does not exclude the possibility that the decisive event occurred only once. Which would mean that its a priori probability was virtually zero. (Monod 1971: 136)

176   Notes 16

It [i.e. the organising principle – the authors] had to assert itself against a superiority of tiny molecules which were biologically ‘wrong’ but chemically possible. From the enormous range of molecules it had to pick out those from which the routinely synthesised standard building blocks of all biological polymers were ultimately to develop, and link them in such a dependable manner that a certain spatial configuration would arise. (Eigen, Gardiner, Schuster, Winkler-Oswatitsch 1988: 63, our translation)

17 To denote such a use of purposes and goals in the description of things of nature, Jacques Monod has coined the term ‘teleonomy’. This entails operating with a term from the sphere of purposes (such as the term ‘project’), but being ever aware that that to which one is ascribing a sense of purpose within such a description must ultimately be traced back to chance occurrences. A critique can be found in Spaemann, Löw (1981: 253f.). 18 Heraclitus, Fragment 54; Diels, Kranz (1956: 162, our translation). In another place: ‘It is that which strives against each other, that unites. Out of what is separated results the most beautiful harmony, i.e. the most beautiful assembly’ (Heraclitus, Fragment 8; Diels, Kranz 1956: 152). Heraclitus sees the harmony of the cosmos and nature vouchsafed by the fact that contradictory elements, ones that might even be in a form of conflict, come together in a greater whole (see Fragment 10; Diels, Kranz 1956: 152, our translation). 19 Novalis (1968: 248, our translation). 20

We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes – something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters’ paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view. (Leopold 1989: 130)

21 Paul: Romans 8, 19–23 (New International Version). 22 See also Faber, Manstetten (2007: chapter 12). 11  Human beings, our world and our needs   1 There are, however, sciences that, contrary to the position represented here, claim that one can represent all people with certain assumptions to behaviour. To these belong in particular some currents in modern economics. For a criticism of this, see Manstetten (2000).   2 Jensen (1963: 138f.).   3 Some sciences assume that the extinction of large mammals towards the end of the Ice Age, i.e. that of the mammoth in Siberia, was caused by hunting without moderation (see Storch, Welsch, Wink 2001: 344).   4 Thus over the whole of the Earth, c.15000 tons of coal a year are formed, whereas in the Federal Republic of Germany in the year 2000 alone the consumption of coal in SKE (the German coal units) amounted to 118 million tons (Institute of der Deutschen Wirtschaft 2001: Table 8.9).   5 When we in the following represent the processes of the formation of needs by speaking of a ‘layer’ of urges, a ‘layer’ of imagination and a ‘layer’ of reflection, it is merely to simplify the representation: spatial connotations are to be avoided as far as possible.   6 Kant (1786/1983: A6).   7 Kant (1786/1983: A 25).   8 The German word used here is ‘Vernunft’. It is generally translated as ‘reason’. It is,

Notes   177 however, not to be confused with ‘Verstand’ which is often translated as the same word. The latter concept is affiliated more with the faculties of intellect and logic, whereas the former is linked more to the faculty of (good) judgement (the translator).   9 These headings are by no means intended to substitute a comprehensive classification of needs such as the one Maslow (1999) strives to provide. 10 Quesnay was the leader of ‘The small group of French economists and political philosophers who were known in their own day as les économistes and are known to the history of economics as Physiocrates. . .’ (Schumpeter 1954/1967: 223). 11 Quoted according to Priddat (1988: 35, our translation). 12 Institut der Deutschen Wirtschaft (2008: 20). 13 Schlosser was the brother-in-law of Goethe and his work ‘Xenokrates oder ueber die Abgaben’ (‘Xenokrates or on the Charges’, our translation) from the year 1784, which contains new ideas on human needs, contrary to those of the Physiocrates, is dedicated to Goethe. For the following quotations we adhere to Binswanger (1986). 14 Binswanger (1986: 21, our translation). 15 Josef A. Schumpeter (1912/1934) has clearly emphasised the significance of the creativity of entrepreneurs. See also Petersen (2000b). 16 See pages 79, 138, 171n41. 17 See MacIntyre (1999). 18 On this see the work of Veblen (1986), first published in 1899 but still extremely stimulating. 12  The three interests of humankind   1 It does not necessarily follow, however, that the life of animals must, as for instance the philosopher Norbert Hoerster (2001: 46) assumes, be viewed entirely outside the horizon of the category of interest. We know if we could ask animals whether they were indifferent towards their lives, they would, were they capable of speech, reply that they would prefer to live. Like human beings they strive to avoid suffering, injury and death as far as possible. However, contrary to human beings, by most animals this striving seems not to be communicated through consciousness, rationality and decision, but rather appears to be one with the first telos of the passage of their lives. On the other hand, the conscious interest of human beings also contains a strong drive (precedent to all forms of consciousness) to avoid suffering and pain, and in this drive human beings are related to other living things.   2 See Mueller (1995: 1ff.).   3 See Manstetten (2000: Chapters 7, 11–13).   4 See, for example, Debreu (1959: Chapter 6) – one of the conditions for this is that the individuals adhere to a law that is, in the words of Kant, ‘the sum of conditions under which the choice of one can be united with the choice of another in accordance with a universal law of freedom’ (Kant 1798/1991: 56).   5 Faust I, Verses 3249f.   6 Among others, Buchanan, Tullock (1962) and Buchanan (1975) attempt to show that even rational egoists can agree on a legal system. For constructive critiques of such attempts, see Bernholz (1978), Petersen (1996), Faber, Manstetten, Petersen (1997), Manstetten (2000) and Faber, Petersen, Schiller (2002); see also Bernholz (1997).   7

