Is the natural world defined by rigid divisions and conflicts, or does diversity, fluidity and interconnectedness hold the key?
Koosje van Leeuwen writes at the intersection of biology, philosophy, politics, and art, with a focus on the ethical dimensions of the relationship between humans and the natural world. She is currently working on a collection of essays exploring these themes. She has an academic background in media & culture and journalism (University of Amsterdam and Sorbonne University). She is based in Amsterdam and Turin.
Cross-posted from Green European Journal
In the novel The Wall (Die Wand) by Austrian writer Marlen Haushofer, a woman discovers that she is cut off from the outside world by an invisible barrier. With no humans around and only a dog, a cow, and a cat as companions, she must survive in the mountains. Soon, time and individuality begin to dissolve and an acquiescence to the unrelenting rhythm of the seasons emerges. Interdependence becomes the key to survival.
This quiet but powerful narrative offers a stark contrast to the dominant view of nature shaped by the idea of “survival of the fittest”, the famous phrase Charles Darwin borrowed from philosopher Herbert Spencer. Though intended to describe how natural selection works, it has long since been hijacked as a cultural narrative, turning into a justification for ruthless competition and the primacy of individual success. Under neoliberalism, it has become the modus operandi of entire societies: markets reward the strong, and dependence is a sign of weakness. Far-right movements weaponise this logic and take it to its extreme, adding in cultural and racial anxieties to argue that men and women have fixed roles, sexuality exists only for reproduction, migration pollutes “pure” national and racial identities, and hierarchy and exclusion are simply part of nature’s design.
Yet biology itself offers a more nuanced and expansive picture. Competition does exist, but nature equally encompasses cooperation, interdependence, and adaptability.
The evolutionary logic of cooperation
Other scientists offered perspectives on evolution that are radically different from Darwin’s. In his Gaia hypothesis, for example, English chemist and medical researcher James Lovelock views the Earth as a living system sustained through the synergism of plants, bacteria, animals, and atmospheric conditions.
American evolutionary biologist Lynn Margulis, who co-developed the Gaia hypothesis, laid the foundations for a broader understanding of evolution with her theory of symbiosis. Where neo-Darwinism primarily explained life through struggle and chance, Margulis added a missing element: cooperation. In her view, complex life arose not solely through elimination, but also fusion. Bacteria that once lived independently developed to live inside one another.
One of Margulis’s most groundbreaking scientific contributions was her theory that mitochondria, the “batteries” in our cells, were once independent bacteria. These microorganisms were absorbed by larger cells which, instead of breaking them down, integrated them. Similarly, chloroplasts, the site of photosynthesis in plants, originated from the absorption of cyanobacteria. These symbiotic partnerships form the basis of all complex life as we know it.
Another scientist whose research on primate behaviour challenges the competition-centred narrative is the Dutch-American ethologist Frans de Waal. In Chimpanzee Politics (1982), de Waal showed that among apes, power is maintained through coalitions, strategic alliances, and the exchange of social favours rather than sheer physical strength. In Good Natured (1996), he examined behaviours often seen as moral, such as consolation, reconciliation, and care for others, interpreting them as evolutionarily advantageous rather than purely cultural achievements. Groups built on cooperation, he found, thrive far more effectively than those ruled solely by dominance.
Sexuality and gender: A dazzling diversity
In nature, life thrives as a result of variation, including when it comes to sexual and gender expression. Yet, particularly within these realms, the natural world is often invoked in defence of “traditional” roles. Heterosexuality is claimed to be the norm of sexual relationships, and anything that deviates from it is depicted as unnatural, or even perverse and harmful. In debates around LGBTQIA+ rights, a supposed natural order is conjured that never existed in biological reality.
Nature displays an extraordinary variety of sexual behaviours that are not always linked to procreation. According to Frans de Waal, bonobos use sex toreduce tension and to restore or strengthen social bonds. In his book Biological Exuberance (1999), Canadian biologist Bruce Bagemihl points to the wealth of sexual techniques and motivations found in nature: flirting, cuddling, group dynamics, and even what humans describe as “extravagance” (though that often says more about our interpretations than the behaviour itself). For many species, sexuality is a means of strengthening social bonds, easing tensions, and fostering group cohesion rather than exercising only a reproductive function.
Among black swans, homosexual behaviour appears to offer an evolutionary advantage: homosexual pairs succeed in raising the young in 80 per cent of cases, compared with only 30 per cent of heterosexual pairs. Female Japanese macaques engage in sexual behaviour with other females, strengthening social ties within the group. Where female connections are stronger, there is often more cooperation in raising the young, which in turn increases the group’s chances of survival. In some bird species, joint parenting occurs in trios, such as two males and one female sharing the incubation and care of the chick. While these arrangements often arise from strategic cooperation rather than sexual orientation as such, they show that various social configurations exist in nature and contribute to group success.
