Nietzsche, Whitehead, and
the Shape of the Universe
Imagine that the universe is not a fixed arrangement of things but a living, surging process—an unfolding drama of conflict, transformation, and becoming. At the heart of this process lies a fundamental ontological force: the will to power. This is a primal energy within all beings—a pre-rational, pre-conscious striving to assert, grow, expand, overcome resistance, and create. It animates stars and animals, empires and artists. It is the pulse of life, indifferent to moral judgment.
Now imagine that some people embrace this will to power. They do not seek to tame it or hide from it. Instead, they live by it, thrive in conflict, and see struggle as the crucible of greatness. For them, life is about rising above others, breaking molds, and imposing form on chaos. They are conquerors.
Others, however, reject this vision. They speak of compassion, humility, forgiveness, and solidarity. They call for justice, for care of the weak, for systems built not on conquest but on love. They reject domination in favor of healing, and call it not weakness but grace.
In Nietzsche’s view, this latter group has its roots in Christianity—a religion he saw as a moral revolution led by the downtrodden, preaching meekness and mercy as virtues. For Nietzsche, Christianity is a metaphysical rebellion against life as it truly is: fierce, dynamic, unjust. It replaces strength with sympathy, and power with pity. And while institutional Christianity has taken many forms—some imperial, some radical—at its ethical heart lies a preference for the last over the first, the servant over the master, the lamb over the lion.
In today’s world, this Christian moral vision often takes the shape of what is called “wokeness”—an alertness to suffering, injustice, and systemic harm. It carries forward the Christian emphasis on the dignity of the marginalized, the centrality of love, and the call to repair what is broken. And just as Nietzsche critiqued Christianity as the morality of the weak, many critics today see wokeness as an overly sensitive, guilt-ridden ethic that avoids the hard realities of power. In this reading, both Christianity and wokeness are ways of restraining the will to power—because their adherents fear it, or cannot wield it.
By contrast, those who celebrate conflict, dominance, and unrepentant assertion—those who cast themselves as warriors rather than healers—may be called Nietzscheans. In today’s landscape, they often align with movements like Trumpism: bold, unapologetic, combative, scorning the language of fragility. They view empathy as a trap, confession as weakness, and moral concern as camouflage for cowardice.
And so the conflict continues—not just between political ideologies or historical traditions, but between two metaphysical visions: one that glorifies strength and struggle, and another that sanctifies care and community. Nietzsche demands that we ask: is the latter simply the last revenge of the weak—or the beginning of a deeper, more redemptive power?
But what if the Christian moral vision—centered on love, compassion, and care for the vulnerable—is not simply a metaphysical rebellion against life, as Nietzsche thought, but instead an expression of a deeper cosmic truth? What if, beneath the noise of conflict and assertion, there is a quieter power at work—gentle but persistent, not dominating but inviting, not coercive but creative? This is precisely the vision offered by the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. And this is why, in his book Adventures of Ideas, he took Peace, understood as the absence of conflict, as the consummation of life's journey.
Whitehead’s metaphysics affirms that the universe is indeed a process—an unfolding reality made not of substances but of events, of actual occasions that emerge moment by moment in response to their surroundings. Each event is a becoming, shaped by what has come before and influenced by what is possible. At the heart of this process lies not a will to power, but a deeper principle: Creativity. And guiding this creativity is a divine presence—God—not as an omnipotent ruler, but as a gentle spirit who lures each occasion toward beauty, intensity, and harmony.
Whitehead’s God does not impose but offers. God is the source of fresh possibilities, drawing each entity toward its fullest potential through the creation of contrasts—what Whitehead calls complementarity. These contrasts are not battles for supremacy but opportunities for enrichment. In this view, life is not a war of all against all, but a dance of mutual becoming. Conflict exists, yes, but it is not the highest truth; it is part of a larger pattern in which diversity becomes depth and difference gives rise to beauty.
This metaphysical vision aligns closely with the Christian moral ideal. The God of process philosophy is intimately present in all things, sharing in their suffering and rejoicing in their joys. Divine power is not domination, but persuasion—a persistent invitation to love, to community, to peace. The Christian emphasis on compassion, humility, and service is not a suppression of reality but a participation in its truest nature. In Whitehead’s cosmos, every act of mercy is an echo of the divine lure.
Moreover, Whitehead’s metaphysics grounds this vision not just in human experience, but in the very structure of the universe. From the cooperative bonding of atoms in molecules, to the symbiotic relationships in biology, to the gravitational interdependence of galaxies, the world evolves through networks of relationship and mutual influence. Even at the molecular and galactic level, societies form—not through violence alone, but through integration, rhythm, and shared pattern. Creativity is born through contrast, yes, but also through cooperation.