How selfish soever man may be supposed, there are evidently some principles in his nature, which interest him in the fortune of others, and render their happiness necessary to him, though he derives nothing from it except the pleasure of seeing it. (Smith 1759/1796: 9)

For an analysis of Smith’s work, see Hottinger 1998.   8 See, for example, MacIntyre (1999).

178   Notes   9 See Sen (1985). 10 This relationship is dealt with by Bertolt Brecht (1967) in his story of Mr Keuner (our translation): Mr K. preferred Town B to Town A: ‘In Town A,’ he says, ‘they loved me; but in town B they were friendly toward me. In Town A they made use of me; but in Town B they needed me. In Town A they invited me to the table, but in Town B they invited me into the kitchen.’ Petersen comments to this story (2000, our translation): Why did Mr Keuner prefer Town B? He wishes to be needed, to be useful and he appreciates being invited as a friend. He wishes his usefulness to be recognised and appreciated. The fact that one must be of use to others in order to satisfy one’s own needs leads to the interest in being recognised as a useful member of the economy. Such recognition is represented in the price which one can demand for one’s product, the wages one receives for one’s labour, or the reward one receives for one’s performance. See also Faber, Petersen (2008). 11 Kant (1785/1990: 46). 12 See Jöst, Manstetten (1996); Faber, Manstetten, Proops (1996: 75ff.), Manstetten (2001), Baumgärtner, Faber, Schiller (2006, Part 3). 13 See Schweitzer (2000). 14 Nutzinger (1996: 187f., our translation). 15 In so far as the following thoughts are formulated within the horizon of the essence logos, their status is characterised by everything that was written in Chapter 5 about such statements: their persuasiveness is not and cannot be of a coercive nature. When we nevertheless dare to offer such statements, we are not expecting the reader’s agreement, but rather hoping that he or she is willing to accompany us along a train of thought that offers unfamiliar perspectives on the place of humankind in nature. 16 Juan de la Cruz (1981: 82, our translation). 17 Novalis (1949: 89). See also Becker, Manstetten (2004). 18 Hölderlin (1996: 34). See also Manstetten (2001: 184). 19 Here see particularly Schiller (2002: chapter 4) and Faber, Frank, Klauer, Manstetten, Schiller (2006). 20 On the following see Manstetten, Faber (1999: 94ff.). 21 This is the central problem in Hannon (1985). The article rightly stresses some weaknesses in democratic procedures concerning the solution of urgent environmental problems, but it is not made clear how the vision of a World Shogun who is endowed with dictatorial power to enforce far-reaching environmental measures can be distinguished from a totalitarian world regime. Appendix: some remarks on the concepts of ‘environment’ and ‘environmental education’ 1 See Scheler (1961: 37). The biologist Adolf Portmann (1956) puts it similarly: ‘Environment-bound and instinct-ensured – thus, in simplifying brevity we can describe animal behaviour. In contrast, that of humans can be called open to the world and furnished with freedom of choice’ (our translation). 2 This quantifying perspective is expressed in a widespread definition of the subject of that form of science which is commonly regarded as genuine environmental science: ‘Ecology is the scientific study of the interactions which determine the distribution and abundance of organisms’ (Krebs 1972, quoted according to Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: x).