Sexuality thus fulfils a deeply social role which is just as natural as reproduction. But sexual and gender diversity also hold value in themselves, regardless of whether they serve a purpose. Nature offers numerous examples of animals that do not fit neatly into a single gender category. For instance, all clownfish are born male; only when the dominant female disappears does the largest male change into a female and take the lead. With parrotfish it works the other way around: they are born female, and as they mature, they go through various stages in which they change colour and sex. Wrasses, too, undergo sex changes – diversity simply exists.
Bagemihl underscores a simple truth: cooperation is conducive to life. Diverse relationships do not weaken social cohesion, they enhance it. Therefore, the restrictive concept of a single “natural” form of relationship must be replaced by a broader, more inclusive vision. Emphasis on interdependence is critical, particularly amid growing societal polarisation. A socially connected group counteracts exclusion and fragmentation. Sustaining relationships, care, and community is just as natural as reproduction.
The geography of migration
Just as gender and sexual diversity, migration is not an anomaly: we exist because of it. Migration is a social and ecological process that emerges when people are compelled by circumstance or drawn by the hope of a better life. As climate change and political upheaval render parts of the world uninhabitable, movement becomes inevitable. Like other species, humans migrate in response to shifting conditions. But while movement itself is a natural part of life on Earth, the forces driving much of today’s displacement are not. Anthropogenic climate change and the socio-economic and environmental injustices at its core are human-made. They are the product of political decisions, global inequality, and extractive systems that continue to shape who gets to move and under what conditions.
Among non-human animals, migration is an evolutionary mechanism that plays a crucial role in maintaining resilience. Migratory birds and salmon, for example, spread their genes over large distances, which raises their species’ chances of survival and strengthens ecosystems. Another example is the northward migration of cod due to the warming of the northern hemisphere. The copepod, a crucial food source for young cod, has moved more than a thousand kilometres north, prompting cod populations to follow.
Not all species are as mobile. Coral reefs are disappearing, snow leopards are losing their habitats and polar bears are coming ever closer to human settlements in search of food. In nature, migration often emerges as the sole path to survival. This is true for a lot of human migration as well, but while animals migrate without moral judgment, humans who move across borders are frequently viewed as threats. Human migration becomes politicised, framed as a problem and restricted by law. This mobility is rarely recognised as an ecological response and more often presented as a threat – as the breakdown of borders, the loss of national identity, and a failure of control. Nature is then invoked as an argument against change. Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, for instance, claimed that migration disrupts European civilisation because it is not in Europe’s nature to be multicultural. This is a conflation of biology and culture which, as we know from the past, can lead down a very dark path.
But nature knows no national borders, let alone pure origins. What is presented as original is usually nothing more than a snapshot in an endless process of mixing, movement and transformation. The idea that a culture disappears the moment it merges with another is just as artificial as the notion that biodiversity decreases when species spread.
Finding new balance
In the 1980s, James Lovelock introduced Daisyworld, a thought experiment in the form of an imaginary planet. Black and white daisies influence this planet’s climate, with the former absorbing heat and the latter reflecting it. As the sun grows warmer, the flowers respond by shifting their distribution in line with the changing temperature, in turn altering the climate. A dynamic balance emerges through feedback, as the interaction between the two types of daisies regulates the environment. This mechanism helps maintain overall planetary stability in the face of change.
Adopting a similar outlook towards migration can lead to a better balance between different communities. The Swedish municipality of Sjöbo recently started experimenting with a programme in which newcomers were paired with local mentors to help them settle into their new lives. This is how Syrian refugee Lana Alnajjar came into contact with Minette Månsson, a single mother from the region. What began as practical support grew into mutual involvement and a friendship that benefited both families. Minette, with experience of motherhood in Sweden, supported Lana during her pregnancy, for example, with language and in navigating local institutions. The programme was eventually embraced as a permanent policy.
Without such support, people remain trapped in vulnerable positions; for instance, in homes that are too small or in temporary jobs without rights. In schools where language education is treated as a secondary priority, children of immigrants face many difficulties and are socially excluded. This is precisely why it is necessary to strengthen local communities in their capacity to accommodate newcomers. From providing inclusive language education and decentralised reception to fostering an urban sense of belonging that is independent of nationality, governments should prioritise global citizenship.
Approaching migration from this perspective means acknowledging that newcomers are to become part of the social fabric. There is a call for policies based on shared ownership of the spaces we inhabit together. Just as the daisies in Daisyworld regulate their environment through dynamic feedback, human societies can find stability not in stasis but in ongoing change and mutual adaptation. Cultures mix, grow, fade and reemerge in new forms, and it is in this movement that social balance can be nurtured.
