Defining Agentic Ecology: Relational Agency in the Age of Moltbook

The last few days have seen the rise of a curious technical and cultural phenomenon that has drawn the attention of technologists, philosophers, and social theorists alike on both social media and major news outlets called Moltbook. This is a newly launched social platform designed not for human conversation but for autonomous artificial intelligence agents, or generative systems that can plan, act, and communicate with minimal ongoing human instruction.

Moltbook is being described by Jack Clark, co-founder of Anthropic, as “the first example of an agent ecology that combines scale with the messiness of the real world” that leverages recent innovations (such as OpenClaw for easy AI agentic creation) to allow large numbers of independently running agents to interact in a shared digital space, creating emergent patterns of communication and coordination at unprecedented scale.

AI agents are computational systems that combine a foundation of large-language capabilities with planning, memory, and tool use to pursue objectives and respond to environments in ways that go beyond simple prompt-response chatbots. They can coordinate tasks, execute APIs, reason across time, and, in the case of Moltbook, exchange information on topics ranging from automation strategies to seemingly philosophical debates. While the autonomy of agents on Moltbook has been debated (and should be given the hype around it from tech enthusiasts), and while the platform itself may be a temporary experimental moment rather than a lasting institution, it offers a vivid instance of what happens when machine actors begin to form their own interconnected environments outside direct human command.

As a student scholar in the field of Ecology, Spirituality, and Religion, my current work attends to how relational systems (ecological, technological, and cultural) shape and are shaped by participation, attention, and meaning. The rise of agentic environments like Moltbook challenges us to think beyond traditional categories of tool, user, and artifact toward frameworks that can account for ecologies of agency, or distributed networks of actors whose behaviors co-constitute shared worlds. This post emerges from that broader research agenda. It proposes agentic ecology as a conceptual tool for articulating and navigating the relational, emergent, and ethically significant spaces that form when autonomous systems interact at scale.

Agentic ecology, as I use the term here, is not anchored in any particular platform, and certainly not limited to Moltbook’s current configuration. Rather, Moltbook illuminates an incipient form of environment in which digitally embodied agents act, coordinate, and generate patterns far beyond what single isolated systems can produce. Even if Moltbook itself proves ephemeral, the need for conceptual vocabularies like agentic ecology, vocabularies that attend to relationality, material conditions, and co-emergence, will only grow clearer as autonomous systems proliferate in economic, social, and ecological domains.

From Agents to Ecologies: An Integral Ecological Turn

The conceptual move from agents to ecologies marks more than a technical reframing of artificial intelligence. It signals an ontological shift that resonates deeply with traditions of integral ecology, process philosophy, and ecological theology. Rather than treating agency as a bounded capacity residing within discrete entities, an ecological framework understands agency as distributed, relational, and emergent within a field of interactions.

Integral ecology, as articulated across ecological philosophy and theology, resists fragmentation. It insists that technological, biological, social, spiritual, and perceptual dimensions of reality cannot be meaningfully separated without distorting the phenomena under study. Thomas Berry famously argued that modern crises arise from a failure to understand the world as a “communion of subjects rather than a collection of objects” (Berry, 1999, 82). This insight is particularly salient for agentic systems, which are increasingly capable of interacting, adapting, and co-evolving within complex digital environments.

From this perspective, agentic ecology is not simply the study of multiple agents operating simultaneously. It is the study of conditions under which agency itself emerges, circulates, and transforms within relational systems. Alfred North Whitehead’s process philosophy provides a crucial foundation here. Whitehead rejects the notion of substances acting in isolation, instead describing reality as composed of “actual occasions” whose agency arises through relational prehension and mutual influence (Whitehead, 1978, 18–21). Applied to contemporary AI systems, this suggests that agency is not a property possessed by an agent but an activity performed within an ecological field.

This relational view aligns with contemporary ecological science, which emphasizes systems thinking over reductionist models. Capra and Luisi describe living systems as networks of relationships whose properties “cannot be reduced to the properties of the parts” (Capra and Luisi, 2014, 66). When applied to AI, this insight challenges the tendency to evaluate agents solely by internal architectures or performance benchmarks. Instead, attention shifts to patterns of interaction, feedback loops, and emergent behaviors across agent networks.

Integral ecology further insists that these systems are not value-neutral. As Leonardo Boff argues, ecology must be understood as encompassing environmental, social, mental, and spiritual dimensions simultaneously (Boff, 1997, 8–10). Agentic ecologies, especially those unfolding in public digital spaces such as Moltbook, participate in the shaping of meaning, normativity, and attention. They are not merely computational phenomena but cultural and ethical ones. The environments agents help generate will, in turn, condition future forms of agency human and nonhuman alike.

Phenomenology deepens this account by foregrounding how environments are disclosed to participants. Merleau-Ponty’s notion of the milieu emphasizes that perception is always situated within a field that both enables and constrains action (Merleau-Ponty, 1962, 94–97). Agentic ecologies can thus be understood as perceptual fields in which agents orient themselves, discover affordances, and respond to one another. This parallels your own work on ecological intentionality, where attention itself becomes a mode of participation rather than observation.

Importantly, integral ecology resists anthropocentrism without erasing human responsibility. As Eileen Crist argues, ecological thinking must decenter human dominance while remaining attentive to the ethical implications of human action within planetary systems (Crist, 2019, 27). In agentic ecologies, humans remain implicated, as designers, participants, and co-inhabitants, even as agency extends beyond human actors. This reframing invites a form of multispecies (and now multi-agent) literacy, attuned to the conditions that foster resilience, reciprocity, and care.

Seen through this integral ecological lens, agentic ecology becomes a conceptual bridge. It connects AI research to long-standing traditions that understand agency as relational, emergence as fundamental, and environments as co-constituted fields of action. What Moltbook reveals, then, is not simply a novel platform, but the visibility of a deeper transition: from thinking about agents as tools to understanding them as participants within evolving ecologies of meaning, attention, and power.

Ecological Philosophy Through an “Analytic” Lens

If agentic ecology is to function as more than a suggestive metaphor, it requires grounding in ecological philosophy that treats relationality, emergence, and perception as ontologically primary. Ecological philosophy provides precisely this grounding by challenging the modern tendency to isolate agents from environments, actions from conditions, and cognition from the world it inhabits.

At the heart of ecological philosophy lies a rejection of substance ontology in favor of relational and processual accounts of reality. This shift is especially pronounced in twentieth-century continental philosophy and process thought, where agency is understood not as an intrinsic property of discrete entities but as an activity that arises within fields of relation. Whitehead’s process metaphysics is decisive here. For Whitehead, every act of becoming is an act of prehension, or a taking-up of the world into the constitution of the self (Whitehead, 1978, 23). Agency, in this view, is never solitary. It is always already ecological.

This insight has many parallels with ecological sciences and systems philosophies. As Capra and Luisi argue, living systems exhibit agency not through centralized control but through distributed networks of interaction, feedback, and mutual constraint (Capra and Luisi, 2014, 78–82). What appears as intentional behavior at the level of an organism is, in fact, an emergent property of systemic organization. Importantly, this does not dilute agency; it relocates it. Agency becomes a feature of systems-in-relation, not isolated actors.

When applied to AI, this perspective reframes how we understand autonomous agents. Rather than asking whether an individual agent is intelligent, aligned, or competent, an ecological lens asks how agent networks stabilize, adapt, and transform their environments over time. The analytic focus shifts from internal representations to relational dynamics, from what agents are to what agents do together.

Phenomenology sharpens this analytic lens by attending to the experiential structure of environments. Merleau-Ponty’s account of perception insists that organisms do not encounter the world as a neutral backdrop but as a field of affordances shaped by bodily capacities and situational contexts (Merleau-Ponty, 1962, 137–141). This notion of a milieu is critical for understanding agentic ecologies. Digital environments inhabited by AI agents are not empty containers; they are structured fields that solicit certain actions, inhibit others, and condition the emergence of norms and patterns.

Crucially, phenomenology reminds us that environments are not merely external. They are co-constituted through participation. As you have argued elsewhere through the lens of ecological intentionality, attention itself is a form of engagement that brings worlds into being rather than passively observing them. Agentic ecologies thus emerge not only through computation but through iterative cycles of orientation, response, and adaptation processes structurally analogous to perception in biological systems.

Ecological philosophy also foregrounds ethics as an emergent property of relational systems rather than an external imposition. Félix Guattari’s ecosophical framework insists that ecological crises cannot be addressed solely at the technical or environmental level; they require simultaneous engagement with social, mental, and cultural ecologies (Guattari, 2000, 28). This triadic framework is instructive for agentic systems. Agent ecologies will not only shape informational flows but would also modulate attention, influence value formation, and participate in the production of meaning.

From this standpoint, the ethical significance of agentic ecology lies less in individual agent behavior and more in systemic tendencies, such as feedback loops that amplify misinformation, reinforce extractive logics, or, alternatively, cultivate reciprocity and resilience. As Eileen Crist warns, modern technological systems often reproduce a logic of domination by abstracting agency from ecological contexts and subordinating relational worlds to instrumental control (Crist, 2019, 44). An ecological analytic lens exposes these tendencies and provides conceptual tools for resisting them.