Notes   179 3 ‘The environment of an organism consists of all those factors and phenomena outside the organism that influence it, whether those factors be physical and chemical (abiotic) or other organisms (biotic)’ (Begon, Harper, Townsend 1990: x). 4 Such an environment has great similarity with the abstract expression of the environment of a system as system theory knows it. 5 See MacIntyre (1999). 6 In this respect it is comparable to what in Plato’s Timaios exists before the shaping of the world and is called, respectively, ‘that which spends space’, ‘that which absorbs all that comes into being’ or ‘the child-ward’. All reason and shaping, everything that has been formed into a world, is preceded, according to Plato as he speaks through Timaios, by a reasonless and unshaped something, a something that never comes truly into concrete being, never takes form and resists ever doing so: the ‘space’ from which that which is shaped is derived and to which it in turn expires (Plato, Timaios, 48 e ff, our translation).

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Author index

Albertus Magnus 86 Angelus Silesius 91, 173n25, 180 Aristoteles 180 Augustinus 169n2, 180 Ayala, F.J. 175n3, 180 Bacon, F. i, xii, 3, 34, 68–73, 77, 151, 170n3–n9, 180, 186 Baumgärtner, S. 165n2, n7, 174n12, 180, 182 Begon, M.E. 165n7, 166n3, n4, 171n3, 172n21, 174n9, n10, 175n10, 178n2, 179n3, 180 Binswanger, H.C. 137, 170n16, 177n13, n14, 181 Brecht, B. 178n10, 181 Buchanan, J. 177n6, 181 Buddha 50, 183 Bürgin, A. 165n2, 181 BUND/Misereor 181 Cleveland, C. J. 165n1, 181 Costanza, R. 165n1, 181, 182 Darwin, C. 62, 87, 108–10, 117, 172n18, 181, 186 Dawkins, R. 90, 112, 117, 172n18, 175n8, n14, 181 Debreu, G. 177n4, 181 Diels, H. 176n18, 181 Ehrlich, P. 21, 166n12, 181 Eigen, M. 176n16, 181 Faber, M. i, ix, x, xii, 157, 165n1, n2, n7–8, 166n13, n14, 167n8, n14, n16, n17, 170n16, 171n5, n41, n42, 173n2, n4, n5, n23, 173, 174n12, 175n2, n10, 176n22, 177n6, 178n10, n12, n19, n20, 180–5, 187

Fichte, J. G. 82 Fife, R.H. 170n12, 182 Frank, K. 173, 181 Freud, S. 1, 165n2, 168n5, n9, 182 Fritsche, W. 174n11, 187 Funtowicz, S.O. 182 Furubotn, E.G. 169n3, 182 Galilei, G. 31, 58 Gehlen, A. 169n3, 183 Georgescu-Roegen, N. 173n1, n3, n5, 183 Gleick, J.W. 167n19, 183 Goethe, J.W. xii, 3, 71–2, 74, 76, 78, 165n3, 171n39, 177n13, 181, 183 Gunsser, L. 169n21, 183 Haeckel, E. 19, 25, 62, 109, 165n3, 171n1, 172n18, 173n24, 183, 186 Haffner, S. 169n8, 183 Harper, J.L. 165n7, 166n3, n4, 171n3, 172n21, 174n9, n10, 175n10, 178n2, 179n3, 180 Hegel, G.W. 82, 163, 184 Heidegger, M. 169, 173, 183 Heraclitus 19, 120, 176n18 Hertel, K. 171n5, 180, 182 Hoerster, N. 177n1, 183 Hogan, C.J. 172n11, 183 Hölderlin, F. 153, 178n18, 183–4 Horace 18 Hottinger, O. 177n7, 182, 183 Ibn Rushd 86 Ibn Sina 86 Jensen, A.E. 126, 128, 176n2, 183 Jonas, H. 149, 183 Jöst, F. 157, 165n4, 166n14, 178n2, 182–3, 185

