1.46 Fish-eye view

Ancient History as a Quantum State of Time

Section 52 (first updated 02.21.2021)

The connection of the “fish-eye view” is not really a philosophical concept, although its philosophical implications are fundamentally profound. As a physical principle, a fish-eye view is a phenomenon observed early in species’ natural development. Coming from the perspective of a fish, the fish eye is a very interesting first prototype of perception. The eye of a fish does not have directionality; therefore, it does not have a concept of direction. Without direction, the world is captured within a geometric figure that is more primordial and fundamental.

The world is fundamentally spherical in its first perception, where all sides of a figure are simultaneously revealed and shown to perception. The fish eye sees all directions equally in space and time; they all appear at once. This provides a convoluted image of the world, yet a more fundamentally accurate one. However, with this perceptual condition, there are evolutionary physical limitations. The fish does not need to move in a directional way in the same manner as species above water.

Land animals must have a concept of direction in their perception; therefore, they do not see a scene that appears oval and spherical in the way a fish does—like looking at the world from the outside of its own eye, or seeing what its eye produces as an image floating within an empty void that is its mind. The land animal, as a supposedly more developed organism, sees with its mind actively engaged and implemented within this perceptual cavity. Therefore, it is completely one with the direction of its perception and, consequently, with its physical existence. Its mind and bodily motion are one and the same; it is a purely physical specimen of its mental motions.

This is why, for example, in dreams there is a disconnection between the event and your perception of it. In other words, during a dream you see the event as flashes of light—points within discrete energy states—appearing in a black, void-like space, as if on a screen. You are within the event and it is happening to you, but not in the same way as when you are awake and experiencing the event directly, as an object among other objects interacting.

Instead, you perceive the conception itself disclosing the interaction of these objects, as if you are seeing yourself from the outside, from a third-person point of view. The mind is always fundamentally conceiving experience in this way, but the level of its developed focus and concentration allows it to enter the event and become a participant within it—the actual player in the event—an object maintaining itself against other distinct objects.

Although our minds have developed to see the world as land animals do—mammals especially—our minds are still primarily seeing the world through a fish-eye lens. It is as if the mind itself sets true reality as a fish-eye view. The world appears like a fish-eye lens to the mind, and it is this way within consciousness. That is, the world is like what appears through a fish-eye lens: a spherical particle-state of an event, including within its circumference all possible ways of being a figure, and all the possible ways that figure can engage in motion. All of these possibilities are externalized into an infinite variability of possibilities of that figure and beyond it, into others as well.

The event-particle is this floating moment of entry, flickering for the mind to see. And the mind stands outside the event-particle as a member within it, as if there is an envelope. The mind is enclosed, enveloped within reality, and distinguished by a nullity of itself—that is, the lack of itself acts as a barrier distinguishing it from what is outside itself, a quality by which it is distinguished within. The mind floats within reality as a void of itself, disclosed by the content of reality.

The Paradox of the Black Hole Phenomenon

The black hole phenomenon is a profoundly paradoxical observation in nature. It is an anomaly because it does not operate like an ordinary physical object, even though it is physically observed. First of all, unlike normal material objects, it is impenetrable: it cannot be pierced or entered in any conventional sense. There appears to be no accessible “inside” to a black hole, or, alternatively, one might say that it is a singular internal object without relational interiority.¹

Objects approach a black hole asymptotically but never truly enter it in the full empirical meaning of that word. It cannot be reached. As an object approaches its closest possible relation to the black hole, the object appears to freeze in time. From our observational standpoint, we never see the object cross the horizon, nor do we ever see it beyond that limit.

This boundary is internally referred to as the event horizon, not because it is a horizon in the ordinary physical sense, but because it represents the terminal limit of observable events.² A normal horizon merely marks the limit of our perception: although an object may pass beyond it, we assume that it continues to exist and move through further space. For example, when we observe a terrestrial horizon, we assume that beyond it there is more land, even if it is not visible to us. Since the Earth is assumed to be spherical, there is always a horizon corresponding to the curvature of its surface. This curvature alone does not prove that the Earth is physical in essence, but only that perception encounters a limit structured by curvature.³

A black hole’s event horizon is fundamentally different. It is termed an event horizon because the event itself—namely, the object’s progression through time—appears to come to a halt. After the horizon is reached, no further temporal development of the object is observable. The event of the object, from our frame of reference, effectively ends. This phenomenon is explained through the behavior of light and time under extreme gravitational conditions.⁴

The black hole thus appears to be an object that exhibits only external relations. Other objects can interact with it only externally; we possess no direct access to its internal constitution. We do not know what composes its essential structure or what its fundamental function may be within the universe. Although many hypotheses exist, none can yet claim to be ontologically conclusive.

Objects forever approach the black hole, yet never arrive at a final destination. In this sense, the black hole stands as a limit-object: physically real, empirically observable, yet conceptually resistant to full inclusion within the standard ontology of material things.

Footnotes

1. Impenetrability and interiority: From an external observer’s frame of reference, no information from within the event horizon can be accessed, making the “interior” effectively non-relational.
2. Event horizon: The boundary beyond which events cannot influence an outside observer. It is not a material surface but a causal limit.
3. Horizon and curvature: Horizons arise from the geometry of space and perception; they indicate limits of observation, not necessarily limits of existence.
4. Time dilation and light: As an object approaches the event horizon, gravitational time dilation causes its emitted light to redshift indefinitely, giving the appearance that it freezes in time.

Void Consciousness

The black hole model represents the objective form of consciousness.
The idea of the black hole functions as a material expression of its mental alternative—namely, consciousness itself.¹

Reason takes form through the object: the conception encapsulated by the void, which is consciousness. This holds true at both the universal and particular levels, insofar as the latter is a finite expression of the infinite former.² However, within the black hole model, we observe a crucial distinction: the void is not an inner relation, but rather an external structure that encapsulates all things within itself.

In this sense, the black hole becomes a conception of the known universe as it appears to consciousness. What is contained within the black hole—that is, within the void—are the conceptions of consciousness itself: ideas manifested as the objects of the universe.³

The term universe originally meant “the all” or “all things” for the Ancient Greeks.⁴ Within this framework, the black void surrounding existence functions as the form of the object, while consciousness serves as the potential reason that generates the development of the world.

The same model can be observed at a particular level. Consider an individual conception within the world: an idea arises within consciousness as a void of indeterminate potential, which then gives rise to form, structure, and objectivity as it is articulated. Just as the cosmic void contains all possible objects of the universe, the mental void contains all possible determinations of thought. The particular thus mirrors the universal, revealing consciousness as both the container and generator of form.