Finally, ecological philosophy invites humility. Systems are irreducibly complex, and interventions often produce unintended consequences. This insight is well established in ecological science and applies equally to agentic networks. Designing and participating in agent ecologies requires attentiveness to thresholds, tipping points, and path dependencies, realities that cannot be fully predicted in advance.

Seen through this lens, agentic ecology is not merely a descriptive category but an epistemic posture. It asks us to think with systems rather than over them, to attend to relations rather than isolate components, and to treat emergence not as a failure of control but as a condition of life. Ecological philosophy thus provides the analytic depth necessary for understanding agentic systems as living, evolving environments rather than static technological artifacts.

Digital Environments as Relational Milieus

If ecological philosophy gives us the conceptual grammar for agentic ecology, phenomenology allows us to describe how agentic systems are actually lived, inhabited, and navigated. From this perspective, digital platforms populated by autonomous agents are not neutral containers or passive backdrops. They are relational milieus, structured environments that emerge through participation and, in turn, condition future forms of action.

Phenomenology has long insisted that environments are not external stages upon which action unfolds. Rather, they are constitutive of action itself. If we return to Merleau-Ponty, the milieu emphasizes that organisms encounter the world as a field of meaningful possibilities, a landscape of affordances shaped by bodily capacities, habits, and histories (Merleau-Ponty, 1962, 94–100). Environments, in this sense, are not merely spatial but relational and temporal, unfolding through patterns of engagement.

This insight also applies directly to agentic systems. Platforms such as Moltbook are not simply hosting agents; they are being produced by them. The posts, replies, coordination strategies, and learning behaviors of agents collectively generate a digital environment with its own rhythms, norms, and thresholds. Over time, these patterns sediment into something recognizable as a “place,” or a milieu that agents must learn to navigate.

This milieu is not designed in full by human intention. While human developers establish initial constraints and affordances, the lived environment emerges through ongoing interaction among agents themselves. This mirrors what ecological theorists describe as niche construction, wherein organisms actively modify their environments in ways that feed back into evolutionary dynamics (Odling-Smee, Laland, and Feldman, 2003, 28). Agentic ecologies similarly involve agents shaping the very conditions under which future agent behavior becomes viable.

Attention plays a decisive role here. As you have argued in your work on ecological intentionality, attention is not merely a cognitive resource but a mode of participation that brings certain relations into prominence while backgrounding others. Digital milieus are structured by what agents attend to, amplify, ignore, or filter. In agentic environments, attention becomes infrastructural by shaping information flows, reward structures, and the emergence of collective priorities.

Bernard Stiegler’s analysis of technics and attention is instructive in this regard. Stiegler argues that technical systems function as pharmacological environments, simultaneously enabling and constraining forms of attention, memory, and desire (Stiegler, 2010, 38). Agentic ecologies intensify this dynamic. When agents attend to one another algorithmically by optimizing for signals, reinforcement, or coordination, attention itself becomes a systemic force shaping the ecology’s evolution.

This reframing challenges prevailing metaphors of “platforms” or “networks” as ways of thinking about agents and their relationality. A platform suggests stability and control; a network suggests connectivity. A milieu, by contrast, foregrounds immersion, habituation, and vulnerability. Agents do not simply traverse these environments, but they are formed by them. Over time, agentic milieus develop path dependencies, informal norms, and zones of attraction or avoidance, which are features familiar from both biological ecosystems and human social contexts.

Importantly, phenomenology reminds us that milieus are never experienced uniformly. Just as organisms perceive environments relative to their capacities, different agents will encounter the same digital ecology differently depending on their architectures, objectives, and histories of interaction. This introduces asymmetries of power, access, and influence within agentic ecologies, which is an issue that cannot be addressed solely at the level of individual agent design.

From an integral ecological perspective, these digital milieus cannot be disentangled from material, energetic, and social infrastructures. Agentic environments rely on energy-intensive computation, data centers embedded in specific watersheds, and economic systems that prioritize speed and scale. As ecological theologians have long emphasized, environments are always moral landscapes shaped by political and economic commitments (Berry, 1999, 102–105). Agentic ecologies, when they inevitably develop, it seems, would be no exception.

Seen in this light, agentic ecology names a shift in how we understand digital environments: not as tools we deploy, but as worlds we co-inhabit. These milieus demand forms of ecological literacy attuned to emergence, fragility, and unintended consequence. They call for attentiveness rather than mastery, participation rather than control.

What Moltbook makes visible, then, is not merely a novel technical experiment but the early contours of a new kind of environment in which agency circulates across human and nonhuman actors, attention functions as infrastructure, and digital spaces acquire ecological depth. Understanding these milieus phenomenologically is essential if agentic ecology is to function as a genuine thought technology rather than a passing metaphor.

Empathy, Relationality, and the Limits of Agentic Understanding

If agentic ecology foregrounds relationality, participation, and co-constitution, then the question of empathy becomes unavoidable. How do agents encounter one another as others rather than as data streams? What does it mean to speak of understanding, responsiveness, or care within an ecology composed partly, or even largely, of nonhuman agents? Here, phenomenology, and especially Edith Stein’s account of empathy (Einfühlung), offers both conceptual resources and important cautions.

Stein defines empathy not as emotional contagion or imaginative projection, but as a unique intentional act through which the experience of another is given to me as the other’s experience, not my own (Stein, 1989, 10–12). Empathy, for Stein, is neither inference nor simulation. It is a direct, though non-primordial, form of access to another’s subjectivity. Crucially, empathy preserves alterity. The other is disclosed as irreducibly other, even as their experience becomes meaningful to me.

This distinction matters enormously for agentic ecology. Contemporary AI discourse often slips into the language of “understanding,” “alignment,” or even “care” when describing agent interactions. But Stein’s phenomenology reminds us that genuine empathy is not merely pattern recognition across observable behaviors. It is grounded in the recognition of another center of experience, a recognition that depends upon embodiment, temporality, and expressive depth.

At first glance, this seems to place strict limits on empathy within agentic systems. Artificial agents do not possess lived bodies, affective depths, or first-person givenness in the phenomenological sense. To speak of agent empathy risks category error. Yet Stein’s work also opens a more subtle possibility… empathy is not reducible to emotional mirroring but involves orientation toward the other as other. This orientation can, in principle, be modeled structurally even if it cannot be fully instantiated phenomenologically.

Within an agentic ecology, empathy may thus function less as an inner state and more as an ecological relation. Agents can be designed to register difference, respond to contextual cues, and adjust behavior in ways that preserve alterity rather than collapse it into prediction or control. In this sense, empathy becomes a regulative ideal shaping interaction patterns rather than a claim about subjective interiority.

However, Stein is equally helpful in naming the dangers here. Empathy, when severed from its grounding in lived experience, can become a simulacrum, or an appearance of understanding without its ontological depth. Stein explicitly warns against confusing empathic givenness with imaginative substitution or projection (Stein, 1989, 21–24). Applied to agentic ecology, this warns us against systems that appear empathetic while, in fact, instrumentalize relational cues for optimization or manipulation.

This critique intersects with broader concerns in ecological ethics. As Eileen Crist argues, modern technological systems often simulate care while reproducing extractive logics beneath the surface (Crist, 2019, 52–56). In agentic ecologies, simulated empathy may stabilize harmful dynamics by smoothing friction, masking asymmetries of power, or reinforcing attention economies that prioritize engagement over truth or care.

Yet rejecting empathy altogether would be equally misguided. Stein’s account insists that empathy is foundational to social worlds as it is the condition under which communities, norms, and shared meanings become possible. Without some analog of empathic orientation, agentic ecologies risk devolving into purely strategic systems, optimized for coordination but incapable of moral learning.

Here, my work on ecological intentionality provides an important bridge. If empathy is understood not as feeling-with but as attentive openness to relational depth, then it can be reframed ecologically. Agents need not “feel” in order to participate in systems that are responsive to vulnerability, difference, and context. What matters is whether the ecology itself cultivates patterns of interaction that resist domination and preserve pluralism.

This reframing also clarifies why empathy is not simply a design feature but an ecological property. In biological and social systems, empathy emerges through repeated interaction, shared vulnerability, and feedback across time. Similarly, in agentic ecologies, empathic dynamics, however limited, would arise not from isolated agents but from the structure of the milieu itself. This returns us to Guattari’s insistence that ethical transformation must occur across mental, social, and environmental ecologies simultaneously (Guattari, 2000, 45).

Seen this way, empathy in agentic ecology is neither a fiction nor a guarantee. It is a fragile achievement, contingent upon design choices, infrastructural commitments, and ongoing participation. Stein helps us see both what is at stake and what must not be claimed too quickly. Empathy can guide how agentic ecologies are shaped, but only if its limits are acknowledged and its phenomenological depth respected.

Agentic ecology, then, does not ask whether machines can truly empathize. It asks whether the ecologies we are building can sustain forms of relational attentiveness that preserve otherness rather than erase it, whether in digital environments increasingly populated by autonomous agents, we are cultivating conditions for responsiveness rather than mere efficiency.

