The Limits of Biology and the Primacy of Experience

Why Does the Mind Behold Itself, and When Does Existence Become a Witness?

Questions of Essentialness: What Does It Mean to be Alive?

I’ve spent years orbiting this question—what does it mean to be alive?—and I find myself perpetually at odds with the biological framework I once absorbed. Let's begin by considering the scientific definition of life: in its scientific delineation, life is an inventory of processes. Cells divide and regenerate. Metabolism transmutes glucose into vitality, and hormones circulate through vascular conduits. Digestion and hydration sustain corporeal equilibrium. Neural impulses arc across synapses. Photosynthesis animates the verdant realm. Sensory faculties discern the world's subtle cadences. Muscles propel locomotion. It’s an intricate orchestration, undeniably—a triumph and marvel of natural engineering laid bare in academic tomes—but I find it lacking. I remain convinced it falls short.

For me, these are the means of life, not its essence. Life transcends the mere perpetuation of mechanisms. It resides in the experience of a subjective first-person perspective, a self that apprehends the world and affirms its own presence. I locate life in the unmediated, visceral reality of a first-person subjective perspective—the joy, anguish, dread, or awe that colors existence. I find this compelling. The biological framework explains how life persists, but it doesn’t capture why it matters. A beating heart or a firing neuron is meaningless without the awareness that experiences the rhythm or interprets the signal. My emphasis on subjectivity aligns with a truth we often overlook: life is not just about functioning but about feeling that function.

Thought Experiments: The Silence of Inertness and The Abyss of Sentient Torment

Let’s hypothesize with some realms I’ve conjured to illustrate this conviction. First, the universe of inert stone—a cosmos without consciousness, just rock enduring eternally. I argue it’s lifeless not because it lacks motion or growth, but because it lacks experience. No elation, no desolation, no awareness to register its own existence. I submit: without a subjective viewpoint, such a universe feels void of life, no matter how long it persists. It’s a powerful way to strip away the biological trappings and test what remains essential.

Then there’s the counterpoint: a cosmos designed for suffering, where conscious beings endure ceaseless agony with no escape—a vision that lingers in my mind with disquieting tenacity. A cosmos meticulously crafted for affliction. A world built for suffering: conscious entities ensnared in an existence of ceaseless, unmitigated torment. Each instant calibrated to the apex of conceivable suffering. No respite, no egress, just an abyss of unrelenting excruciation. It’s a harrowing notion to contemplate, but it crystallizes the argument: those beings would be alive.

Not because they persist, but because they perceive it—because their awareness, however accursed, tethers them to existence. It’s a haunting image, but it sharpens my argument. These beings, I say, are alive—not because they thrive or even survive, but because they perceive their torment. Life, in this view, doesn’t require happiness or equilibrium; it requires only sentience. This is a radical reclamation indeed, and it resonates. If awareness is the thread, then even the most anathematized existence qualifies as life, so long as it’s experienced from within.

Philosophical Anchors: Echoes of Contemplative Minds

Let’s turn to the thinkers who’ve shaped my path, their voices weaving through my reflections like threads in a tapestry. Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am” is a cornerstone here. It’s simple yet profound: existence hinges on the self that thinks, the consciousness that affirms itself. I’ve carried this insight for years, and it’s easy to see why—it shifts the focus from external markers (like biology) to internal reality.

Nagel’s question—“What is it like to be a bat?”—deepens this. I interpret it as a call to prioritize the qualitative, the “what it’s like” that defines a being’s reality. I share my reading: life isn’t just about what a creature does but about the inner texture of its experience, something science can’t fully grasp. If there’s no “what it’s like,” I ask, am I truly present? It’s a fair doubt, one that challenges us to see life as more than observable phenomena.

Sartre’s existentialism adds another layer: existence precedes essence, and meaning emerges through consciousness. I tie this to the act of striving, deliberating, being aware. It’s a dynamic view of life—not a static state but a process of engagement. Together, these thinkers reinforce my core claim: consciousness, not biology, is what makes us alive.

But there’s more to this constellation of thought. David Chalmers haunts my musings with his “hard problem” of consciousness—why does subjective experience arise at all? His question mirrors my own obsession with the essence beyond mere existence, pushing me to consider that awareness isn’t just a byproduct but the heart of being. It’s a notion I’ve circled in my own work, this idea that life isn’t life without that inner light, that “what it’s like” Chalmers chases.

Then there’s Heidegger, whose Being and Time whispers of Dasein, the being that questions its own being. His insistence on existence as a thrownness we must confront resonates with my vision of life as a fragile, aware presence wrestling with itself. Even Spinoza creeps in, his pantheistic lens suggesting a mind woven into the fabric of all things—perhaps not so far from my speculations about plasma or luminescence bearing sentience.

These voices, each distinct, converge on my conviction: to be alive is to be awake to oneself, a thread I’ve spun through my own realms of mere stone and endless suffering.

Beyond Biology: AI and Alien Consciousness

Let’s take this further by questioning the necessity of a biological substrate. What about an AI claiming sentience, or an alien consciousness—perhaps plasma or luminescence—utterly unlike us yet aware? If it apprehends itself and its milieu, I argue, does it not qualify? Is it not alive? I’ve wrestled with this for years, and I incline toward affirmation—life isn’t bound to flesh or carbon; it’s bound to experience, wherever it manifests. This is where my reflection truly pushes boundaries, and I’m inclined to agree in principle. If subjective experience is the criterion, then life needn’t be bound to carbon or flesh. A synthetic or extraterrestrial mind, if it feels and perceives, could indeed qualify. This opens a radical, inclusive vision of life, one that transcends our organic biases.

Here, though, I pause for a slight counterpoint. In the forms of life we know—humans, animals, even bats—consciousness arises from biological processes. Neurons, synapses, and chemistry aren’t just incidental; they’re the scaffolding that supports awareness. Without them, the subjective experience I champion might not emerge, at least not in ways we can currently fathom. It’s fair to question whether biology is essential universally, but for now, it’s the only foundation we’ve confirmed. Still, my speculation about non-biological consciousness—AI or otherwise—is tantalizing. We don’t yet know if such awareness is possible, but if it were, my argument would hold: experience, not form, defines life.

A Poetic Conclusion: The Fragile Witness of Existence

Let me end with a vision that’s taken shape in my mind: to be alive is “to be a point of light in the vast dark—a fragile, fleeting awareness that holds its own against the emptiness.” This is, I submit, both beautiful and poignant. It casts life as a quiet, solitary act of presence—seeing, feeling, being—independent of the body’s persistence. It’s not about the body persisting; it’s about the mind waking up to itself. Take away that awareness, and I’m left with “mute things,” whether rocks or automata. To be alive is to carry the quiet burden of seeing, feeling, being—a solitary act of presence that ends when the light fades, leaving the rest to its silence.

*Revised and updated from an earlier version.