Footnotes

1. Objective form of consciousness: This does not imply that consciousness is reducible to matter, but that it appears objectively through material analogies that reflect its structure.
2. Universal and particular: A classical metaphysical distinction found in Plato, Aristotle, and later in German Idealism, where the universal is infinite and the particular is its finite manifestation.
3. Ideas as objects: This reflects an idealist position in which objects are not independent of consciousness, but are expressions or manifestations of conceptual structures.
4. Universe (κόσμος / τὸ πᾶν): In Ancient Greek philosophy, the universe was understood as an ordered whole, not merely a collection of physical entities.

Anthropological Error

Contemporary anthropology primarily concerns itself with comparative models between human cultures. However, it often does so without a foundational understanding of human nature as such. Human culture is a byproduct of human nature, not the reverse. Therefore, if anthropology aims to produce a genuinely adequate comparison between cultures, it must first establish a proper account of human nature, which serves as the unifying principle underlying all cultures.¹

All cultures participate in a universal notion of human nature. Yet human nature is uniquely difficult to define, because it differs fundamentally from other objects of comparison in biology. Within the human species, there exists a degree of internal diversity that exceeds the diversity distinguishing many species across the animal kingdom.²

It is true that there are vast genetic and physiological differences between species constituting the animal kingdom. However, the mental capacities of individual members within a given non-human species are generally homogeneous. Most animals exhibit relatively uniform cognitive and behavioral capacities across members of the same species. Human beings, by contrast, are exceptional: each individual expresses a uniquely differentiated and often radically distinct mental capacity when compared to others of the same species.³

The anthropological error lies in the assumption that species are differentiated only by their external relations, such as genetic, anatomical, or physiological traits, rather than by their internal relations, namely mental and psychological structures. Darwinian methodology primarily examines what is empirically observable among distinct species and compares them based on outwardly apparent features.⁴ It does not, in its classical form, seek the originating cause of these features beyond external conditions. When such causes are proposed, they are typically framed in terms of additional externalities—such as environment or adaptation—rather than internal determinants.

The evolutionary concept of use and disuse proposed by Lamarck, though empirically inconclusive, represents a step in the right direction. At minimum, it implies that mind plays a determining role in the causal chain leading to the development of physical traits.⁵ Even if the mind operates unconsciously in deciding whether to employ or neglect certain bodily capacities, such decisions contribute to the persistence, modification, or disappearance of those traits over time.

To claim that mind influences the development of physiological traits is, by itself, vague and incomplete. However, if this claim is pursued rigorously to its logical conclusion, it becomes unavoidable. The internal dimension of mind must be acknowledged as a causal principle in the formation and differentiation of the human species, and therefore as foundational to any genuine anthropology.

Footnotes

1. Human nature as a unifying principle: This reflects a classical philosophical position found in Aristotle and later in Kant, where culture is understood as an expression of underlying rational and psychological capacities.
2. Internal diversity: The claim here is qualitative rather than quantitative, emphasizing variability in cognition, creativity, and self-reflection rather than biological difference.
3. Human mental differentiation: Unlike most species, humans exhibit extreme variance in abstract reasoning, symbolic thought, language, and self-consciousness.
4. Darwinian methodology: Darwin’s framework emphasizes natural selection acting on observable traits, often bracketing questions of internal subjective experience.
5. Lamarck’s use and disuse: Although largely rejected in its original biological form, the idea anticipates later discussions about behavior, epigenetics, and developmental plasticity.

Artifacts, Time, and the Parallax of History

In our contemporary modern age, there exists a profound split between how we interpret artifacts and how we imagine people who lived hundreds or thousands of years ago. Our very notion of what an artifact is is deeply flawed. We tend to assume that because an artifact is ancient, it functions only as a symbolic remnant of the past, and that due to temporal decay its original function is no longer available. It becomes, in our view, merely a snapshot or frozen image of history rather than an operative object.¹

This assumption perpetuates the idea that the older a civilization is, the more primitive and primordial it must have been. Consequently, artifacts from increasingly ancient periods are presumed to be incapable of functioning, as though they were never designed to endure time. We excuse this assumption by projecting our own condition onto the past: we argue that our modern technologies would also fail to function thousands of years into the future, and therefore ancient technologies must necessarily have failed as well.

However, direct empirical engagement with artifacts from ancient cultures presents a strikingly opposite picture. Artifacts recovered from civilizations such as ancient Egypt or Sumer are often so complex that we do not truly understand their primary functions. Because we do not understand their function, we assume that they no longer operate—or perhaps never did. Yet this assumption reveals more about our own limitations than about the artifacts themselves.²

This situation is analogous to a monkey encountering a finely crafted knife. The monkey does not understand how to use it; therefore, for the monkey, the knife’s function effectively does not exist. The knife may as well be a meaningless object. Likewise, an ancient artifact may appear nonfunctional to us simply because we lack the conceptual framework required to understand its operation.³

In reality, many artifacts from ancient civilizations are not only highly advanced but also remarkably well preserved. Our failure lies not in their deterioration, but in our inability to recognize their true purpose. This is similar to a monkey encountering an iPhone: it perceives only a block of matter. If the screen lights up, it may register color or movement, but the phone’s essential function as a communication device does not exist within the monkey’s conceptual world. Since the concept of mediated communication is absent, the object’s true being is likewise absent.⁴

Thus, when we claim that we can only understand history from our own level of development, this statement should be taken literally. The human mind can only interpret technology—and, more broadly, meaning—according to its own historical and conceptual stage of development. This raises a crucial question: can objects enter our present timeframe from different historical stages of development? The answer appears to be yes, as artifacts from the past clearly do. However, the question becomes more difficult—and far more controversial—when we ask whether more advanced technologies could enter our timeframe from future historical developments. At this point, our assumptions become unstable and speculative.

To approach this problem, we must consider the nature of time itself. Time appears to move from past to future, yet both the past and the future do not directly exist in the present. The present is a mediating state: the past is no longer experienced, and the future never fully arrives. We know the past exists only because it was once experienced, but the totality of what actually occurred is never fully available. All historical knowledge is mediated, reconstructed, and interpreted from the standpoint of the present.⁵

The paradox deepens when we consider time through a parallax perspective. Since both past and future are equally non-present, they may be said to exist equally as potential realities, though in inverse ways. From this view, what determines the development or truth of an event is not merely its position within a linear sequence of time. An event that is temporally prior may, in fact, be more fundamentally developed or ontologically richer than an event that occurs later.⁶

This suggests that events do not simply replace one another in a linear progression where one is present and the other absent. Rather, events may exist simultaneously and instantaneously as parallel structures within time. Linear time, understood as a forward-moving duration, can be conceived as one pillar among infinitely many parallel pillars, each containing its own internal constellation of events. Within each linear duration, events exist in parallax rather than succession. Time, therefore, is not merely a sequence of replacements, but a layered and parallel structure of becoming.