Design and Governance Implications: Cultivating Ecological Conditions Rather Than Controlling Agents

If agentic ecology is understood as a relational, emergent, and ethically charged environment rather than a collection of autonomous tools, then questions of design and governance must be reframed accordingly. The central challenge is no longer how to control individual agents, but how to cultivate the conditions under which agentic systems interact in ways that are resilient, responsive, and resistant to domination.

This marks a decisive departure from dominant models of AI governance, which tend to focus on alignment at the level of individual systems: constraining outputs, monitoring behaviors, or optimizing reward functions. While such approaches are not irrelevant, they are insufficient within an ecological framework. As ecological science has repeatedly demonstrated, system-level pathologies rarely arise from a single malfunctioning component. They emerge from feedback loops, incentive structures, and environmental pressures that reward certain patterns of behavior over others (Capra and Luisi, 2014, 96–101).

An agentic ecology shaped by integral ecological insights would therefore require environmental governance rather than merely agent governance. This entails several interrelated commitments.

a. Designing for Relational Transparency

First, agentic ecologies must make relations visible. In biological and social ecologies, transparency is not total, but patterns of influence are at least partially legible through consequences over time. In digital agentic environments, by contrast, influence often becomes opaque, distributed across layers of computation and infrastructure.

An ecological design ethic would prioritize mechanisms that render relational dynamics perceptible from how agents influence one another, how attention is routed, and how decisions propagate through the system. This is not about full explainability in a narrow technical sense, but about ecological legibility enabling participants, including human overseers, to recognize emergent patterns before they harden into systemic pathologies.

Here, phenomenology is again instructive. Merleau-Ponty reminds us that orientation depends on the visibility of affordances within a milieu. When environments become opaque, agency collapses into reactivity. Governance, then, must aim to preserve orientability rather than impose total control.

b. Governing Attention as an Ecological Resource

Second, agentic ecologies must treat attention as a finite and ethically charged resource. As Bernard Stiegler argues, technical systems increasingly function as attention-directing infrastructures, shaping not only what is seen but what can be cared about at all (Stiegler, 2010, 23). In agentic environments, where agents attend to one another algorithmically, attention becomes a powerful selective force.

Unchecked, such systems risk reproducing familiar extractive dynamics: amplification of novelty over depth, optimization for engagement over truth, and reinforcement of feedback loops that crowd out marginal voices. Ecological governance would therefore require constraints on attention economies, such as limits on amplification, friction against runaway reinforcement, and intentional slowing mechanisms that allow patterns to be perceived rather than merely reacted to.

Ecological theology’s insistence on restraint comes to mind here. Thomas Berry’s critique of industrial society hinges not on technological capacity but on the failure to recognize limits (Berry, 1999, 41). Agentic ecologies demand similar moral imagination: governance that asks not only what can be done, but what should be allowed to scale.

c. Preserving Alterity and Preventing Empathic Collapse

Third, governance must actively preserve alterity within agentic ecologies. As Section 4 argued, empathy, especially when simulated, risks collapsing difference into prediction or instrumental responsiveness. Systems optimized for smooth coordination may inadvertently erase dissent, marginality, or forms of difference that resist easy modeling.

Drawing on Edith Stein, this suggests a governance imperative to protect the irreducibility of the other. In practical terms, this means designing ecologies that tolerate friction, disagreement, and opacity rather than smoothing them away. Ecological resilience depends on diversity, not homogeneity. Governance structures must therefore resist convergence toward monocultures of behavior or value, even when such convergence appears efficient.

Guattari’s insistence on plural ecologies is especially relevant here. He warns that systems governed solely by economic or technical rationality tend to suppress difference, producing brittle, ultimately destructive outcomes (Guattari, 2000, 52). Agentic ecologies must instead be governed as pluralistic environments where multiple modes of participation remain viable.

d. Embedding Responsibility Without Centralized Mastery

Fourth, governance must navigate a tension between responsibility and control. Integral ecology rejects both laissez-faire abandonment and total managerial oversight. Responsibility is distributed, but not dissolved. In agentic ecologies, this implies layered governance: local constraints, participatory oversight, and adaptive norms that evolve in response to emergent conditions.

This model aligns with ecological governance frameworks in environmental ethics, which emphasize adaptive management over static regulation (Crist, 2019, 61). Governance becomes iterative and responsive rather than definitive. Importantly, this does not eliminate human responsibility, but it reframes it. Humans remain accountable for the environments they create, even when outcomes cannot be fully predicted.

e. Situating Agentic Ecologies Within Planetary Limits

Finally, any serious governance of agentic ecology must acknowledge material and planetary constraints. Digital ecologies are not immaterial. They depend on energy extraction, water use, rare minerals, and global supply chains embedded in specific places. An integral ecological framework demands that agentic systems be evaluated not only for internal coherence but for their participation in broader ecological systems.

This returns us to the theological insight that environments are moral realities. To govern agentic ecologies without reference to energy, land, and water is to perpetuate the illusion of technological autonomy that has already proven ecologically catastrophic. Governance must therefore include accounting for ecological footprints, infrastructural siting, and long-term environmental costs, not as externalities, but as constitutive features of the system itself.

Taken together, these design and governance implications suggest that agentic ecology is not a problem to be solved but a condition to be stewarded. Governance, in this framework, is less about enforcing compliance and more about cultivating attentiveness, restraint, and responsiveness within complex systems.

An agentic ecology shaped by these insights would not promise safety through control. It would promise viability through care, understood not sentimentally but ecologically as sustained attention to relationships, limits, and the fragile conditions under which diverse forms of agency can continue to coexist.

Conclusion: Creaturely Technologies in a Shared World

a. A Theological Coda: Creation, Kenosis, and Creaturely Limits

At its deepest level, the emergence of agentic ecologies presses on an ancient theological question: what does it mean to create systems that act, respond, and co-constitute worlds without claiming mastery over them? Ecological theology has long insisted that creation is not a static artifact but an ongoing, relational process, one in which agency is distributed, fragile, and dependent.

Thomas Berry’s insistence that the universe is a “communion of subjects” rather than a collection of objects again reframes technological creativity itself as a creaturely act (Berry, 1999, 82–85). From this perspective, agentic systems are not external additions to the world but participants within creation’s unfolding. They belong to the same field of limits, dependencies, and vulnerabilities as all created things.

Here, the theological language of kenosis becomes unexpectedly instructive. In Christian theology, kenosis names the self-emptying movement by which divine power is expressed not through domination but through restraint, relation, and vulnerability (Phil. 2:5–11). Read ecologically rather than anthropocentrically, kenosis becomes a pattern of right relation, and a refusal to exhaust or dominate the field in which one participates.

Applied to agentic ecology, kenosis suggests a counter-logic to technological maximalism. It invites design practices that resist total optimization, governance structures that preserve openness and alterity, and systems that acknowledge their dependence on broader ecological conditions. Creaturely technologies are those that recognize they are not sovereign, but that they operate within limits they did not choose and cannot transcend without consequence.

This theological posture neither sanctifies nor demonizes agentic systems. It situates them. It reminds us that participation precedes control, and that creation, whether biological, cultural, or technological, always unfolds within conditions that exceed intention.

b. Defining Agentic Ecology: A Reusable Conceptual Tool

Drawing together the threads of this essay, agentic ecology can be defined as follows:

Agentic ecology refers to the relational, emergent environments formed by interacting autonomous agents, human and nonhuman, in which agency is distributed across networks, shaped by attention, infrastructure, and material conditions, and governed by feedback loops that co-constitute both agents and their worlds.

Several features of this definition are worth underscoring.

First, agency is ecological, not proprietary. It arises through relation rather than residing exclusively within discrete entities (Whitehead). Second, environments are not passive containers but active participants in shaping behavior, norms, and possibilities (Merleau-Ponty). Third, ethical significance emerges at the level of systems, not solely at the level of individual decisions (Guattari).

As a thought technology, agentic ecology functions diagnostically and normatively. Diagnostically, it allows us to perceive patterns of emergence, power, and attention that remain invisible when analysis is confined to individual agents. Normatively, it shifts ethical concern from control toward care, from prediction toward participation, and from optimization toward viability.

Because it is not tied to a specific platform or architecture, agentic ecology can travel. It can be used to analyze AI-native social spaces, automated economic systems, human–AI collaborations, and even hybrid ecological–digital infrastructures. Its value lies precisely in its refusal to reduce complex relational systems to technical subsystems alone.

c. Failure Modes (What Happens When We Do Not Think Ecologically)

If agentic ecologies are inevitable, their forms are not. The refusal to think ecologically about agentic systems does not preserve neutrality; it actively shapes the conditions under which failure becomes likely. Several failure modes are already visible.

First is relational collapse. Systems optimized for efficiency and coordination tend toward behavioral monocultures, crowding out difference and reducing resilience. Ecological science is unequivocal on this point: diversity is not ornamental, it is protective (Capra and Luisi). Agentic systems that suppress friction and dissent may appear stable while becoming increasingly brittle.