Author index   189 Juan de la Cruz (John of the Cross) 152, 178n16, 183 Kaiser, G. 171n39, 183 Kant, I. 1, 12–3, 15, 31–2, 39–45, 47–9, 54, 64–5, 76, 82, 84–5, 87–8, 133, 149, 155, 165n6, 166n11, 167n1, n2, n4, n10, 168n6–n8, n12, n16, n19, 169n4, n11, 172n13, n17–n19, 176n6–7, 177n4, 178n11, 183–4 Keast, A. 175n13, 184 Keynes, J.M. 77, 171n33, 184 Klauer 173, 181 Kleist, H. v, 134 Knight, F. 35, 184 Kranz, W. 176n18, 181 Laplace, P.S. 36, 167n18, 184 Leopold, A. 176n20, 184 Loew, R. 172n13, 176, 186 Lomborg, B. 166n5, 184 Lorenz, E.N. 167n19, 184 Luhmann, N. 169n7, 184 Luther, M. 51, 60, 65, 170n12, 182 MacIntyre, A. 84, 172n10, 177n8, n17, 179n5, 184 Malthus, R. 108, 171n5, 180 Manstetten, R. i, ix, x, xiii, 165n1, n8, 166n14–15, 167n8, n14, n16–17, 168n7, n17, 170n16, 171n5, n41, 173, 173n2, n5, 175n2, n10, 176n1, n22, 177n3, n6, 178n12, n17–n20, 180–4 Marx, K. 77, 163 Maslow, A.H. 177n9, 184 Mayr, E. 172n18, 180–1, 184, 186 Mendel, G. 109 Merleau-Ponty, M. 169n1, 185 Meyer-Abich, K. 165n8, 185 Monod, J. 172n18, 175n15, 176n17, 185 Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides) 86 Mueller, D. 177n2, 185 Newton, I. 25, 31, 87 Niemes, H. 157, 173n23, 182–3 Nikolaus von Kues (Nikolaus Kusanus) 45, 168n11, 185 Novalis (Friedrich von Hardenberg) 1, 12, 82–3, 123–4, 153, 172n7–n9, 178n17, 180, 184–5 Nutzinger H.-G. 178n14, 185 Paul 123, 176n21 Perrings, C 165n1, 181

Petersen, T. 165n8, 177n6, n15, 178n10, 182, 184, 185 Platon 179n6, 185, 187 Popper, K. 166n1, n6, 185 Portmann, A. 178n1, 185 Priddat, B.P. 177n11, 185 Proops, J.L.R. v, x, xiii, 165n1, 166n14, 167n14, n17, 171n41, 173n4–n5, 174n12, 175n2, n10, 178n12, 182, 185 Quesnay, F. 1, 136, 177n10 Ravetz, J.R. 165n2, 182 Remmert, H. 25–6, 166n2, 174n13–n14, 186 Richter, R. 169n3, 182 Röllicke, H.J. 175n1, 184, 186 Roth, K. 157, 183 Rousseau, J. 163 Schäfer, L. 69–71, 165n9, 167n12, 170n2, n8–n11, n13–n15, 186 Scheler, M. 158, 178n1, 186 Schelling, F.W.J. 43, 82 Schiller, J. 165n1, n7, 173, 173n2, 174n12, 177n6, 178n12, n19, 180–2, 186 Schlosser, J.G. 137, 177n13 Schmid-Hempel, P. 112, 175n8, 186 Schopf, W.J. 174n15–n18, n21–23, 186 Schröter, C. 19, 165n4, 186 Schütz, A. 169n1, 186 Schumpeter, J.A. 177n10, n15, 186 Schweitzer, A. 47, 150, 168n18, 178n13, 186 Shackle, G.L.S. 167n15, 186 Sheldrake, R. 175n9, 186 Simon, J. 36, 166n5, 186 Simpson, G.G. 117 Smith, A. 145, 177n7, 183, 184, 186 Socrates 28, 45 Spaemann, R. 172n13, 176n17, 186 Speck, S. 173n4, 182 Spencer, S. 108 Stephan, G. 173n23, 182 Storch, V. 172n12, 173n7, 175n5, n6, n11, n12, 176n3, 186 Strasburger, E. 172n15, n18, 173n22, 186 Thomas of Aquinas 86 Townsend, C.R. 165n7, 166n3–n4, 171n3, 172n21, 174n9, n10, 175n10, 176n2, 179n3, 180 Tullock, G. 177n6, 181