Footnotes

1. Artifact as symbol: Modern archaeology often treats artifacts as representational rather than functional, privileging symbolic interpretation over operational understanding.
2. Empirical contradiction: The complexity and precision of many ancient artifacts challenge linear assumptions of technological progress.
3. Conceptual limitation: Function is not inherent merely in the object but arises through the relation between object and understanding.
4. Ontological visibility: An object’s “existence” is conditioned by the conceptual horizon of the observer, echoing phenomenological accounts of perception.
5. Historicity of knowledge: All historical facts are mediated by present frameworks, as argued in hermeneutics and philosophy of history.
6. Parallax time: This view aligns with non-linear conceptions of time found in metaphysics, where temporal order does not necessarily determine ontological priority

Energy, Technology, and the Question of Ancient Power Sources

The fundamental difference between modern technologies used contemporarily and ancient technologies uncovered through archaeology lies in their relationship to energy. Modern technologies almost always operate with a limited capacity of charge. They rely on an external source of energy—such as an electrical grid—to transfer power into the object, where it is stored temporarily (for example, in a battery). Once this stored energy is depleted, the object must be recharged. In this sense, the energy source is external to the object, and the object itself is not energetically self-sufficient.¹

This raises an important question: is this limitation artificially imposed upon modern technological objects, or does it represent the natural developmental stage of the technology itself? The answer is not immediately clear. If an object were capable of generating its own energy internally, its functional performance would remain identical to that of an object powered externally. The function—communication, illumination, motion, computation—would occur in the same way. The difference would lie solely in the source of energy, not in the nature of the function performed.

Thus, the central issue is not technological function, but energetic dependency. What distinguishes modern technologies from many interpretations of ancient technologies is the apparent source of energy. In numerous speculative analyses of advanced ancient constructions, it is observed that these structures do not obviously require external energy inputs. They lack outlets, conduits, or mechanisms for receiving power from an external source in the way modern devices do. This suggests—at least theoretically—that energy may have been sourced internally or derived directly from natural processes rather than stored and depleted.²

Within this framework, energy is not conceived as stored fuel but as a continuous interaction with natural forces. One such proposed source is frequency or vibration. Nature itself operates through oscillatory systems: seismic vibrations, atmospheric resonance, electromagnetic fields, and acoustic standing waves. Different frequencies—low or high—produce different energetic effects, and all physical structures exist in resonance with their environment to some degree.³

The Pyramid as a Resonant Energy System (Theoretical Model)

Within speculative models, pyramids are interpreted not merely as tombs or monuments, but as resonant structures designed to align with the Earth’s natural vibrations. The geometry of the pyramid—its proportions, angles, and mass distribution—is thought to allow it to act as a harmonic amplifier of ambient energy.⁴

According to this model, pyramids may have interacted with several natural energy systems:

1. Seismic and ground vibrations: The Earth constantly produces low-frequency vibrations. A massive stone structure precisely aligned with the ground could convert these mechanical oscillations into kinetic motion within the structure itself.
2. Electromagnetic resonance: The Earth-ionosphere system generates standing electromagnetic waves (often referred to as global resonances). A large conductive or semi-conductive structure could theoretically couple with these frequencies.⁵
3. Piezoelectric effects: Many stones used in pyramid construction, such as limestone and granite, contain quartz. Under mechanical stress or vibration, quartz can generate electrical charge through the piezoelectric effect. In theory, constant vibration could result in small but continuous electrical potentials.⁶

In this speculative interpretation, the pyramid does not store energy like a battery. Instead, it channels and transforms naturally occurring kinetic and vibrational energy into electrical or electromagnetic activity. The pyramid thus functions as a mediator between Earth’s natural forces and usable energetic output. The energy source is neither internal in the biological sense nor external in the technological sense, but immanent within nature itself.

Whether such systems were intentionally designed, symbolically interpreted, or later mythologized remains an open question. What is philosophically significant is the contrast between a technology dependent on finite stored energy and a structure theoretically integrated into an ongoing energetic continuum. This distinction challenges modern assumptions about technological progress and invites reconsideration of how energy, function, and design may have been conceived in ancient contexts.

Footnotes

1. Energetic dependency: Modern devices rely on external infrastructures (grids, fuels, chargers), making energy a consumable commodity rather than a continuous process.
2. Speculative archaeology: Claims about ancient energy technologies are not established scientific consensus and should be treated as theoretical or philosophical interpretations.
3. Frequency and vibration: In physics, oscillation underlies mechanical waves, electromagnetic radiation, and quantum behavior.
4. Sacred geometry: Some researchers propose that ancient structures encode mathematical ratios that produce resonance, though evidence remains interpretive rather than conclusive.
5. Earth resonance: The Earth-ionosphere cavity supports low-frequency electromagnetic standing waves; coupling structures to these waves remains speculative.
6. Piezoelectric quartz: Quartz generates electrical charge under mechanical stress; however, scaling this effect to large architectural structures remains unproven.

Ancient Technology, Lost Time, and the Ethics of Energy

Even today, when considering the function of ancient artifacts, we must first ask what it truly means for a piece of technology to be labeled “ancient.” The notion of the ancient does not apply solely to objects that are old in chronological age. Rather, a technology may be considered ancient when it is lost in time—when its origin, function, or historical context is unknown or misattributed.¹

There are ongoing discussions suggesting that the basic infrastructure of many major metropolitan cities—from Europe to the Americas—may have inherited foundational architectural structures from earlier, poorly understood periods. Numerous buildings that currently serve as central civic, governmental, or cultural institutions are officially dated to the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. However, when one examines their empirical composition, scale, and level of complexity, questions arise as to whether such structures could realistically have been constructed with the tools, methods, and technologies attributed to that era.²

Moreover, many of these structures appear to employ architectural principles and construction techniques that are remarkably consistent across the globe, regardless of geography or culture. These techniques are not only absent from the historical record of their supposed time of construction, but in some cases are not fully reproducible even with modern technology. Despite this, contemporary architectural development differs drastically in both form and method from these inherited structures, indicating a discontinuity rather than a linear progression.³

Yet this does not prevent modern societies from benefiting from these buildings. Humans are fundamentally pragmatic: we use what functions, regardless of whether we understand it. If a structure provides vast interior space, aesthetic grandeur, and symbolic authority, it will be repurposed for the highest governing institutions of society. The historical narrative attached to such structures is often determined by ownership—by those who control and administer them. History, in this sense, is written by the beneficiary. The meaning of the object becomes aligned with possession rather than origin.⁴

Scientific inquiry, however, cannot rest on ownership or utility alone. Its purpose is understanding, not profit. To understand an object is to grasp not only its material composition, but also the form and principle that animate it. Material constitution is not merely substance; it is an expression of function, and function is the outward instrument of what may be called the object’s inner logic—or, metaphorically, its “soul.”⁵

Within this interpretive framework, certain ancient structures may be understood as technologies of “free energy.” By free, this does not mean free within a capitalist economy—where nothing is free and everything is assigned exchange value—but rather free in the sense that the energy source is naturally acquired, not artificially imposed. These structures do not rely on commodified fuel or externally supplied power; instead, they are theorized to interact directly with natural energetic processes.⁶

Some interpretations suggest that such buildings employ sound, resonance, and frequency to alter states of mind or physiological experience, though the precise purpose of such effects remains unknown. In this respect, they are often compared to pyramidal structures, which are theorized to resonate with environmental frequencies and potentially generate or channel electrical or electromagnetic activity. If energy itself is freely available through such means, then technology would be organized around the use of energy, not its ownership.⁷

In such a system, commodities would be exchanged based on function rather than on access to energy sources. Energy would not be the commodity; application would be. This represents a fundamentally different—and arguably more ethical—model of technological and economic organization.