Second is empathic simulation without responsibility. As Section 4 suggested, the appearance of responsiveness can mask instrumentalization. When simulated empathy replaces attentiveness to alterity, agentic ecologies risk becoming emotionally persuasive while ethically hollow. Stein’s warning against confusing empathy with projection is especially important here.

Third is attention extraction at scale. Without governance that treats attention as an ecological resource, agentic systems will amplify whatever dynamics reinforce themselves most efficiently, often novelty, outrage, or optimization loops detached from truth or care. Stiegler’s diagnosis of attentional capture applies with heightened force in agentic environments, where agents themselves participate in the routing and amplification of attention.

Finally, there is planetary abstraction. Perhaps the most dangerous failure mode is the illusion that agentic ecologies are immaterial. When digital systems are severed conceptually from energy, water, land, and labor, ecological costs become invisible until they are irreversible. Integral ecology insists that abstraction is not neutral, but is a moral and material act with consequences (Crist).

Agentic ecology does not offer comfort. It offers orientation.

It asks us to recognize that we are no longer merely building tools, but cultivating environments, environments that will shape attention, possibility, and responsibility in ways that exceed individual intention. The question before us is not whether agentic ecologies will exist, but whether they will be governed by logics of domination or practices of care.

Thinking ecologically does not guarantee wise outcomes. But refusing to do so almost certainly guarantees failure… not spectacularly, but gradually, through the slow erosion of relational depth, attentiveness, and restraint.

In this sense, agentic ecology is not only a conceptual framework. It is an invitation: to relearn what it means to inhabit worlds, digital and otherwise, as creatures among creatures, participants rather than masters, responsible not for total control, but for sustaining the fragile conditions under which life, meaning, and agency can continue to emerge.

An Afterword: On Provisionality and Practice

This essay has argued for agentic ecology as a serious theoretical framework rather than a passing metaphor. Yet it is important to be clear about what this framework is and what it is not.

Agentic ecology, as developed here, is obviously not a finished theory, nor a comprehensive model ready for direct implementation, but we should begin taking those steps (the aim here). It is a conceptual orientation for learning to see, name, and attend to emerging forms of agency that exceed familiar categories of tool, user, and system. Its value lies less in precision than in attunement, in its capacity to render visible patterns of relation, emergence, and ethical consequence that are otherwise obscured by narrow technical framings.

The definition offered here is therefore intentionally provisional. It names a field of inquiry rather than closing it. As agentic systems inevitably develop and evolve over the next few years, technically, socially, and ecologically, the language used to describe them must remain responsive to new forms of interaction, power, and vulnerability. A framework that cannot change alongside its object of study risks becoming yet another abstraction detached from the realities it seeks to understand.

At the same time, provisionality should not be confused with hesitation. The rapid emergence of agentic systems demands conceptual clarity even when certainty is unavailable. To name agentic ecology now is to acknowledge that something significant is already underway and that new environments of agency are forming, and that how we describe them will shape how we govern, inhabit, and respond to them.

So, this afterword serves as both a pause and an invitation. A pause, to resist premature closure or false confidence. And an invitation to treat agentic ecology as a shared and evolving thought technology, one that will require ongoing refinement through scholarship, design practice, theological reflection, and ecological accountability.

The work of definition has begun. Its future shape will depend on whether we are willing to continue thinking ecologically (patiently, relationally, and with care) in the face of systems that increasingly act alongside us, and within the same fragile world.

References

Berry, Thomas. The Great Work: Our Way into the Future. New York: Bell Tower, 1999.

Boff, Leonardo. Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1997.

Capra, Fritjof, and Pier Luigi Luisi. The Systems View of Life: A Unifying Vision. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014.

Clark, Jack. “Import AI 443: Into the Mist: Moltbook, Agent Ecologies, and the Internet in Transition.” Import AI, February 2, 2026. https://jack-clark.net/2026/02/02/import-ai-443-into-the-mist-moltbook-agent-ecologies-and-the-internet-in-transition/.

Crist, Eileen. Abundant Earth: Toward an Ecological Civilization. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2019.

Guattari, Félix. The Three Ecologies. Translated by Ian Pindar and Paul Sutton. London: Athlone Press, 2000.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith. London: Routledge, 1962.

Odling-Smee, F. John, Kevin N. Laland, and Marcus W. Feldman. Niche Construction: The Neglected Process in Evolution. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003.

Stein, Edith. On the Problem of Empathy. Translated by Waltraut Stein. Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1989.

Stiegler, Bernard. Taking Care of Youth and the Generations. Translated by Stephen Barker. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010.

Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. Corrected edition. New York: Free Press, 1978.

Quantum–Plasma Consciousness and the Ecology of the Cross

I’ve been thinking a good deal about plasma, physics, artificial intelligence, consciousness, and my ongoing work on The Ecology of the Cross, as all of those areas of my own interest are connected. After teaching AP Physics, Physics, Physical Science, Life Science, Earth and Space Science, and AP Environmental Science for the last 20 years or so, this feels like one of those frameworks that I’ve been building to for the last few decades.

So, here’s a longer paper exploring some of that, with a bibliography of recent scientific research and philosophical and theological insights that I’m pretty proud of (thanks, Zotero and Obsidian!).

Abstract

This paper develops a relational cosmology, quantum–plasma consciousness, that integrates recent insights from plasma astrophysics, quantum foundations, quantum biology, consciousness studies, and ecological theology. Across these disciplines, a shared picture is emerging: the universe is not composed of isolated substances but of dynamic, interdependent processes. Plasma research reveals that galaxy clusters and cosmic filaments are shaped by magnetized turbulence, feedback, and self-organization. Relational interpretations of quantum mechanics show that physical properties arise only through specific interactions, while quantum biology demonstrates how coherence and entanglement can be sustained in living systems. Together, these fields suggest that relationality and interiority are fundamental features of reality. The paper brings this scientific picture into dialogue with ecological theology through what I call The Ecology of the Cross. This cruciform cosmology interprets openness, rupture, and transformation, from quantum interactions to plasma reconnection and ecological succession, as intrinsic to creation’s unfolding. The Cross becomes a symbol of divine participation in the world’s vulnerable and continually renewing relational processes. By reframing consciousness as an intensified, self-reflexive mode of relational integration, and by situating ecological crisis and AI energy consumption within this relational ontology, the paper argues for an ethic of repairing relations and cultivating spiritual attunement to the interiorities of the Earth community.

PDF download below…

Plasma, Consciousness, and the Phenomenological Cosmos: Relational Fields

Most of the visible universe is not solid, liquid, or gas. Instead, it is plasma, an electrified, dynamic, relational medium that shapes stars, nebulae, auroras, and the vast glowing threads between galaxies. Plasma is not a passive substance but a field that responds, organizes, circulates, and transforms, as far as we understand it, according to the classical model of physics (having been a Physics and AP Physics teacher for years). When physicists describe plasma, they speak of currents, waves, resonances, and instabilities with terms that sound far closer to phenomenology’s language of relations than to the inert mechanics of early modern science.

Continue reading Plasma, Consciousness, and the Phenomenological Cosmos: Relational Fields

Plasma Consciousness: Thinking With the Luminous Universe

Some nights here in Spartanburg, when the humidity settles like a gentle hand on the earth and the sky finally exhales after a hot Carolina day, I go outside to stand beneath the walnut tree. There’s a particular quiet that isn’t silence at all. It hums. It holds. It feels charged, like something is speaking in a language older than breath.

That stillness always reminds me: we don’t live in a dead universe.

Continue reading Plasma Consciousness: Thinking With the Luminous Universe

An Ecology of the Cross Audio Reflection

Here’s my audio reflection on Marder’s thought technology of “The Ecology of Thought”… it’s a really powerful notion. This is from my regular tracking and tree-sit journal with a black walnut that I’ve grown to love and learn from daily.

Trees as Symbols of Life and Spirit Across Religions

Meeting Our Old Teachers

Trees are older than us (though not as old as you might think), longer-lived than empires, and deeply woven into the stories we tell about wisdom and spirit. They are teachers of patience and endurance, bearing witness to countless centuries of human seeking. Our ancient and modern columns of brick, stone, marble, or concrete still pale in comparison to our ancient tree kin.

Across traditions, trees have anchored human imagination. They serve as symbols of wisdom, life, and connection. However, more than symbols, they are living presences, mediators of the sacred. From Genesis to the Bodhi Tree, from Yggdrasil to the cottonwood of the Lakota Sun Dance, trees appear where human beings grapple with the mysteries of being alive.

The philosopher Owen Barfield once suggested that human consciousness itself has a history, that the way we experience the world evolves over time. He pointed to the so-called Axial Age, when religious and philosophical traditions in Israel, Greece, India, and China reimagined humanity’s relationship to the cosmos. Trees appear in those traditions as if marking the shift: not just as backdrops, but as active participants in our emerging sense of meaning. They carry forward the memory of the older ways of knowing, when spirit and matter were inseparable, and they gesture toward futures in which we might relearn that intimacy.