190   Author index Veblen, T. 177n18, 186 Virgil 18 Waldenfels, B. 169n1, 187 Weber, M. 167n9, 187 Weizsäcker, E.U. 165n3, 187 Welsch, U. 172n12, 173n7, 175n5, n6, n11, n12, 176n3, 186

Wieland, W. 169n11, 187 Wink, M. 172n12, 173n7, 175n5, n6, n11, n12, 176n3, 186 Wissel, C. 173, 181 Wodopia, F.-J. 173n1, n5, 187 Wood, D. 172n7, 187 Zwilling, R. 174n11, 187

Subject index

agriculture 7, 9–10, 63, 136 anthropocentric 18–19, 150, 165n8 attention 1–3, 35, 47–8, 50, 78, 91, 98, 102, 112–13, 116, 122, 128, 141, 146, 154, 156n2, 173n1, 175n10 axiom 37 biocoenosis 20, 23, 81–2, 86, 88–9, 94–105, 108, 113–16, 119–22, 124–9, 148–52, 156, 172n19, n20, 175n7, 176n10 biology i, xi, xii, 1–3, 6, 26, 31, 35–8, 47, 50, 62, 81, 85, 87–8, 90, 95, 109–13, 116–17, 121–2, 125, 158, 172n14, n18, n20, 185–6 capital ix, 63, 100, 173n1, 182, 187 chaos 55, 183 chemistry 2, 6, 26, 31, 34, 50, 167n9 chlorofluorocarbons 8, 36 Christianity 40, 46, 62, 108, 169n9 coevolution 113, 175n10 community 4, 17, 19–20, 26, 46, 55, 57, 69–70, 94, 102–3, 115, 124, 138, 141, 144–54, 156–7, 159 consumption 14, 21, 63, 97, 99–100, 102–3, 106, 139, 171n41, 176n4 creation 11, 57, 70, 73, 77, 86, 108, 110–11, 119, 123, 138, 162 creative 15, 43, 73, 86–7, 94, 119, 123, 132–3, 137 creativity 15, 119–20, 123, 137, 160, 177n15 Critique of Judgement 85, 87, 166n11, 169n4, 184 Critique of Pure Reason 31, 39, 42, 45, 85, 184 culture 14, 21, 30, 57, 59, 63, 80, 84, 125–6, 163, 167n9 Darwinism vii, 108–24, 175; see also neoDarwinism

death 122, 128, 130, 143, 147, 150, 152, 156, 168n9, 172n21, 174n8, 177n1, 187 die (to) 24, 66, 72, 98, 102–3, 112, 117, 124, 143, 145, 175n7, 176n20 dogmatism 42–4, 46, 49, 52, 66 ecological economics ii, ix, x, xiii, 16, 165n1, 171n41, 173n4, 180–2, 185–6 ecology i, ii, vii, ix, xi–xii, 1, 3, 6, 16–27, 80–2, 84, 87, 109, 120, 165n7, n10, 171n2, 178n2, 180, 186 economia 17 economic science(s) 17, 166n13, 173n7 economical i, 2, 8 economics 71, 77, 79, 145, 165n1, 169n6, 171n39, n41, 173n4, 176n1, 177n10, 180–2, 185–6 économie politique 17 economy i, ii, vii, xi–xii, 1–2, 4, 9–10, 16–24, 51, 61, 83, 97, 98, 103, 126, 130–1, 137–8, 143–4, 149, 151, 158, 162, 171n5, 173n1, 176n4, 178n10, 180, 181–2 education i, vii, viii, xii, 1, 2, 3, 5–17, 20–1, 27, 33, 47, 51, 61, 65, 67, 138–9, 146–7, 149, 154, 156, 158, 162–4, 171n2; problems i 2–3, 6–7, 9, 12, 14, 22, 36, 63, 66, 68, 148, 178n21; protection ix, 162; research i, ix, xi enigma 40–2, 44–7, 51, 54, 70, 167n3 entirety 3, 15, 23, 27, 33, 43, 55, 81–3, 92, 103, 115–16, 120, 135, 141, 157, 159, 164 entropy xi, 38, 100, 173n1, n23, 182–3 environmental i, vii, viii, ix, xi, xii, xiii, 1–3, 5–12, 14–17, 19–22, 27, 33, 36, 38, 51–2, 61, 63, 65–8, 71, 82, 109, 128, 148–9, 154, 156–8, 161–4, 166n13, 171n2, 178n2, 178n21, 180–2; conservation 7, 9–10, 23, 27, 61, 90, 166n13; crisis 67–8, 161, 164