From this perspective, technological evolution is not necessarily linear or upward. It may regress as easily as it advances. What are often labeled “primitive” ancient traditions may, in fact, reflect a more integrated relationship between technology, nature, and society than our present condition allows. Our current technological paradigm, when examined structurally rather than economically, may represent not progress, but a downward divergence from earlier modes of development.

Footnotes

1. Ancient as lost knowledge: “Ancient” here refers not only to age but to discontinuity in understanding, similar to the notion of “lost technologies.”
2. Architectural attribution: Claims questioning construction dates are speculative and controversial; they arise from perceived mismatches between historical records and structural complexity.
3. Technological discontinuity: Differences between inherited monumental architecture and modern construction methods raise questions about continuity in technological development.
4. Ownership and narrative: This reflects a sociological view of history as shaped by power and institutional control.
5. Form and function: This view aligns with Aristotelian metaphysics, where form organizes matter toward purpose.
6. Free energy (philosophical sense): This does not imply violation of physical laws, but rather non-commodified access to natural energy flows.
7. Resonance and sound: Claims regarding psychoacoustic or energetic effects remain speculative and should be interpreted symbolically or theoretically rather than as established science.

These parallels never directly intersect or interact with one another. Their relation is always indirect. When one temporal state is present, the other exists in a condition of non-presence. The past is no longer active, and the future is not yet active; neither exists in the same ontological mode as the present. And yet, both exert influence.

The central enigma of the present lies precisely here: to what degree can what is non-present be recalled, reactivated, or made operative? The past cannot return as past, and the future cannot arrive as future. They can only be mediated through interpretation, anticipation, memory, and projection. Thus, their interaction with the present is never direct but always filtered through consciousness.

When the time of one dominates, the other recedes into a non-state. When the present is fully occupied by immediate action, the past becomes implicit habit and the future becomes latent possibility. When reflection takes hold, the present itself dissolves into memory and expectation. The present is therefore not a stable point in time, but a transitional tension—a threshold between what has ended and what has not yet begun.

This is why the present is uniquely paradoxical. It is the only temporal mode that exists, yet it has no duration of its own. The moment we attempt to grasp it, it becomes either memory (past) or anticipation (future). The present is thus less a point in time than a site of mediation, where non-present temporalities are negotiated and partially actualized.

What can be brought back from the past is never the past itself, but fragments—symbols, artifacts, narratives, structures, and residual functions. Likewise, what can be drawn from the future is never certainty, but possibility—designs, intentions, trajectories, and imagined ends. The task of the present is to determine which elements of the past remain viable and which possibilities of the future can be responsibly actualized.

To exist in the present, then, is not simply to occupy “now,” but to constantly distinguish between what belongs to the past and what properly belongs to the future, while knowing that both are partially inaccessible. We are always at risk of misidentifying the two: mistaking unresolved past structures for future potential, or projecting future ideals onto past realities.

Thus, the true difficulty of the present is not action, but discernment. The present is a crossroads where parallel temporalities do not collide, yet continuously condition one another. Understanding what is truly past and what is genuinely future—while neither is fully present—is the fundamental challenge of human consciousness and historical existence.

History before history

The idea of a “history before history” requires that history does not follow a continuous flow of time, but instead unfolds as a series of discrete measures—marked by major events, ruptures, or technological breakthroughs. To what degree our history is hidden or unrevealed may, in fact, exceed what is recorded or accepted as historical fact. Much of what we believe about history rests on trust: trust in our instructors, historians, and institutions, along with a limited set of selectively preserved empirical artifacts. In both cases, we are ultimately required to “take their word for it.”

The notion of a history before history implies that history is not a single, uninterrupted duration, but rather a sequence of developmental stages—some progressive, others regressive. Regression here should not be understood as meaningless decline; even negative development occurs for a reason or purpose. Typically, a more highly developed period emerges after a less developed one. This pattern appears consistent across recorded history.

However, there is a deeper and more radical implication: history may not always continue at all. There may be periods of discontinuity, moments in which historical development collapses into stagnation or nullity. These are times of arrested development—periods where progress halts, knowledge is lost, and cultural momentum dissolves. In such cases, history does not evolve gradually but requires a major restart or mutation to resume. Once reinitiated, development may accelerate rapidly, but often in a fundamentally different direction than before.

Importantly, the direction of development is not necessarily ethically defined. Technological or structural advancement does not guarantee ethical advancement. While it is often assumed that a more developed culture is also more ethically refined, this is not always the case. Ethical maturity may lag behind, diverge from, or even deteriorate during periods of rapid development.

Thus, a culture may be highly developed in technical or organizational terms while remaining ethically deficient. Ethical progress appears to be an ongoing and unstable process rather than a guaranteed outcome of development. History, therefore, should not be understood as a simple upward trajectory, but as a fragmented, uneven, and discontinuous process—one marked by loss, rediscovery, mutation, and moral uncertainty.

The Limits of Recorded History in Anthropology

Contemporary anthropology generally estimates that human civilization begins with the Sumerian tradition, primarily because Sumer represents the earliest civilization for which we possess empirical evidence of written records. The Sumerians developed written language and legal codes inscribed on clay tablets that can be deciphered and meaningfully interpreted. In this sense, ancient Mesopotamia—particularly the region corresponding to modern-day Iraq—is often characterized as the origin of the present historical world.¹ However, the concept of the human is not limited to a span of merely six thousand years.