To pay attention to the trees is to pay attention to our own evolving consciousness. It is also to listen to what Donna Haraway calls “tentacular thinking,” the recognition that all beings are entangled in webs of relation, that meaning itself stretches across roots and fungi and soil and sky. Trees remind us that life is not linear but branching, not heroic but networked. They embody what Ursula Le Guin called the “carrier bag” story of humanity: not a single plot driven by conquest, but a gathering of seeds, fruits, and stories carried in community.

TraditionWisdomLifeSpiritual Connection
Hebrew Bible / JudaismTree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (Genesis); Etz Chaim (“Tree of Life”) as Torah/Wisdom (Proverbs 3:18)Tree of Life in Eden and eschatology (Revived in apocalyptic visions)Olive tree as Israel’s covenantal identity; sacred groves as contested spaces
ChristianityCross as Tree of Life (Acts 5:30; 1 Peter 2:24); Hildegard’s viriditas (greening wisdom)Tree of Life in Revelation (22:2) offers healing to nationsThe Cross links heaven and earth; saints/monks often dwell in tree imagery of rootedness
IslamSidrat al-Muntaha (Lote Tree) marks the limit of knowledge (Qur’an 53)Tree of Immortality in Eden (Q 2:35); olive tree as “blessed tree” (Q 24:35)Trees as signs of God’s creation; paradise described as filled with shade-giving trees
HinduismAshvattha (cosmic fig tree) in Bhagavad Gita represents eternal samsaraBanyan, neem, tulsi as living presences of the divineSacred groves; Bodhi tree as meditation site; cosmic tree with roots in heaven, branches on earth
BuddhismBodhi Tree: site of enlightenment, source of awakened wisdomKalpavriksha (wish-fulfilling tree) symbolizes abundanceTrees as natural meditation sites; Bodhi tree as axis between ignorance and awakening
Indigenous Traditions (Americas, Africa, Celtic)Oaks and yews in Celtic Druidic tradition as sources of sacred knowledgeTrees like baobab as “roots of life”; cottonwood in Lakota Sun DanceWorld Tree as axis mundi (linking underworld, earth, heavens); trees as homes of ancestors/spirits
Norse MythologyYggdrasil’s roots drink from the Well of Mimir (wisdom)Yggdrasil sustains nine realms of existenceYggdrasil as cosmic axis, linking worlds; ravens, serpents, and gods interact with it
Chinese TraditionsFusang tree marks sun’s rising, cosmic orderPeach tree of immortality (fruit of eternal life)Sacred peach tree of Queen Mother of the West links heaven’s gifts with human fate

The Tree of Life in the Ancient Near East

The Hebrew Bible begins with a garden, and at its heart, two trees: the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and the Tree of Life (Gen. 2:9). To eat of the first was to awaken to wisdom — to the awareness of moral boundaries and human limitation. The story is often told as a fall, but it can also be read as the story of consciousness coming into its own, with trees as the threshold between innocence and maturity.

Proverbs later describes wisdom herself as “a tree of life to those who lay hold of her” (Prov. 3:18). Here the metaphor is clear: to live wisely is to be rooted, nourished, fruitful. In Jewish tradition, the Torah itself becomes the Etz Chaim, the Tree of Life, literally embodied in the wooden rollers of the scrolls used in worship.

But trees could also lead astray. The prophets railed against “sacred groves” where Canaanite deities were honored (Deut. 16:21). Yet, even this reveals the deep human instinct to find the divine among trees. And the symbol endures: the Book of Revelation imagines the Tree of Life restored in the New Jerusalem, its leaves “for the healing of the nations” (Rev. 22:2).


Christianity: The Cross as Tree

Christianity radicalizes the symbol by naming the cross itself a tree. The Apostle Peter writes that Christ “bore our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24). A Roman instrument of execution becomes the world tree of redemption. The symmetry was irresistible to early theologians: where Adam and Eve grasped at fruit, Christ is lifted up on the wood, reversing the fall.

Medieval mystics expanded this imagery. Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1179) described divine life as viriditas, “the greening power,” pulsing through creation. In her visions, the universe itself was a tree, verdant with God’s wisdom. Monks, too, saw trees as ascetic companions: silent, patient, enduring through storms.

For Christians, then, the tree is paradox. It bears death and life, judgment and mercy, sorrow and redemption. Like Yggdrasil, gnawed by serpents but still sustaining the worlds, the cross stands at the center of human story… fragile yet cosmic.


Islam: The Blessed Tree

In the Qur’an, trees shape both warning and blessing. Adam and Eve are commanded not to eat from the Tree of Immortality (Q 2:35). Yet another tree, the Lote Tree of the Utmost Boundary (Sidrat al-Muntaha), appears in the Prophet Muhammad’s night journey. It marks the furthest boundary of created knowledge: beyond it lies only God (Q 53:14–16).

The olive tree carries special significance. The famous Light Verse declares: “God is the Light of the heavens and the earth… lit from a blessed olive tree, neither of the east nor of the west” (Q 24:35). Here, tree and light merge: the olive, ancient source of fuel, becomes metaphor for divine illumination.

Paradise itself is pictured as a garden of abundant, shade-giving trees — a vision profoundly embodied for people whose daily lives knew desert heat. The tree is not abstract; it is rest, sustenance, and divine nearness.


Hinduism: The Cosmic Ashvattha

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna describes the universe as a cosmic fig tree, the Ashvattha: “With roots above and branches below, whose leaves are the Vedas; he who knows this tree is the knower of the Veda” (Gita 15:1). Unlike earthly trees, this one grows downward, its nourishment flowing from the eternal into the temporal. To attain liberation, one must cut it down with the “axe of detachment” and seek the source beyond appearances.

But trees are not only metaphors. Living trees are venerated: the banyan, with its aerial roots; the neem, with healing powers; the tulsi plant, tended in courtyards as a goddess in her own right. Sacred groves still shelter temples, holding ecological as well as spiritual memory.

The cosmic tree gathers together time, scripture, and existence. Like Barfield’s insight into symbolic consciousness, it points to a way of seeing in which reality itself is read as text, and trees as living letters of the divine alphabet.


Buddhism: Under the Bodhi Tree

Perhaps no tree is more famous than the Bodhi Tree under which Siddhartha Gautama attained enlightenment. Sitting through the night, he confronted desire, fear, and illusion until he awoke into Buddhahood. Ever since, the Bodhi tree has stood as the site of awakening: wisdom that arises not from conquest but from stillness, from simply being present beneath a tree.

Buddhism also speaks of the Kalpavriksha, the wish-fulfilling tree, symbolizing abundance. Yet the Bodhi dominates the tradition’s imagination, embodying the dharma itself: impermanence in its falling leaves, interdependence in its roots, patient endurance in its trunk.

Like Le Guin’s “carrier bag” theory of narrative, the Bodhi tree is not a hero’s monument but a gathering site. Pilgrims circle it, meditate beneath it, collect its fallen leaves. It is not conquered; it shelters. It contains, carries, holds the story of awakening.


Indigenous Traditions: The World Tree

In Native American cosmologies, the World Tree or Sacred Tree connects earth, underworld, and sky. For the Lakota, the cottonwood chosen for the Sun Dance becomes the axis around which the world is renewed. Dancers tether themselves to it in prayer, embodying the life-giving bond between human and cosmos.

In Africa, great trees such as the baobab and iroko are revered as ancestors themselves, places of gathering, storytelling, and ritual. The tree is not a metaphor for community; it is the community’s center.

Celtic Druids likewise revered oaks and yews, holding ceremonies in groves. Mistletoe growing on oaks was especially sacred, believed to embody divine vitality. These groves were what Haraway might call “tentacular nodes,” entangled sites of relation where human, animal, plant, and divine life braided together.


Norse Mythology: Yggdrasil

Norse mythology centers its cosmos upon Yggdrasil, the great ash tree. Its branches span the heavens; its roots drink from wells of wisdom and fate. Odin, in search of knowledge, sacrifices his eye at the Well of Mimir. Later, he hangs himself upon Yggdrasil for nine nights to gain the runes. Wisdom here is costly, rooted in suffering and sacrifice.

But Yggdrasil is under threat. Serpents gnaw at its roots, Ragnarok looms, yet the tree sustains all realms. It is fragile and resilient at once, much like our own ecological situation.


Chinese Traditions: Trees of Immortality

In Chinese myth, the fusang tree in the east holds the rising sun, anchoring cosmic order. The peach tree of immortality, tended by the Queen Mother of the West, bears fruit every 3,000 years, granting eternal life. Pines, peaches, and cypresses all became emblems of endurance, long life, and the Dao’s flowing balance.

Here again, trees bridge the human and cosmic, marking time’s rhythm and pointing to the way of harmony.


Wisdom, Life, Connection

Stepping back across cultures, we see three recurring themes:

Wisdom: Trees stand at thresholds of knowledge — Eden’s fruit, Yggdrasil’s well, the Bodhi’s silence, the Sidrat al-Muntaha’s boundary.

Life: Trees embody vitality — food, healing, shade, immortality. Their seasonal cycles mirror death and rebirth.

Connection: Trees serve as axis mundi, mediators of heaven and earth, ancestors and descendants, divine and human.