In this light, the Christian moral vision—often dismissed by Nietzsche as a product of weakness—can be seen instead as a courageous alignment with the deep structure of reality. It is not a denial of life’s energy, but a channeling of it toward richer and more relational forms. Where Nietzsche sees weakness, Whitehead sees strength—not the strength of conquest, but the strength of communion. And in that strength, the Christian vision finds not only its moral center but its metaphysical home.
Now imagine that some people embrace this will to power. They do not seek to tame it or hide from it. Instead, they live by it, thrive in conflict, and see struggle as the crucible of greatness. For them, life is about rising above others, breaking molds, and imposing form on chaos. They are conquerors.
Others, however, reject this vision. They speak of compassion, humility, forgiveness, and solidarity. They call for justice, for care of the weak, for systems built not on conquest but on love. They reject domination in favor of healing, and call it not weakness but grace.
In Nietzsche’s view, this latter group has its roots in Christianity—a religion he saw as a moral revolution led by the downtrodden, preaching meekness and mercy as virtues. For Nietzsche, Christianity is a metaphysical rebellion against life as it truly is: fierce, dynamic, unjust. It replaces strength with sympathy, and power with pity. And while institutional Christianity has taken many forms—some imperial, some radical—at its ethical heart lies a preference for the last over the first, the servant over the master, the lamb over the lion.
In today’s world, this Christian moral vision often takes the shape of what is called “wokeness”—an alertness to suffering, injustice, and systemic harm. It carries forward the Christian emphasis on the dignity of the marginalized, the centrality of love, and the call to repair what is broken. And just as Nietzsche critiqued Christianity as the morality of the weak, many critics today see wokeness as an overly sensitive, guilt-ridden ethic that avoids the hard realities of power. In this reading, both Christianity and wokeness are ways of restraining the will to power—because their adherents fear it, or cannot wield it.
By contrast, those who celebrate conflict, dominance, and unrepentant assertion—those who cast themselves as warriors rather than healers—may be called Nietzscheans. In today’s landscape, they often align with movements like Trumpism: bold, unapologetic, combative, scorning the language of fragility. They view empathy as a trap, confession as weakness, and moral concern as camouflage for cowardice.
And so the conflict continues—not just between political ideologies or historical traditions, but between two metaphysical visions: one that glorifies strength and struggle, and another that sanctifies care and community. Nietzsche demands that we ask: is the latter simply the last revenge of the weak—or the beginning of a deeper, more redemptive power?
But what if the Christian moral vision—centered on love, compassion, and care for the vulnerable—is not simply a metaphysical rebellion against life, as Nietzsche thought, but instead an expression of a deeper cosmic truth? What if, beneath the noise of conflict and assertion, there is a quieter power at work—gentle but persistent, not dominating but inviting, not coercive but creative? This is precisely the vision offered by the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. And this is why, in his book Adventures of Ideas, he took Peace, understood as the absence of conflict, as the consummation of life's journey.
Whitehead’s metaphysics affirms that the universe is indeed a process—an unfolding reality made not of substances but of events, of actual occasions that emerge moment by moment in response to their surroundings. Each event is a becoming, shaped by what has come before and influenced by what is possible. At the heart of this process lies not a will to power, but a deeper principle: Creativity. And guiding this creativity is a divine presence—God—not as an omnipotent ruler, but as a gentle spirit who lures each occasion toward beauty, intensity, and harmony.
Whitehead’s God does not impose but offers. God is the source of fresh possibilities, drawing each entity toward its fullest potential through the creation of contrasts—what Whitehead calls complementarity. These contrasts are not battles for supremacy but opportunities for enrichment. In this view, life is not a war of all against all, but a dance of mutual becoming. Conflict exists, yes, but it is not the highest truth; it is part of a larger pattern in which diversity becomes depth and difference gives rise to beauty.
This metaphysical vision aligns closely with the Christian moral ideal. The God of process philosophy is intimately present in all things, sharing in their suffering and rejoicing in their joys. Divine power is not domination, but persuasion—a persistent invitation to love, to community, to peace. The Christian emphasis on compassion, humility, and service is not a suppression of reality but a participation in its truest nature. In Whitehead’s cosmos, every act of mercy is an echo of the divine lure.
Moreover, Whitehead’s metaphysics grounds this vision not just in human experience, but in the very structure of the universe. From the cooperative bonding of atoms in molecules, to the symbiotic relationships in biology, to the gravitational interdependence of galaxies, the world evolves through networks of relationship and mutual influence. Even at the molecular and galactic level, societies form—not through violence alone, but through integration, rhythm, and shared pattern. Creativity is born through contrast, yes, but also through cooperation.