Civilizations that predate ancient Babylon are frequently labeled as archaic or underdeveloped because they do not meet the conventional criteria for civilization—namely, the presence of recorded history. Within this framework, to be recorded is effectively to exist in history. Yet this view is fundamentally limited, as it equates historical existence with legibility to modern interpretive methods.²

This limitation becomes especially apparent when we consider ancient structures and settlements that remain buried beneath layers of sediment, erosion, and geological transformation. Our inability to fully understand these remains does not necessarily indicate primitiveness. Structures often dismissed as simple “stone” constructions may not have been stone in their original form. Over thousands of years, a wide range of materials can undergo mineralization or calcification, eventually presenting as stone-like remnants.³

Beneath the hardened exterior of these structures may lie evidence of material technologies that exceed our current comprehension or do not conform to known historical categories. Likewise, the purposes of monumental constructions—such as the pyramids—may extend beyond the symbolic, funerary, or ritual explanations typically offered. Their functions may involve principles or applications that remain inaccessible due to gaps in historical continuity and conceptual understanding.⁴

Thus, the absence of written records should not be equated with the absence of civilization, intelligence, or technological sophistication. Rather, it reflects the boundaries of our current methods of interpretation. A history before recorded history may not be empty or primitive, but simply unreadable to us in its present state.

Footnotes

1. Sumerian primacy: Sumer is commonly regarded as the earliest civilization due to the presence of cuneiform writing dating to approximately the late fourth millennium BCE.
2. History and legibility: This reflects a methodological bias in historiography, where written documentation is privileged over material, architectural, or oral evidence.
3. Geological transformation: Processes such as mineral replacement, pressure, and long-term environmental exposure can alter the appearance and composition of materials over deep time.
4. Pyramids and function: Mainstream archaeology interprets pyramids primarily as funerary monuments; alternative functional interpretations remain speculative and controversial.

Ancient Mathematics

Mathematics, Human Nature, and the Limits of Recorded History

Ancient peoples across diverse cultures, despite vast differences in symbolism, language, and social organization, nevertheless converged on a universal language: mathematics. All known ancient civilizations possessed some form of mathematical understanding. However, civilizations that predate the Sumerians are generally excluded from what is formally recognized as history because they left no written records that we can decipher.¹

Even the earliest pre-modern civilizations implemented universal mathematical principles in the structure and design of their agriculture, architecture, and spatial organization, at the very least. Modern anthropology, however, remains limited in its interpretive scope because it often fails to engage with the deeper notion of human nature—a concept that exceeds anthropology and belongs instead to ontology. Anthropology describes human variation; ontology seeks the conditions of being human as such.²

In ancient times on the North American continent—long before the earliest Sumerian records—there likely existed rich and flourishing civilizations that possessed mathematical knowledge. Unlike modern societies, however, these civilizations did not express mathematics through written language. Instead, their understanding was demonstrated directly through production—through built forms, spatial relations, agricultural systems, and social organization. In this sense, their mathematics was enacted rather than recorded.³

Because these civilizations lacked written language, or relied primarily on symbolic and performative demonstrations rather than textual inscription, they are often excluded from history proper. They are not regarded as fully self-conscious civilizations, since historical consciousness is conventionally equated with written self-reflection. Yet this equation itself is a modern assumption rather than an absolute criterion of intelligence or awareness.⁴

These peoples are often labeled “primitive,” but not in the sense of being less developed overall. Rather, their development was primal—situated at an earlier stage in evolutionary and historical sequences. “Earlier,” in this context, simply denotes a prior position in linear time. It is our assumption that earlier moments in time are necessarily less advanced than later ones, based on the belief that humanity learns from the past in order to improve the future. History is thus conceived as a cumulative record in which precedent drives progress.⁵

However, this assumption may itself be a subjective anthropological projection, extrapolated from individual experience and imposed onto world history as a whole. These ancient peoples followed a different historical trajectory—one upon which our own history nevertheless depends. They may have been linguistically primitive, but they were maximally developed in terms of labor, cooperation, and embodied skill. Their “primitivism” is judged only from the standpoint of a later developmental phase that required their existence as a necessary foundation.⁶

These ancient societies embedded universal mathematical truths directly into their productive forces. Their structures expressed mathematical understanding not abstractly, but concretely. Architectural forms exhibit proportional reasoning, geometric alignment, and even paradoxical mathematical relationships such as “squaring the circle,” rendered symbolically rather than algebraically.⁷

Socially, these civilizations were highly collective. Individuality, as modern societies understand it, was virtually nonexistent. There was little privacy, and survival depended on constant proximity, mutual observation, and communal regulation. This social structure enabled a collective form of control over nature: individuals relied on one another to detect danger, regulate behavior, and coordinate responses—for example, depending on a neighbor to warn of a nearby snake.⁸

In this sense, their relation to nature was mediated through internal relations rather than external abstraction. These relations were fundamentally social, cooperative, and implicitly mathematical. One might compare this to an advanced form of primate social grooming—not as a diminishment, but as an intensification of relational intelligence. Such relations are abstract in conception, even if they are not symbolically formalized. They represent a different mode of rationality—one grounded in embodiment, proximity, and collective awareness.

Footnotes

1. Written record and history: Historiography traditionally defines history as beginning with writing, privileging textual evidence over material or oral traditions.
2. Human nature vs. anthropology: Ontology addresses the conditions of being, while anthropology studies cultural variation; the former underlies the latter.
3. Enacted mathematics: Mathematical understanding can be expressed through practice and design rather than symbolic notation.
4. Self-consciousness and writing: The identification of writing with self-consciousness reflects a modern epistemic bias.
5. Linear progress assumption: The belief that history necessarily advances reflects Enlightenment models of progress.
6. Developmental dependency: Later stages of civilization depend materially and structurally on earlier ones, even when they reinterpret them as primitive.
7. Geometric symbolism: Many ancient structures encode geometric relationships without formal mathematical notation.
8. Collective regulation: Early societies often relied on constant social proximity for survival and environmental awareness.

Response Nature

Nature may be understood as a system that responds to the individual organism within it by producing a reference frame of objects that externally interact with that organism. What appears to the observer as a stable world of objects is, in this view, a responsive field shaped by interaction rather than a static backdrop.

Viruses, for example, can be understood metaphorically as seed-like life forces embedded within green life—mobile potentials that move across objects, emerging and re-emerging as possibilities within an observer’s reference frame. These possibilities constitute what we call the moment, or more precisely, the event. The observer, while internally indifferent to the raw occurrence of events, externally organizes the total set of possible moments into a coherent narrative or functional structure.¹

Nature, then, can be described as an abstract, self-operating system that continuously generates, at any given moment, a particular event that becomes objectified to the observer. The observer is simultaneously embedded within the spacetime fabric of nature, which presents itself as an indeterminate field of uncertainty. In physics, this indeterminacy is described by the uncertainty principle; here, it is interpreted philosophically as the very condition that allows definite objects to emerge.²

Within each object lies a minimal zone of indeterminacy—not small in terms of physical size, but microscopic in conceptual resolution. At every point along the boundary of a form—what may be metaphorically called the circumference of a “squared circle”—there exists angular momentum. From this angular relation, a conception may transition into a different object altogether. The object is thus not fixed, but poised at the edge of transformation.