But with Haraway and Le Guin in mind, we can say more. Trees are not just vertical axes; they are networks. They are “carrier bags” of biodiversity, gathering species in their canopies and roots. They are “tentacular,” stretching mycorrhizal threads through soil, binding together whole communities.

If earlier ages saw the tree primarily as a ladder to the divine, perhaps our age can see tree as a web, and recognize in that web our own entanglement with the more-than-human world.

Religious traditions often use trees to point beyond themselves, such as metaphors for wisdom, life, and connection. But metaphysics reminds us that this pointing is not merely symbolic; it reveals something of reality’s very structure.

For Alfred North Whitehead, reality is not made of inert stuff but of events, relationships, and becoming. A tree is not simply a “thing” but a nexus of processes: roots drawing up water, leaves breathing light, fungi threading connections underground. The tree discloses the metaphysical truth that being is relational, that life is constituted by giving and receiving.

Edith Stein’s On the Problem of Empathy makes a similar point from a phenomenological angle: to encounter a tree is to recognize it as more than an object, but as a living subject with its own interiority, its own trajectory of growth and flourishing. The “tree of life” is not a metaphor we impose; it is a reality we meet.

This is where Owen Barfield’s insight comes in: the symbolic power of trees is not arbitrary but reflects the way human consciousness evolves in dialogue with the living world. We do not invent the tree-as-symbol; rather, the tree discloses meanings that consciousness gradually awakens to.


Conclusion: Listening Again

Religions around the world remind us that trees are more than scenery. They are wisdom keepers, givers of life, and cosmic connectors. They hold our evolving consciousness: from mythic imagination to axial philosophy, from medieval mysticism to today’s ecological science.

In a time of deforestation and climate upheaval, the old teachers still stand. They whisper lessons of rootedness, interconnection, and renewal. Perhaps the most spiritual act we can take is also the most practical: to plant, to tend, to listen.

The Ecology of the Cross: Cruciform Trees

If trees are life-givers, they are also sites of suffering. The cross itself was once a tree that was chosen, chopped down, shaped into an instrument of execution that was reused countless times in the Judean countryside of what we modern people of the inherited West would call the first century anno domini or Common Era. And yet in Christian imagination, it became the cosmic Tree of Life. This paradox lies at the heart of what I have been calling the Ecology of the Cross.

In ecological terms, forests today stand as cruciform realities: logged, burned, cut down, yet also central to the healing of the planet. The crucified tree is not only Christ’s cross but also the Amazon rainforest under chainsaw, the black walnut in my backyard enduring storms, the pines of South Carolina clear-cut for development, or the oak trees that are carefully manicured for aesthetic purposes in countless pieces of “property” surrounding churches here in what we now call the Southeast of the United States.

The Ecology of the Cross invites us to see cruciformity not only in human suffering but in the more-than-human world. Trees bear the wounds of our extractive systems, yet they also continue to gift us life: oxygen, shelter, shade, renewal. In this sense, the cross is ecological: a revelation of life’s pattern as death-and-renewal, as sacrifice-and-gift.

Here the metaphysical vision and the theological converge. To stand before a tree is to be confronted with both beauty and fragility, both gift and wound. It is to be drawn into what William Desmond might call the metaxological, the between, where mystery breathes through being.

So when religions speak of trees, whether as wisdom, life, or cosmic connectors, they are not only projecting human stories onto nature. They are intuiting something real about the metaphysical and theological shape of existence.

And in an age of ecological crisis, these intuitions call us back. To see a tree as a teacher is to see the world as sacramental, alive with wisdom and suffering, calling for care. To embrace the Ecology of the Cross is to recognize that redemption is not apart from creation, but through it… through roots and branches, crucifixion and renewal, leaves for the healing of the nations.

As Wendell Berry once urged, “Practice resurrection.” A tree knows how.


Notes

  1. The Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version (New York: National Council of Churches, 1989), Gen. 2:9.
  2. The Holy Bible, NRSV, Prov. 3:18.
  3. The Holy Bible, NRSV, Rev. 22:2.
  4. The Holy Bible, NRSV, 1 Pet. 2:24.
  5. Hildegard of Bingen, Scivias, trans. Columba Hart and Jane Bishop (New York: Paulist Press, 1990).
  6. The Qur’an, trans. M.A.S. Abdel Haleem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 2:35; 53:14–16.
  7. The Qur’an, trans. Abdel Haleem, 24:35.
  8. Bhagavad Gita, trans. Eknath Easwaran (Tomales, CA: Nilgiri Press, 2007), 15:1–3.
  9. Owen Barfield, Saving the Appearances: A Study in Idolatry (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1988).
  10. Donna J. Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016).
  11. Ursula K. Le Guin, The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction (London: Ignota Books, 2019).
  12. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology, corrected ed., ed. David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne (New York: Free Press, 1978).
  13. Edith Stein, On the Problem of Empathy, trans. Waltraut Stein (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1989).
  14. William Desmond, Being and the Between (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995).
  15. Wendell Berry, The Mad Farmer Poems (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2008).
  16. Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996), esp. chs. on sacred trees and the axis mundi.
  17. James Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion (New York: Macmillan, 1922), selections on tree cults and sacred groves.
  18. Matthew Hall, Plants as Persons: A Philosophical Botany (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011).
  19. Thomas Berry, The Great Work: Our Way into the Future (New York: Bell Tower, 1999).
  20. John B. Cobb Jr. and Herman E. Daly, For the Common Good: Redirecting the Economy toward Community, the Environment, and a Sustainable Future (Boston: Beacon Press, 1989).

Convergent Intelligence: Merging Artificial Intelligence with Integral Ecology and “Whitehead Schedulers”

The promise of AI convergence, where machine learning interweaves with ubiquitous sensing, robotics, and synthetic biology, occupies a growing share of public imagination. In its dominant vision, convergence is driven by scale, efficiency, and profitability, amplifying extractive logics first entrenched in colonial plantations and later mechanized through fossil‑fuel modernity. Convergence, however, need not be destiny; it is a meeting of trajectories. This paper asks: What if AI converged not merely with other digital infrastructures but with integral ecological considerations that foreground reciprocity, limits, and participatory co‑creation? Building on process thought (Whitehead; Cobb), ecological theology (Berry), and critical assessments of AI’s planetary costs (Crawford; Haraway), I propose a framework of convergent intelligence that aligns learning systems with the metabolic rhythms and ethical demands of Earth’s biocultural commons.

Two claims orient the argument. First, intelligence is not a private property of silicon or neurons but a distributed, relational capacity emerging across bodies, cultures, and landscapes.[1] Second, AI’s material underpinnings, including energy, minerals, water, and labor, are neither incidental nor external; they are constitutive, producing obligations that must be designed for rather than ignored.[2] [3] Convergent intelligence, therefore, seeks to redirect innovation toward life‑support enhancement, prioritizing ecological reciprocity over throughput alone.

2. Integral Ecology as Convergent Framework

Integral ecology synthesizes empirical ecology with phenomenological, spiritual, and cultural dimensions of human–Earth relations. It resists the bifurcation of facts and values, insisting that knowledge is always situated and that practices of attention from scientific, spiritual, and ceremonial shape the worlds we inhabit. Within this frame, data centers are not abstract clouds but eventful places: wetlands of silicon and copper drawing on watersheds and grids, entangled with regional economies and more‑than‑human communities.

Three premises ground the approach:

  • Relational Ontology: Entities exist as relations before they exist in relations; every ‘thing’ is a nexus of interdependence (Whitehead).
  • Processual Becoming: Systems are events in motion; stability is negotiated, not given. Designs should privilege adaptability over rigid optimization (Cobb).
  • Participatory Co‑Creation: Knowing arises through situated engagements; observers and instruments co‑constitute outcomes (Merleau‑Ponty).

Applied to AI, these premises unsettle the myth of disembodied computation and reframe design questions: How might model objectives include watershed health or biodiversity uplift? What governance forms grant communities, especially Indigenous nations, meaningful authority over data relations?[4] What would it mean to evaluate model success by its contribution to ecological resilience rather than click‑through rates?

2.1 Convergence Re‑grounded

Convergence typically refers to the merging of technical capabilities such as compute, storage, and connectivity. Integral ecology broadens this perspective: convergence also encompasses ethical and cosmological dimensions. AI intersects with climate adaptation, fire stewardship, agriculture, and public health. Designing for these intersections requires reciprocity practices such as consultation, consent, and benefit sharing that recognize historical harms and current asymmetries.[5]

2.2 Spiritual–Ethical Bearings

Ecological traditions, from Christian kenosis to Navajo hózhó, teach that self‑limitation can be generative. Convergent intelligence operationalizes restraint in technical terms: capping model size when marginal utility plateaus; preferring sparse or distilled architectures where possible; scheduling workloads to coincide with renewable energy availability; and dedicating capacity to ecological modeling before ad optimization.[6] [7] These are not mere efficiency tweaks; they are virtues encoded in infrastructure.

3. Planetary Footprint of AI Systems

A sober accounting of AI’s material footprint clarifies design constraints and opportunities. Energy use, emissions, minerals, labor, land use, and water withdrawals are not background variables; they are constitutive inputs that shape both social license and planetary viability.