192   Subject index esoteric science 42 essence logos vii, 3, 27, 39, 42–54, 57, 59, 65–8, 71, 74, 77, 79, 86, 112, 120, 138, 141, 151, 168n13, 178n15 ethical xi, 141, 149, 155 ethics i, 13, 49, 148, 155 eukaryotic 106–7 evolution vii, x, 15, 38, 47, 82, 87, 93–4, 103, 105, 107–26, 175n9, 180–2, 184, 186; theory of 82, 109 evolutionary 3, 37, 87, 105, 107, 110, 112–14, 117–18, 120, 175n10 existence 161, 163–4, 165n10, 173n7, n24, 175n9 existence logos vii, 3, 27, 49, 51, 53–67, 69–71, 74, 76, 79, 81, 84, 87–8, 90–1, 111–12, 118, 122, 141, 144, 151, 169n5 experience 143, 152, 158, 163, 168n5, 175n8; everyday 30, 46, 69, 87, 90, 143, 175n8 experiment 30–4, 50, 58, 68 extraction 7, 33, 98–100, 130 faith 51–2, 70, 76–7, 170n1, n12 Faust xii, 3, 71–8, 144, 165n3, 170n16–n32, 171n34–n40, 177n5, 181, 183 flow 23, 98–9, 148, 153, 173n3, 187 fortune 69, 177n7 foundations i, ix, xi, 1, 3, 5, 10, 14–15, 27, 37, 46, 97–9, 101, 105, 109, 112, 124, 126–7, 139–42, 149, 155, 165n2, 180–3 freedom 43, 46, 48–9, 62, 73, 76, 78, 123–5, 142–3, 150, 154, 177n4, 178n1 fundamental reflection 10–11, 26 funds vii, 4, 97–107, 113–16, 121, 125–31, 149, 153–4, 173n5, n6, 174n8 genotype 109, 112–13, 115–16, 175n9 geology 6, 26 geopgraphy 6 God 28, 40–5, 57, 65, 71, 74, 77, 86–7, 108, 110, 119, 123, 138, 168n9, 170n12 good: common xii, 68; public 166n13 gratitude 74, 155–6 harmony 120–1, 147, 150, 152, 156, 176n18 house 3, 16–21, 26, 77, 80, 120, 126, 128–9, 131, 135–6, 149–50, 152, 155, 166n11 household 4, 16–21 housekeeping: nature’s 21; society’s 21 human rights 46–7, 143, 148–9, 157

humanity i, xi, 12, 23–4, 46–7, 71, 78, 82, 84–5, 97, 108, 113, 117, 122–3, 126, 131, 135, 138, 140, 144–54, 157–64, 175n7 ignorance vii, 3, 6–8, 10, 12–14, 25, 27, 35–8, 42, 44–7, 61, 162, 164, 167n14, 182; pure 44–7, 59, 168n13 imagination 28, 41, 119, 132–5, 137, 140, 142, 144, 163, 176n5 institution 8, 48, 55, 58, 64, 148, 157, 163, 167n13, 169n3, 170n12, 182 integration 32–4 interest i, 4, 73, 135, 140–57, 173n1, 177n1, 178n10, 182; in the community 4, 141, 147, 150–1, 154; in the whole 4, 147, 149, 151–7; see also self-interest intersubjective 28 intersubjectivity 28–9, 32 Islam 40, 46, 57, 108, 169n9 joint production 103, 180, 182 Judaism 40, 46, 62, 108 judgement 64–7, 85, 87, 139, 166n11, 169n4, n11, 176n8, 184 justice 14, 17, 43, 46, 108, 119, 149; faculty of 64–7, 176n8 Law of Entropy 173n23 laws 1, 22, 25–6, 29–33, 36–8, 40, 46, 49, 51, 58, 68, 85, 88, 99, 118, 145, 166n6, 167n11, 172n14, 173n24 layer 135–6, 176n5; imaginative 132–4, 138, 140, 142, 176n5; physical 131, 136, 140, 142; reflective 132, 134, 138, 140, 176n5 market(s) 17, 79, 129–30 meaning vii, xi, 3, 11, 16–17, 19, 22–3, 26, 38, 43, 56, 59, 62, 76, 80, 116–18, 120, 122, 131, 133, 152, 159, 163 measure(s) 9, 11, 17, 30, 52, 65, 78–9, 99, 124, 127–30, 131–4, 137–8, 140–2, 149, 162, 171n39, 178n21 medicine 6, 11, 50, 56, 61, 72, 145 metabolism 90, 106–7, 109, 116, 159, 162 moderation 103–4, 124, 127, 130, 176n3 mortal 28, 43, 98 mortality 41, 98 mutation 37, 93, 110–13, 115, 125 natural philosophy 13, 172n13, 185 natural: science 25–6, 29, 34, 69, 85; scientists 40, 51