Squared

The field of probability—the spectrum—consists of definite variables that share potential with one another. The classical paradox of “squaring the circle” is employed here symbolically rather than geometrically.³ To square a number means to multiply it by itself:
(4^2 = 4 \times 4 = 16).

The operator itself—the exponent—matters more than the resulting number. The exponent indicates self-relation. The number 1 is unique in that it can be squared and remain unchanged, as can 0. These numbers represent pure identity and pure nullity—the two limits of self-relation. All other numbers express transformation through self-multiplication.

Thus, number functions here not as a fixed quantity, but as a bare relation capable of taking on any magnitude. The operator (^)—the act of squaring—may be understood metaphorically as angular momentum, occurring at each point of a shape that forms an object. A circle, continuously turning upon itself, generates an infinite number of points along its circumference. From this infinite turning, an infinite number of possible objects may be projected.

In this metaphysical analogy, a black hole functions similarly: not merely as a physical object, but as a generative structure in which infinite particularities arise from a single formal relation.⁴ The fate of this infinite generative system, however, is constrained by the quality of the observer. The observer represents a limiting perspective on the infinite.

The observer can stand, conceptually, outside the circling process and trace a line from the circumference to the center—this is the radius. The radius is a withdrawal from infinite variation toward unity, a movement that eventually collapses back into itself. Through this act, the observer determines the scope and expression of the generative system, guiding it into a constructed reality.

Fractals, Aristotle, and Primal Vision

This generative process may also be understood through fractals: self-similar structures in which each part reflects the whole. Each point on the circumference contains the logic of the entire form.⁵ Aristotle described this relation through the fundamental triad of point, line, and circle: the point as pure position, the line as directed extension, and the circle as self-returning completeness.⁶

In what may be called a fish-eye lens of consciousness—found in primal life forms such as fish or insects—perception has not yet integrated objects into a continuous world. Objects appear instead as discrete events, each isolated in its immediacy. There is no unified narrative of continuity, only successive moments.

Yet even within this discreteness, there exists a peripheral awareness—a surrounding field that hints at what lies beyond the focused object. This peripheral gap between object and background contains the potential for transformation. Each object contains just enough indeterminacy to become another object. This threshold corresponds metaphorically to the Schwarzschild radius: not as a literal concentration of mass, but as a spectral boundary that discloses the form of the object.⁷

The form of the object is therefore a controlled spectrum. If we take a wavelength—a line extended through four dimensions—and fold it back onto itself, each variable interacts with every other simultaneously. This self-relation generates form. What appears as a stable object is, in reality, a standing wave of relations continuously resolving itself.

Conclusion

Nature responds by generating objects; objects contain indeterminacy; indeterminacy allows transformation. The observer does not create reality ex nihilo, but collapses a spectrum of possibilities into form. Consciousness, geometry, and physics converge here not as identical disciplines, but as parallel languages describing the same generative structure.

Footnotes

1. Event and observer: This reflects a phenomenological view in which events are not merely physical occurrences but are structured by perception.
2. Uncertainty principle: In physics, this refers to limits on simultaneous measurement; here it is used metaphorically to describe ontological indeterminacy.
3. Squaring the circle: Historically a geometric impossibility; used symbolically here to describe the reconciliation of linear and circular forms.
4. Black hole analogy: This is a metaphysical comparison, not a physical claim about astrophysical black holes.
5. Fractals: Mathematical structures exhibiting self-similarity across scales.
6. Aristotle: See Physics and Metaphysics on form, motion, and continuity.
7. Schwarzschild radius: In physics, the event horizon of a black hole; here reinterpreted symbolically as a boundary of form.

Squaring the Sphere: Form, Uncertainty, and Event

For a sphere to be squared, a first state must emerge in which the sphere discloses itself through points. Each point appears at the end of a line that extends toward the center of the sphere. The midpoint of each such line corresponds to a point that lies along the circumference of the circle. In this way, the circumference is not merely a boundary, but a distribution of relational points.¹

At this level, a parallel set of lines begins to correspond to a potential square. The circle—being the form capable of fitting into any other form—transmits this universal capacity into the square. In doing so, the square inherits the circle’s function: it discloses a coordinate system for the infinite potential determinations of a point of conception moving along the circumference. The square is thus not imposed upon the circle, but emerges from it.

Importantly, the grid is not something pre-existing onto which a figure is placed. Rather, the grid conforms to the points that constitute the figure itself. The points of conception articulate the different aspects of a single form. For example, if one perceives a curve or a hunch in a figure, it is precisely that perception which generates the points on the grid that disclose the curve. The grid is therefore an effect of form, not its cause.²

Each point on the potential square now corresponds to a point along the lines of a cube, forming a three-dimensional grid. Each point occupies a possible position within the square faces of the grid, rendering each cube—otherwise homogeneous—unique by virtue of its placement. These placements are not fixed; they represent possible relations. The degree to which cubes may be positioned relative to one another can change by variations in angle, since each point is, in the first instance, only a potential within the parameter of a line.³

Implied within the angle of each form—at the precise boundary where one object begins and another ends—is the moment of change. This is the site where transformation occurs, yet it is typically imperceptible. Reality is continuously generated through these implicate transitions, even though we do not consciously register them.

This is why the structure corresponds metaphorically to the radius defining the event horizon of a Schwarzschild black hole. The radius marks not a material surface, but a threshold beyond which relational conditions fundamentally change.⁴

The state of uncertainty, therefore, is not a separate domain outside the object, as though the object existed within an external void. Instead, uncertainty is a parameter intrinsic to the object itself. The very form that makes an object particular is also the condition of its indeterminacy. In this sense, the uncertainty principle is not merely a limitation on knowledge, but the material condition through which particularity is shaped and warped.⁵

From this dimension of uncertainty, events and other objects enter into relation with the object and constitute its reference frame. We commonly say that things “enter” or “leave” our field of vision, but this raises a deeper question: from where do objects come into being within a particular conception? The objects disclosed within a conception—viewed from the standpoint of one object among others—constitute that object’s relational world. Its experience is nothing other than the structured disclosure of these relations.

Footnotes

1. Point, line, and circumference: This reflects a classical geometric ontology in which form emerges from relations rather than static substances.
2. Figure generating grid: This reverses the modern assumption of a pre-given coordinate space and aligns with phenomenological and process-based geometries.
3. Potential placement: The cube here represents a space of relational possibility rather than a fixed volumetric unit.
4. Schwarzschild radius (metaphorical use): In physics, this defines the event horizon of a black hole; here it symbolizes a boundary of transformation rather than a physical singularity.
5. Uncertainty as form-generative: This departs from a purely epistemic reading of the uncertainty principle and treats indeterminacy as ontological.

