Consciousness might not be what you think
We usually reserve the word consciousness for humans — sometimes for higher animals, if we’re being generous. And when a philosopher or a biologist dares to suggest that something as simple as an amoeba might, perhaps, possess a form of consciousness, they risk raised eyebrows — or even being suspected of mysticism.
What? An amoeba? That little blob of unicellular jelly?

But let’s go slowly.

Consciousness without neurons? Impossible, really?

We’ve been taught that consciousness, like thought, resides in the brain. More precisely: in neurons, in their connections, in their networks and dynamics.
But the amoeba:

• is unicellular,
• has no neurons,
• doesn’t even have tissue, to be honest.
  So: no consciousness, right?

As if it were an infrastructure problem: “No cables, no signal.”

But this assumption relies on an implicit hypothesis — that consciousness requires a nervous system.
And that hypothesis, however widespread, has never been proven.
It would be like saying: “The amoeba has no mouth, so it doesn’t eat.”
And yet… it eats just fine. Differently.

Acting to live, without knowing you’re alive?

Let’s ask the question differently:
Can an organism act to preserve its own existence without having, at least in a basic way, some awareness that its existence is at stake?

Because the amoeba:

• perceives chemical gradients,
• moves toward what nourishes it,
• avoids what threatens it,
• adjusts its behavior based on the situation.

It doesn’t just react — it acts to stay alive.
And that implies a kind of differentiation between what matters to it and what doesn’t. A vital polarity.
Even if it doesn’t think “I am an amoeba,” it experiences the world in terms of what affects it.
And what if that were precisely the root of consciousness: being affected, as a self?

“Proto-consciousness”: cautious invention or legitimate recognition?

Philosophers and scientists who don’t quite dare say “yes, this is consciousness,” often invent expressions like:

• proto-consciousness,
• minimal consciousness,
• primary phenomenal experience…

They open the door, but keep one foot on the threshold.
As if afraid that humans might suddenly find themselves less alone in what they believed was their exclusive kingdom.

But let’s be honest:
If we define consciousness not as the ability to reason or to tell stories, but as the capacity to experience the world as bearing vital differences — what supports or threatens my survival — then the amoeba has a form of it.
Not metaphorically. Not indulgently.
But structurally.

So what remains of our superiority?

This idea is uncomfortable.
Because if consciousness isn’t a pinnacle but a foundation — if it’s shared with organisms that have no brain — then we’re no longer the only ones who are “here.”
We’re simply more complex, more reflective, more narrative — but not more alive, nor necessarily more present in the world.

And maybe, instead of looking for consciousness in the highest layers, we should look for it in the deepest folds of life itself.

Provisional Conclusion

The amoeba doesn’t think.
It doesn’t speak.
It doesn’t even know it will die.
But it does everything it can to prevent that from happening.

And that may be enough to say that, in some way,
it knows it is here.