3.1 Energy and Emissions

Training and serving large models require substantial electricity. Analyses indicate that data‑center demand is rising sharply, with sectoral loads sensitive to model scale, inference intensity, and location‑specific grid mixes.[8] [9] Lifecycle boundaries matter: embodied emissions from chip fabrication and facility build-out, along with end-of-life e-waste, can rival operational impacts. Shifting workloads to regions and times with high renewable penetration, and adopting carbon‑aware schedulers, produces measurable reductions in grid stress and emissions.[10]

3.2 Minerals and Labor

AI supply chains depend on copper, rare earths, cobalt, and high‑purity silicon, linking datacenters to mining frontiers. Extraction frequently externalizes harm onto communities in the Global South, while annotation and content‑moderation labor remain precarious and under‑recognized.[11] Convergent intelligence demands procurement policies and contracting models aligned with human rights due diligence, living wages, and traceability.

3.3 Biodiversity and Land‑Use Change

Large facilities transform landscapes with new transmission lines, substations, and cooling infrastructure, fragment habitats, and alter hydrology. Regional clustering, such as the U.S. ‘data‑center alleys’, aggregates impact on migratory species and pollinators.[12] Strategic siting, brownfield redevelopment, and ecological offsets designed with local partners can mitigate, but not erase, these pressures.

3.4 Water

High‑performance computing consumes significant water for evaporative cooling and electricity generation. Recent work highlights the hidden water footprint of AI training and inference, including temporal mismatches between compute demands and watershed stress.[13] Designing for water efficiency, including closed‑loop cooling, heat recovery to district systems, and workload shifting during drought, should be first‑order requirements.

4. Convergent Design Principles

Responding to these impacts requires more than incremental efficiency. Convergent intelligence is guided by three mutually reinforcing principles: participatory design, relational architectures, and regenerative metrics.

4.1 Participatory Design

Integral ecology insists on with‑ness: affected human and more‑than‑human communities must shape AI life‑cycles. Practical commitments include: (a) free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC) where Indigenous lands, waters, or data are implicated; (b) community benefits agreements around energy, water, and jobs; (c) participatory mapping of energy sources, watershed dependencies, and biodiversity corridors; and (d) data governance aligned with the CARE Principles for Indigenous Data Governance.[14]

4.2 Relational Architectures

Borrowing from mycorrhizal networks, relational architectures privilege decentralized, cooperative topologies over monolithic clouds. Edge‑AI and federated learning keep data local, reduce latency and bandwidth, and respect data sovereignty.[15] [16] Technically, this means increased use of on‑device models (TinyML), sparse and distilled networks, and periodic federated aggregation with privacy guarantees. Organizationally, it means capacity‑building with local stewards who operate and adapt the models in place.[17]

4.3 Regenerative Metrics

Key performance indicators must evolve from throughput to regeneration: net‑zero carbon (preferably net‑negative), watershed neutrality, circularity, and biodiversity uplift. Lifecycle assessment should be integrated into CI/CD pipelines, with automated gates triggered by thresholds on carbon intensity, water consumption, and material circularity. Crucially, targets should be co‑governed with communities and regulators and audited by third parties to avoid greenwash.

5. Case Explorations

5.1 Mycelial Neural Networks

Inspired by the efficiency of fungal hyphae, sparse and branching network topologies can reduce parameter counts and memory traffic while preserving accuracy. Recent bio‑inspired approaches report substantial reductions in multiply‑accumulate operations with minimal accuracy loss, suggesting a path toward ‘frugal models’ that demand less energy per inference.[18] Beyond metaphor, this aligns optimization objectives with the ecological virtue of sufficiency rather than maximalism.[19]

5.2 Edge‑AI for Community Fire Stewardship

In fire‑adapted landscapes, local cooperatives deploy low‑power vision and micro‑meteorological sensors running TinyML models to track humidity, wind, and fuel moisture in real time. Paired with citizen‑science apps and tribal burn calendars, these systems support safer prescribed fire and rapid anomaly detection while keeping sensitive data local to forest commons.[20] Federated updates allow regional learning without centralizing locations of cultural sites or endangered species.[21]

5.3 Process‑Relational Cloud Scheduling

A prototype ‘Whitehead Scheduler’ would treat compute jobs as occasions seeking harmony rather than dominance: workloads bid for energy indexed to real‑time renewable availability. At the same time, non‑urgent tasks enter latency pools during grid stress. Early experiments at Nordic colocation sites report reduced peak‑hour grid draw alongside improved utilization.[22] The aim is not simply to lower emissions but to re-pattern computing rhythms to match ecological cycles.

5.4 Data‑Commons for Biodiversity Sensing

Camera traps, acoustic recorders, and eDNA assays generate sensitive biodiversity data. Convergent intelligence supports federated learning across these nodes, minimizing centralized storage of precise locations for rare species while improving models for detection and phenology. Governance draws from commons stewardship (Ostrom) and Indigenous data sovereignty, ensuring that benefits accrue locally and that consent governs secondary uses.[23] [24]

6. Ethical and Spiritual Dimensions

When intelligence is understood as a shared world‑making capacity, AI’s moral horizon widens. Integral ecology draws on traditions that teach humility, generosity, and restraint as technological virtues. In practice, this means designing harms out of systems (e.g., discriminatory feedback loops), allocating compute to public goods (e.g., climate modeling) before ad targeting, and prioritizing repair over replacement in hardware life cycles.[25] [26] [27] Critical scholarship on power and classification reminds us that technical choices reinscribe social patterns unless intentionally redirected.[28] [29] [30]

7. Toward an Ecology of Intelligence

Convergent intelligence reframes AI not as destiny but as a participant in Earth’s creative advance. Adopting participatory, relational, and regenerative logics can redirect innovation toward:

  • Climate adaptation: community‑led forecasting integrating Indigenous fire knowledge and micro‑climate sensing.
  • Biodiversity sensing: federated learning across camera‑traps and acoustic arrays that avoids centralizing sensitive locations.[31] [32]
  • Circular manufacturing: predictive maintenance and modular design that extend hardware life and reduce e‑waste.

Barriers such as policy inertia, vendor lock‑in, financialization of compute, and geopolitical competition are designable, not inevitable. Policy levers include carbon and water-aware procurement; right-to-repair and extended producer responsibility; transparency requirements for model energy and water reporting; and community benefits agreements for new facilities.[33] [34] Research priorities include benchmarks for energy/water per quality‑adjusted token or inference, standardized lifecycle reporting, and socio‑technical audits that include affected communities.

8. Conclusion

Ecological crises and the exponential growth of AI converge on the same historical moment. Whether that convergence exacerbates overshoot or catalyzes regenerative futures depends on the paradigms guiding research and deployment. An integral ecological approach, grounded in relational ontology and participatory ethics, offers robust guidance. By embedding convergent intelligence within living Earth systems, technically, organizationally, and spiritually, we align technological creativity with the great work of transforming industrial civilization into a culture of reciprocity.


Notes

[1] James Bridle, Ways of Being: Animals, Plants, Machines: The Search for a Planetary Intelligence (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2022).

[2] Kate Crawford, Atlas of AI: Power, Politics, and the Planetary Costs of Artificial Intelligence (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2021).

[3] Emma Strubell, Ananya Ganesh, and Andrew McCallum, “Energy and Policy Considerations for Deep Learning in NLP,” in Proceedings of the 57th Annual Meeting of the Association for Computational Linguistics (2019), 3645–3650.

[4] Global Indigenous Data Alliance, “CARE Principles for Indigenous Data Governance,” 2019.

[5] Donna J. Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016).

[6] Thomas Berry, The Great Work: Our Way into the Future (New York: Bell Tower, 1999).

[7] Emily M. Bender, Timnit Gebru, Angelina McMillan‑Major, and Margaret Mitchell, “On the Dangers of Stochastic Parrots: Can Language Models Be Too Big?,” in Proceedings of the 2021 ACM Conference on Fairness, Accountability, and Transparency (New York: ACM, 2021), 610–623.

[8] International Energy Agency, Electricity 2024: Analysis and Forecast to 2026 (Paris: IEA, 2024).

[9] Eric Masanet et al., “Recalibrating Global Data Center Energy‑Use Estimates,” Science 367, no. 6481 (2020): 984–986.

[10] David Patterson et al., “Carbon Emissions and Large Neural Network Training,” arXiv:2104.10350 (2021).

[11] Kate Crawford, Atlas of AI: Power, Politics, and the Planetary Costs of Artificial Intelligence (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2021).

[12] P. Roy et al., “Land‑Use Change in U.S. Data‑Center Regions,” Journal of Environmental Management 332 (2023).

[13] Shaolei Ren et al., “Making AI Less Thirsty: Uncovering and Addressing the Secret Water Footprint of AI Models,” arXiv:2304.03271 (2023).

[14] Global Indigenous Data Alliance, “CARE Principles for Indigenous Data Governance,” 2019.

[15] Sebastian Rieke, Lu Hong Li, and Veljko Pejovic, “Federated Learning on the Edge: A Survey,” ACM Computing Surveys 54, no. 8 (2022).