A quantum state is the most complete description that can be given of a physical system at the quantum level. It does not describe what a system is in the classical sense (a definite position, speed, or shape), but rather what the system can be—the full range of its possible behaviors and outcomes.

In quantum physics, a quantum state encodes all the information that can be known about a system, such as an electron, photon, or atom. This information is not given as fixed values, but as probabilities.

• A particle does not have one definite position or momentum.
• Instead, it exists in a superposition of possible positions and momenta.
• The quantum state tells us the likelihood of finding each outcome if we measure it.

Mathematically, a quantum state is represented by a wavefunction (ψ), which assigns a probability amplitude to every possible state of the system.

Superposition: Being in Many States at Once

A key feature of a quantum state is superposition.

• Classically, something is either here or there.
• Quantum mechanically, a system can be here and there at the same time, as overlapping possibilities.

Until a measurement occurs, the system does not choose one outcome. All possible outcomes coexist in the quantum state.

Measurement and Collapse

When a measurement is made:

• The quantum state collapses into one definite outcome.
• The probabilities encoded in the quantum state determine which outcome appears.

Before measurement:
→ many possible realities coexist.

After measurement:
→ one reality becomes actual.

This does not mean the system was hiding a definite answer beforehand; the definite answer comes into being through measurement.

A quantum state is not uncertain because we lack information. Uncertainty Is Not Ignorance.

• Even with perfect knowledge of the quantum state, outcomes remain probabilistic.
• This is a fundamental feature of nature, not a limitation of measurement tools.

This is formalized in the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, which states that certain pairs of properties (like position and momentum) cannot both be definite at the same time.

Entanglement: Shared Quantum States

Quantum states can be entangled.

• Two or more particles can share a single quantum state.
• Measuring one immediately affects the state of the other, no matter how far apart they are.

This means the quantum state can belong to a relationship, not just to individual objects.

In quantum theory, time plays a different role than in classical physics.

• The quantum state evolves smoothly over time according to physical laws.
• Measurement interrupts this evolution and produces a definite event.

This is why quantum systems appear continuous in possibility but discontinuous in actuality.

Think of a quantum state like a musical chord rather than a single note.

• The chord contains many notes at once.
• When you listen carefully (measure), you hear one note emerge.
• The chord was real, even though only one note becomes audible.

In philosophical terms—especially aligned with our earlier ideas:

• A quantum state is a field of potentiality.
• Objects are not fully determined until they enter a reference frame.
• The observer does not create reality, but selects from a spectrum of possible realities.

This parallels our view of:

• Time as unresolved until the present,
• Ancient history as probabilistic,
• Objects as controlled spectra rather than fixed substances.

A quantum state is the complete description of all possible ways a system can exist, where reality remains probabilistic and relational until an interaction or observation makes one possibility actual.

Geometry, Consciousness, and the Quantum–Cosmological Analogy

1. Geometry as the Language of Consciousness

Geometry provides the most primitive and universal language for describing both physical reality and consciousness. The circle, the radius, and the spectrum are not merely mathematical abstractions; they are structural forms through which reality becomes intelligible.

• The circle represents totality or wholeness.
• The radius represents relation—movement from the centre to the periphery.
• The circumference represents the limit of determination, where the known fades into the unknown.
• The spectrum represents potentiality: all possible determinations contained within a form.

In this sense, consciousness itself can be understood geometrically as a void-circle: a sphere that does not contain objects as material things, but as possibilities of relation.

2. Fish-Eye Conception (Discrete Uncertainty)

The fish-eye conception represents the most primitive form of perception. Here, perception is event-based and discontinuous.

• There is no stable centre object.
• The centre is the act of perception itself.
• Objects appear as discrete flashes or events, unrelated except by proximity in time.

Whatever is not perceived is not simply absent—it exists as potential, and this ignorance is itself a real structural feature of the perception. The void here separates objects absolutely. Each object is isolated, floating in a state of uncertainty.

This corresponds to a quantum state: reality as a superposition of possibilities, not yet integrated into continuity.¹

3. Small-Planet Conception (Continuous Integration)

The small-planet conception is the inverse of the fish-eye model.

• A central object now exists.
• Other objects form a continuous environment around this centre.
• Relations between objects are integrated rather than discrete.

Here, the void no longer separates objects absolutely. Instead, the void becomes curvature—a continuity that binds objects together around a centre. The centre is no longer consciousness itself, but an object within consciousness.

This model resembles a planetary system, where motion is continuous and relational rather than event-based. The environment is no longer excluded but incorporated into a single structured field.

4. Consciousness as Void-Sphere

Consciousness, in both models, is the void—but not an empty nothingness. It is the sphere encompassing objects, defining the limits of what can appear.

• The object is never directly in consciousness.
• It is always mediated by a blurred circumference.
• This blurred region is the unconscious—pure potential.

Between the object (image) and the void (consciousness) lies a zone of indeterminacy. This is where change is possible. This region is not external to the object; it is constitutive of the object’s form.

5. Event Horizon and Consciousness

This blurred circumference corresponds directly to the event horizon of a black hole.

In physics, the event horizon is not a physical surface but a limit of information. Beyond it, events cannot be observed.²

Likewise, in consciousness:

• What is within perception is “real.”
• What is outside perception exists as potential.
• When perception shifts, the previously unseen becomes real, and the previously real becomes potential.

Thus, perception operates like a moving event horizon.

6. Black Holes and Time

A black hole does not merely absorb matter; it reorganizes time.

• From an external observer’s perspective, objects freeze at the event horizon.
• The black hole appears to “see” the past eternally, as nothing ever fully crosses the horizon in finite time.³

This parallels consciousness:

• The past exists as memory.
• The future exists as potential.
• The present is the event horizon where potential collapses into actuality.

Time, therefore, is not linear but radial—structured around the observer.

7. Particular and Universal Consciousness

The particular experience of consciousness (an individual observer) and the conception of the universe as a whole share the same formal structure.

• The difference is not form, but scale.
• Every perspective is partial because it has an exterior.
• What is external to one view becomes internal when perspective shifts.

There is no absolute external view—only nested horizons of perception.

8. Internalization of the Universe

When consciousness turns inward, the universe appears to fold into itself.

This internalization is expressed through the particular object. The object becomes a microcosm of the whole—an internalized universe.

This is the objective view of subjective consciousness: cosmology seen as a projection of perceptual structure.⁴

9. The Eye and Self-Reflection

The development of the eye marks the beginning of self-reflection.

• Vision creates distance.
• Distance creates objectivity.
• Objectivity allows the organism to perceive itself indirectly.

Thus, self-consciousness begins not with thought, but with curvature of perception.

10. Void, Change, and Curiosity

• The void is the circle.
• Change is curiosity—the movement toward what lies beyond the circumference.
• The reality principle is dominance and control.

Reality expands by incorporating what lies outside it. What was external becomes internal, and this incorporation is control. Reality grows by absorbing its own negation.