As human beings, we are capable of adapting, but our mental elasticity is limited. When change is postponed and accumulated, we become unsettled. Fear of loss (of place, possessions, or certainty) runs deep, often reinforced by capitalist ideals that reward ownership and intensify that fear. This is why a discourse of nostalgia for an idealised past appeals to so many voters. The “tradwife” movement is just one example: a fantasy of safety from a past that is simply not true. The task of progressive politics is to turn the inevitability of change into something people can accept and embrace.
Redefining self-interest
Of all animal species, humans are the only ones who treat raw materials as possessions. In our globalised economy, a tree gains value once it is cut down and processed into planks rather than when it provides oxygen or shelters birds and insects. This economy reflects our uniquely human capacity to assign abstract value and ownership.
Other animals mark territory, gather objects or attain privileges within their social hierarchy. But abstract ownership as it exists in the human economy? No. What Arthur Schopenhauer called representation, we have turned into economy: a mental construction we have mistaken for reality. According to the German philosopher, the world appears to us as an image, shaped by our senses and conceptual frameworks. Ownership works the same way. We treat land, air, water, and even life itself (the expression “meat production” says it all) as if they can belong to someone.
No other species claims natural resources, let alone trades or sells them. Still, we cling to the ideal of the autonomous individual whose freedom is defined as their independence. Capitalist systems assume that people act in their own self-interest. But as Robin Wall Kimmerer, a botanist and a professor at the State University of New York, asks: What exactly is the “self”? In her book The Serviceberry (2024), she writes that if you acknowledge that your body, breath, food, and land are inseparably tied to the world around you, self-interest takes on an entirely different meaning.
Russian-American writer Ayn Rand celebrated the belief in radical self-interest and independence as an ideal. In her view, concern for others was subordinate to autonomy, empathy a sentiment to be avoided, and dependence something to be minimised. But Arthur Schopenhauer thought differently, regarding compassion as the very core of moral behaviour. What Rand saw as strength or independence, Schopenhauer viewed as an illusion. Where Rand glorified the autonomous individual, Schopenhauer emphasised that the distinction between self and other is nowhere near as sharp as we think.
Wall Kimmerer envisions a more relational economy in which humans are aligned with nature’s interests, and where a deep care for plants, animals, air, soil, and water is understood to nurture us in turn. If compassion becomes the foundation of our economy, what, how, and for whom we produce will stem from an understanding of interdependence, not a misguided sense of autonomy.
This kind of economy may seem abstract at first glance, yet it’s already finding expression in concrete policy across Europe. In France, clothing repairs are subsidised; the Swedish government has reduced VAT on repair work, and a number of German villages are investing collectively in solar energy. In the Netherlands, a citizens’ cooperative is buying farmland to protect biodiversity, while Finland has experimented with a basic universal income. To the west, Portugal has enshrined the right to rest. In Germany, Switzerland, and the Netherlands, waste is seen as a resource: phosphates are now being extracted from sewage sludge and reused. Public spaces are being redesigned for social encounters rather than mere flow.
The circular economy is also a clear reflection of intelligent production, use, and re-use, as well as proper waste disposal. According to the principle of extended producer responsibility, whoever makes something is also responsible for what happens to it. The idea is simple: if sustainable choices are cheaper than polluting ones, people will adjust. However, the outcome is uneven in practice. Companies often keep any cost savings and wealthier households benefit the most. Governments also struggle with how to define what counts as sustainable. For instance, when the UK sought to reduce VAT on energy-saving materials, the European Court of Justice overruled the measure for being too broad. The road to a relational economy demands more than ideals. It requires political clarity and determination.
Political scientist Sabine Nuss argues that real change needs a different distribution of power and ownership. She calls this “economic democracy”: workers gain more influence, public conditions are attached to companies that receive tax money, and collective control must be exerted over what is of collective importance. Market logic, she says, is not neutral but the result of years of deregulation. Without the collective approach, the circular economy remains a facade. Citizens keep paying, employers suppress wages for their own benefit, and workers get temporary, insecure contracts. At the same time, profits are kept private while the risks affect the public. According to Nuss, economic democracy is essential to safeguarding justice, and a failure to redistribute ownership leads to rising inequality and a growing risk of social disruption.
Interconnected life
Ideas like posthumanism, the Anthropocene, ecocentric thinking, and the Symbiocene have come to shape contemporary thought. What they share is the insight that humanity is part of an interconnected web of life. From this perspective, collaboration with the Earth is not an idealistic goal but a necessity for survival.
The natural world is relational, and so are we. This awareness needs to be translated into politics. If Europe is serious about creating a liveable future, compassion and connectedness must become the pillars of public policy. Compassion is not an optional extra or a weakness; it is a form of intelligence that helps us survive as a species. That is the story we should be telling.
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