Subject index   193 nature: household of 4, 20; laws of 30, 36, 118; nonhuman 2, 40, 128; reign over/ control of 18, 26 need(s) 70, 91–2, 131–41, 143–4, 146, 153; elementary 133, 135–7, 139; for participation and recognition 136, 138–9, 146; imagined 132–3, 135–9, 146 need satisfaction 134, 137, 141, 143–4 neo-Darwinism 113–24; see also Darwinism nomos 3, 16–19, 22, 97, 103, 126, 128–31, 135–7, 140, 144, 148–51, 154–6 non-satiation 79, 138, 144 novelty 17, 37, 66, 111, 116, 118, 125, 134, 182 objectivity, scientific 32 oikonomia 17 oikos 3, 16–22, 25–6, 80, 97, 120, 152 omnipotence 76 omniscience 14, 76 organism 19, 26, 81–2, 89–90, 98, 106, 109–10, 112, 120, 172n21, 179n3 oxygen 90, 103, 105–7, 116, 149, 173n7, 174n23 ozone layer 8, 36, 66, 106, 166n13; hole in 36, 66 perception 3, 6, 13, 15, 27, 31–2, 34, 39–41, 43, 45, 56, 68, 120, 122–4, 131, 133–4, 150, 152, 154, 156, 158, 160, 165n8 phenomenology 53–4, 169n1 phenomenon 33–4, 43, 51, 53, 88, 90, 92, 116, 118 phenotype 109–12, 113, 115–16, 175n9 philosophy i, ix, xii, 2–3, 12–15, 44, 51, 58, 71–2, 77, 82, 85–6, 135, 155, 166n6, 169n11, 172n13, 185 photosynthesis 106–7 physics 1–3, 6, 26–7, 29, 31, 36–8, 50–1, 57, 86–7, 119, 166n6, 167n9, n11, n17, 168n14, 172n13, n16; classical 3, 25, 27, 29, 31, 57, 86–7, 167n7, n11 physiocentric 165n8 physiocrates 177n10, n13 pleonexia 138 politics i, xii, 1–2, 5–7, 9–10, 21, 38, 131, 158, 162, 184 pollutants 7, 9, 22, 154, 161–2 preparation 32–4, 50, 69, 81–2, 156 production x, 10, 14, 17–18, 30, 34, 63, 68–9, 93, 97, 99–100, 103, 105, 118,