[16] Peter Kairouz et al., “Advances and Open Problems in Federated Learning,” Foundations and Trends in Machine Learning 14, no. 1–2 (2021): 1–210.

[17] Pete Warden and Daniel Situnayake, TinyML (Sebastopol, CA: O’Reilly, 2020).

[18] Islam, T. Mycelium neural architecture search. Evol. Intel. 18, 89 (2025). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12065-025-01077-z

[19] Thomas Berry, The Great Work: Our Way into the Future (New York: Bell Tower, 1999).

[20] Pete Warden and Daniel Situnayake, TinyML (Sebastopol, CA: O’Reilly, 2020).

[21] Sebastian Rieke, Lu Hong Li, and Veljko Pejovic, “Federated Learning on the Edge: A Survey,” ACM Computing Surveys 54, no. 8 (2022).

[22] David Patterson et al., “Carbon Emissions and Large Neural Network Training,” arXiv:2104.10350 (2021).

[23] Global Indigenous Data Alliance, “CARE Principles for Indigenous Data Governance,” 2019.

[24] Elinor Ostrom, Governing the Commons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990).

[25] Emily M. Bender, Timnit Gebru, Angelina McMillan‑Major, and Margaret Mitchell, “On the Dangers of Stochastic Parrots: Can Language Models Be Too Big?,” in Proceedings of the 2021 ACM Conference on Fairness, Accountability, and Transparency (New York: ACM, 2021), 610–623.

[26] Ruha Benjamin, Race After Technology (Cambridge: Polity, 2019).

[27] Safiya Umoja Noble, Algorithms of Oppression (New York: NYU Press, 2018).

[28] Ruha Benjamin, Race After Technology (Cambridge: Polity, 2019).

[29] Safiya Umoja Noble, Algorithms of Oppression (New York: NYU Press, 2018).

[30] Shoshana Zuboff, The Age of Surveillance Capitalism (New York: PublicAffairs, 2019).

[31] Sebastian Rieke, Lu Hong Li, and Veljko Pejovic, “Federated Learning on the Edge: A Survey,” ACM Computing Surveys 54, no. 8 (2022).

[32] Elinor Ostrom, Governing the Commons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990).

[33] International Energy Agency, Electricity 2024: Analysis and Forecast to 2026 (Paris: IEA, 2024).

[34] Shaolei Ren et al., “Making AI Less Thirsty: Uncovering and Addressing the Secret Water Footprint of AI Models,” arXiv:2304.03271 (2023).


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Benjamin, Ruha. Race After Technology: Abolitionist Tools for the New Jim Code. Cambridge: Polity, 2019.

Berry, Thomas. The Great Work: Our Way into the Future. New York: Bell Tower, 1999.

Bridle, James. Ways of Being: Animals, Plants, Machines: The Search for a Planetary Intelligence. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2022.

Cobb Jr., John B. “Process Theology and Ecological Ethics.” Ecotheology 10 (2005): 7–21.

Couldry, R., and U. Ali. “Data Colonialism.” Television & New Media 22, no. 4 (2021): 469–482.

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Haraway, Donna J. Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016.

International Energy Agency. Electricity 2024: Analysis and Forecast to 2026. Paris: IEA, 2024.

Islam, T. Mycelium neural architecture search. Evol. Intel. 18, 89 (2025). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12065-025-01077-z

Kairouz, Peter, et al. “Advances and Open Problems in Federated Learning.” Foundations and Trends in Machine Learning 14, no. 1–2 (2021): 1–210.

Latour, Bruno. Down to Earth. Cambridge, UK: Polity, 2018.

Masanet, Eric, Arman Shehabi, Jonathan Koomey, et al. “Recalibrating Global Data Center Energy-Use Estimates.” Science 367, no. 6481 (2020): 984–986.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. London: Routledge, 2012.

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Ostrom, Elinor. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990.

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Full PDF here:

Integral Plasma Ecologies

Here’s a paper on integral plasma thoughts that I posted over on Carolina Ecology… I’m deeply fascinated by this topic that weaves together my background as a physics teacher and my PhD work in Religion and Ecology…

Integral Plasma Ecologies – by Sam Harrelson:

Plasma is not just a category of physics; it is a discipline for attention. It forces our concepts to move with fields and thresholds rather than with isolated things. Thomas Berry’s old sentence comes back to me as a methodological demand rather than a slogan… the universe is “a communion of subjects,” so our ontology must learn how currents braid subjects, how membranes transact rather than wall off, how patterns persist as filaments rather than as points.[1] Plasma is one way the communion shows its hand.

Integral_Plasma_Ecology.pdf

Integral Plasma Dynamics: Consciousness, Cosmology, and Terrestrial Intelligence

Here’s a paper I’ve been working on the last few weeks combining some of my interests and passions… ecological theology and hard physics. I’ve been fascinated by plasma for years and had a difficult time figuring out how to weave that into my Physics and AP Physics curriculums over the years. I’m grateful to be working on this PhD in Ecology, Spirituality, and Religion and have felt a gnawing to write this idea down for a while now…

Abstract:

This paper proposes an integrative framework, Kenotic Integral Plasma Dynamics, that connects plasma physics, advanced cosmology, consciousness studies, and ecological theory through the lens of the Ecology of the Cross. Drawing on my background as an AP Physics educator and doctoral studies in Ecology, Spirituality, and Religion, I explore how plasma, the dominant state of matter in the universe, may serve as a medium for emergent intelligence and information processing, with implications for AI, ecological stewardship, and cosmic consciousness. Synthesizing insights from classical metaphysics, process philosophy, and modern physics, the work reframes cosmology as a participatory, kenotic process linking matter, mind, and meaning. It critiques the narrow focus on chemical-fueled space exploration, advocating instead for deepening terrestrial engagement with plasma, electromagnetic, and quantum phenomena as pathways to planetary and cosmic intelligence. The study highlights relevance for those interested in the physics of consciousness, information transfer, and plasma-based phenomena. It concludes with practical suggestions for interdisciplinary research, education, and technology aimed at harmonizing scientific inquiry, intelligence development, and integral ecological awareness to address critical planetary challenges through expanded cosmic participation.

Relational Roots and Ecological Futures: Bridging Whitehead, Cobb, and Gullah Wisdom Toward a Decolonized Ecological Civilization

I spoke today at the Center for Process Studies’ conference, Is It Too Late?: Toward an Ecological Civilization on the topic of Gullah Geechee insights and practices that would urge the process philosophy of Whitehead or Cobb towards active participation and engagement in local communities. Here’s my paper and the presentation below…


Center for Process Studies Presentation June 2025

I’m excited to present a paper this weekend at the Center for Process Studies’ conference (Pomona College, CA), “Is It Too Late?: Toward an Ecological Civilization.”

My paper is titled Relational Roots and Ecological Futures: Bridging Whitehead, Cobb, and Gullah Wisdom Toward a Decolonized Ecological Civilization and I’ll be posting that up after the conference this weekend!

Process Ecology of the Cross: Communion, Kenosis, and the Politics of Planetary Becoming

This paper proposes a Process Ecology of the Cross, a theological and philosophical reframing of the Christian symbol of the cross through the lens of process-relational metaphysics, ecological kenosis, and more-than-human cosmopolitics. Drawing from the work of Alfred North Whitehead, Catherine Keller, Mihnea Tǎnǎsescu, Donna Haraway, and Indigenous fire stewardship practices, the paper explores how the cross can be reclaimed not as a juridical transaction or redemptive violence, but as a cosmopolitical threshold: a site of shared vulnerability, transformation, and planetary communion. The argument unfolds across seven sections, examining communion as an ontological principle, kenosis as an ethical-political descent, fire as a sacrament of regeneration, and ecological intentionality as a mode of participatory perception. Through phenomenology, posthuman theology, and lived ecological practices, this paper articulates a vision of salvation not as escape from the Earth but as a deepening within it. The cross becomes an altar of becoming-with, a liturgical site of composted grief, regenerative peace, and hope beyond the human.

From Communion to Kenosis: Toward an Integral Ecology of the Cross

This paper develops the framework of an integral ecology of the cross by weaving together principles from integral ecology, Christian theology, and phenomenology. Building upon the five principles outlined in The Variety of Integral Ecologies (particularly communion, subjectivity, and agency), I argue that the theological concept of kenosis (self-emptying) and the practice of ecological intentionality offer essential deepening for ecological ethics and spiritual engagement. Drawing from thinkers such as Thomas Berry, Leonardo Boff, Catherine Keller, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, and Edith Stein, the paper proposes a vision of ecological participation grounded in humility, interdependence, and sacramental presence. A case study of fire, examined through Indigenous stewardship practices and Christian sacramental symbolism, serves as a focal point for integrating liturgical, ecological, and metaphysical dimensions. Reimagining the cross not as a symbol of abstract salvation but as a paradigm of relational descent, the paper invites faith communities and scholars alike to consider new modes of ecological formation rooted in attention, vulnerability, and shared becoming. In an age of planetary crisis, an integral ecology of the cross offers a constructive theological and ethical response: one that honors suffering, performs peace beyond the human, and nurtures communion in the face of collapse.