In this light, the Christian moral vision—often dismissed by Nietzsche as a product of weakness—can be seen instead as a courageous alignment with the deep structure of reality. It is not a denial of life’s energy, but a channeling of it toward richer and more relational forms. Where Nietzsche sees weakness, Whitehead sees strength—not the strength of conquest, but the strength of communion. And in that strength, the Christian vision finds not only its moral center but its metaphysical home.
Nietzsche's Metaphysics
Professor Galen Strawson
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This talk by Professor Galen Strawson considers ten claims concerning Nietzsche's metaphysics. There is no [1] persisting and unitary self, [2] no fundamental (ontological) distinction between objects and their properties, or [3] between the categorical properties of things and the dispositional or power properties of things, or [4] between objects or substances and processes and events. [5] Reality isn’t truly divisible into causes and effects. [6] Objects are not governed by laws of nature ontologically distinct from them. [7] There is no free will. [8] Determinism is true. [9] Reality is one. [10] Reality is suffused with—if it does not consist of—mentality in some form. Strawson argues that Nietzsche’s mature position certainly includes [1]–[7]; also [8], properly understood, and probably [9] and [10].
about Galen Strawson: Galen John Strawson (born 1952) is a British analytic philosopher and literary critic who works primarily on philosophy of mind, metaphysics (including free will, panpsychism, the mind–body problem, and the self), John Locke, David Hume, Immanuel Kant and Friedrich Nietzsche. He has been a consultant editor at The Times Literary Supplement for many years, and a regular book reviewer for The Observer, The Sunday Times, The Independent, the Financial Times and The Guardian. He is the son of philosopher P. F. Strawson. He holds a chair in the Department of Philosophy at the University of Texas, Austin, and taught for many years before that at the University of Reading, City University of New York, and Oxford University.
Two Process Philosophers:
Nietzsche and Whitehead
Nietzsche’s metaphysics is complex and famously elusive—partly because he often rejected metaphysics as traditionally understood. He was highly critical of metaphysical systems like those of Plato, Christianity, and Kant, which posited timeless, absolute realities (e.g. the Forms, God, the noumenal realm) behind or above the flux of experience. That said, he did offer a metaphysical vision of his own, though it’s better described as anti-metaphysical metaphysics or a metaphysics of becoming.
Nietzsche and Whitehead share a rejection of static substance metaphysics and a commitment to a world of becoming. Both see reality not as a collection of unchanging things but as a dynamic, evolving process. They resist the idea of eternal, fixed essences—whether in the form of Platonic Forms, Cartesian substances, or a controlling deity. Instead, they understand the world as fundamentally alive, relational, and unfolding. In this, they stand together against the metaphysical traditions that prioritize permanence over change, stability over creativity, and timeless truth over lived experience.
Nietzsche’s metaphysics centers around the concept of the will to power, a primal, non-rational force that underlies all existence. Reality, for Nietzsche, is chaotic and conflictual—a restless play of forces striving to overcome, assert, and reinterpret. There are no metaphysical guarantees—no fixed truths or divine purposes—only ever-shifting perspectives and the challenge to affirm life as it is. His idea of eternal recurrence dramatizes this: what if you had to live your life over and over again? Would you say yes to it? This thought is less a cosmological claim than an existential provocation. Nietzsche calls us to heroic affirmation in the face of a world without metaphysical certainty.
Whitehead, too, sees a world in motion, but one shaped by relational order and value. His metaphysics revolves around actual occasions—moments of experience that inherit from the past and help create the future. The ultimate reality is Creativity itself, not a brute force of will but a generative unfolding of novelty. For Whitehead, God is not dead but reimagined: not a ruler who controls the world, but a persuasive presence who offers fresh possibilities and receives the world’s experiences in love. This God, while not omnipotent, is deeply embedded in the becoming of the world—a cosmic companion in the ongoing adventure of life.
On the nature of self and truth, the differences continue. Nietzsche portrays the self as a multiplicity of drives and impulses—without a fixed essence, shaped through acts of self-overcoming and creative interpretation. Whitehead, on the other hand, sees the self as a flowing sequence of experiential events, unified through memory and anticipation, and always situated in a web of relations. Nietzsche regards truth as perspectival and values as human-made—crafted through strength, artistry, and existential risk. Whitehead allows for context-dependent truth but grounds it in objective patterns of value: harmony, intensity, and beauty.
In tone and aim, the two diverge sharply. Nietzsche is tragic, vitalistic, and defiant—a philosopher of fire, thunder, and dance. He insists we live courageously in a godless cosmos. Whitehead is cosmic, hopeful, and constructive—a philosopher of process and peace. He envisions a world lured toward beauty by a gentle but powerful divine presence.
Together, they offer a metaphysics of becoming—one fierce and one tender—challenging us to live creatively in a world without guarantees, yet rich with possibility.