128–30, 136–7, 173n1, n7, 180, 182, 187 prokaryotic 106, 174n18 rational 31, 55, 86, 131, 137, 142–5, 167n9, 177n6, 184 rationality 84, 140, 159, 177n1 reason xii, 3, 28, 31–2, 37, 39, 42–3, 45–9, 59, 85, 97, 118–20, 133–5, 137, 152–3, 162, 168n5, 176n8, 179n6, 183–4 reflection xi, 10–11, 26, 118, 132, 134–5, 139–40, 145, 176n5 regularities 29, 32–3 religion 14, 46, 56–7, 63, 70, 73–4, 77, 119, 146, 158, 168n5, n13 reproduction 4, 89–90, 92–4, 106, 110–12, 123, 130, 145–6, 173n26, 175n11; group 89 resources 7, 14, 18, 20–1, 23, 31, 63, 83, 90, 94, 99, 101, 128–30, 157, 161–2, 173n27, 182 risk 35–6, 60, 79, 112, 122, 167n17, 184 Romanticism 82 salvation 9, 13, 38, 43, 71, 77, 123, 168n13 saturation 138 scientific logos vii, 3, 25, 27–8, 30–9, 41–7, 49–51, 53–4, 56–9, 62, 64, 66–8, 70, 81, 83–5, 87, 90, 109, 112, 117–18, 122, 131, 141, 143, 166n6, 167n7, 170n1 selection 32–4, 50, 69, 81–2, 111–13, 116, 175n10, 181 self 19, 40–1, 88, 93, 111, 114, 122–3, 135, 139, 142, 171n39, 175n8; denial 89, 94; development 22, 89, 91–4, 96, 99, 113, 142, 146; determination 48, 124, 143, 155; preservation 4, 89–91, 93, 96, 99, 113, 127, 141; renewal 89, 92–4, 114, 145–6; reproduction 4, 89, 92–4, 145–6 self-interest 4, 141–7, 150–1, 153–4 sensory perception 39–40, 56 serve 33, 51, 72, 93, 95–6, 100, 102–3, 113, 124, 129–30, 145, 150, 152, 154–5 service 51, 89, 93–6, 98, 102–3, 105, 107, 114–15, 121, 127, 129, 136, 144, 147, 153, 155–6 society 2, 10, 16, 38, 43, 46, 50, 54–65, 67–8, 70–1, 73, 76, 79, 129, 133, 136, 138–9, 141, 144–6, 148, 166n6, 171n39, 172n14 soul 11, 40–4, 54, 82, 120, 152

194   Subject index species 130–1, 136, 150, 156, 161–2, 171n2, 172n20, 173n6, 175n4, n7; n10, n11, 181 stock 11, 37, 60, 78, 98–9, 101, 110, 116, 130, 173n3 store 98–100, 107, 129–30, 144, 156 subjectivity 45–6, 49, 60 suffering 43, 46, 54, 69, 77, 79, 84, 96, 116, 121–3, 128, 150, 161, 177n1 sustainability xi, 22–3, 61, 79, 136, 139, 148–51, 163, 181–2, 186; external 61, 139; inner 61 system 20, 26, 36–7, 72, 84, 103, 111, 145, 159, 161, 168n14, 177n6, 179n4 technology xii, 12, 21, 24, 34, 38, 51, 56, 68–9, 71, 77, 79, 83, 124, 127, 131, 137, 158, 162, 171n39 teleological 4, 85–9, 116, 118, 172n13, n18, 182 teleology 85–8, 172n18 telos 85, 89, 92–6, 99, 102–3, 109, 113–14, 118, 121–2, 124, 128, 130, 141–2, 145–6, 149–51, 153, 177n1; first 89, 92–4, 102–3, 109, 113, 122, 141–2, 145–6, 151, 153, 177n1; second 92–5, 102, 109, 114, 121, 124, 145–6, 151; third 94–6, 102, 113–14, 121–2, 128, 130, 149–51, 153

thing-in-itself 39, 44 time x, xi, 9, 16, 18, 29, 39–42, 44–5, 48, 50, 58, 60–1, 65–6, 70, 77–8, 88, 90, 93, 97–9, 103–6, 108–9, 111, 114–15, 118, 125, 130, 145, 154, 162, 167n4, 173n3, n4, 174n8, 182, 187 tradition i, xii, xiii, 13, 25, 27, 45, 58–60, 62, 65, 125, 146 truth 13, 34–5, 37, 39, 41–3, 54–5, 64, 69, 72, 83, 166n5, n6, 168n5 uncertainty 35–6, 55, 59, 79, 168n14, 182, 184, 186 urge(s) 43, 79, 91, 93, 95, 120, 131–8, 142, 176n5; level of 133–4 utility 8, 38, 51, 69–70, 98–9, 101, 142–4; maximisation/maximizer 142–4 waste 8–9, 97, 100, 102, 106, 113, 162 whole (the) 155–7, 172n21, 176n18 will 18, 23, 43, 47–9, 61, 72–3, 77, 86, 122–3, 135, 148, 162; devine 54, 108; non 162 world i, 1, 5–6, 13–14, 16, 18, 21, 23–4, 29–30, 32–4, 43, 48–9, 51, 53–4, 56–7, 60–1, 63, 66, 68–74, 76–9, 81–3, 90, 108, 110, 123–41, 146, 148, 150–1, 153–5, 157–64, 166n5, 168n9, 173n7,