This is not domination in a moral sense, but in an ontological sense: to make something real is to bring it within a reference frame.

Summary

• Consciousness is a void-sphere.
• Objects are controlled spectra.
• Perception is an event horizon.
• Time is radial, not linear.
• Black holes are cosmological analogues of consciousness.
• The universe is not observed from consciousness—it is generated within it.

Footnotes

1. Quantum uncertainty: In quantum mechanics, systems exist in superpositions until measured (Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle).
2. Event horizon: Defined as the boundary beyond which information cannot escape; it is not a material surface.
3. Time dilation: From an external frame, infalling matter never crosses the event horizon in finite time.
4. Phenomenology: This aligns with phenomenological philosophy, where objectivity arises from structures of perception.

Geometric Explanation of Consciousness, Perception, and Black Holes

A “small planet” conception is the inverse of the nature of discrete conception, or “fish-eye conception,” which exists in a state of uncertainty.

The small planet conception is similar to the fish-eye conception in that the object from which the point of view is derived discloses a set of other potential objects. The object itself is structured by a combination of those objects within its conception. However, the small planet conception differs from the fish-eye conception in a crucial way: the convulsion among objects is not made discrete by a void state.

In the small planet conception, the objects within the environment of one object are used to form a continuity around a single centre-point object. In the fish-eye conception, by contrast, the centre is not any object within the conception but rather the conception itself. Whatever the fish-eye conception misses—other objects—are excluded as part of the relation. They exist only as potential parts, while the ignorance of them is itself an actually real part of the conception.

In the fish-eye conception, the centre is taken prior to the objects.
In the small planet conception, the centre is taken around the objects.

Consciousness as Void and Sphere

Consciousness is the void, which is the sphere encompassing the object.

Geometrically, the void is not emptiness but the circular boundary that allows anything to appear within it. The object exists inside a sphere of awareness, and that sphere defines what is included, excluded, and possible. The void is therefore the condition for appearance, not the absence of content.

Black Holes and Seeing the Past

A black hole provides a physical analogue for this structure of consciousness. From the external point of view, a black hole appears to see the past. Objects approaching the event horizon never appear to cross it; instead, they freeze in time. The black hole, in this sense, retains all past events at its circumference.

If we take the universe itself as analogous to a black hole, then the circumference of the universe becomes an event horizon. This introduces fundamental problems with time: the present never fully arrives, the past never fully disappears, and the future never becomes actual except at the horizon of observation.

This mirrors consciousness, where experience is always delayed, partial, and horizon-bound.

Particular Experience of Consciousness

This is how consciousness, in the particular sense, conceives the world. The conception of the whole universe and the conception of a particular observer within some environment involve the same universal form of consciousness, differing only by scale.

If we look at a particular conception, we see between the image and the black void a circumference that blurs into the void. This region between the object and the void (consciousness) is the unconscious, which is pure potential.

Potential, in this sense, is the whole world not yet conceived. Look behind you, and you see what was previously only potential. Look away again, and it becomes potential once more. Consciousness operates in the same way in relation to the whole universe.

External and Internal Views

An image of the universe may appear to be a general or total view, yet it is still a particular view because it is external. Whatever is not viewed is external to that view. When perception shifts to what was previously not viewed, the once-viewed perception becomes external in turn.

When you look at something and not at another, where does the external view go?
It becomes internal.

Internalization of the Universe

A theoretical image of consciousness internalized within the object shows how the development of the universe turns inward. The universe develops into itself, and this internalization is expressed through the particular object.

This is the objective view of the subjective conception of the universe, and it reflects cosmological principles expressed through perception itself.

The Eye and Self-Reflection

The development of the eye marks the beginning of self-reflection and self-consciousness. Vision introduces distance, and distance introduces objectivity. Through vision, the organism becomes capable of perceiving itself indirectly, through the curvature of perception.

Void, Change, and Reality

The void is the circle.

Change is curiosity—the movement toward what lies beyond the circumference.

The reality principle is dominance and control. Dominance does not mean force, but incorporation: whatever is outside reality becomes a part of it, and this incorporation constitutes control of the object.

Reality expands by absorbing what was once external. In doing so, it stabilizes itself while simultaneously generating the conditions for further change.

Summary in Geometric Terms

• The circle is the void of consciousness
• The radius is perception extending toward an object
• The circumference is the event horizon of experience
• The spectrum is potential
• The black hole is the cosmological analogue of consciousness
• The observer is the limit that gives form to infinity

Fish-Eye Conception vs Small-Planet Conception

The difference between fish-eye and small-planet conception is fundamentally a difference in how time, continuity, and objects are structured. This contrast mirrors the difference between quantum time and classical time.

Structure

• No stable centre object
• The centre is the act of perception itself
• Objects appear as discrete events
• Relations between objects are non-continuous
• What is not perceived exists as potential
• Ignorance is a real structural feature

Geometry

• Consciousness = void
• Objects appear as points on a circumference
• No fixed radius; the centre is undefined
• Each perception is a momentary collapse

Time

This directly corresponds to quantum time.

In quantum physics:

• Time is not experienced as smooth flow
• Events occur as discrete transitions
• Before measurement, systems exist in superposition
• Measurement produces an event

Likewise, in fish-eye conception:

• Reality appears in flashes
• The present is an event, not a duration
• There is no continuous past or future
• Time exists as uncertainty

Each perceived object is like a quantum measurement:

• It collapses a spectrum of possibilities into a momentary actuality
• Immediately after, it dissolves back into uncertainty

Fish-eye conception experiences time as probabilistic, discontinuous, and event-based.

2. Small-Planet Conception ↔ Classical Time

Structure

• A central object exists
• Other objects form a continuous environment
• Relations are stable and predictable
• Objects persist through time
• Potential is subordinated to actuality

Geometry

• Consciousness = sphere
• Centre = object
• Radius = continuous relation
• Circumference = boundary of environment

Time

This corresponds to classical time.

In classical physics:

• Time flows smoothly and continuously
• Events follow one another in sequence
• Causes precede effects
• Objects persist through time

Likewise, in small-planet conception:

• The world is experienced as ongoing
• Past, present, and future form a line
• Memory stabilizes objects
• Expectation structures the future

Time becomes linear, directional, and cumulative.

Small-planet conception experiences time as continuous, ordered, and causal.

Event Horizon as the Transition

The event horizon marks the transition between these two modes.

• In fish-eye conception, the horizon is everywhere
• In small-planet conception, the horizon is pushed outward

A black hole illustrates this perfectly:

• Near the event horizon, time becomes distorted and discrete
• Far from it, time appears classical and smooth

Thus:

• Quantum time dominates near the horizon
• Classical time emerges at distance

Consciousness behaves the same way:

• Close to raw perception → quantum-like time
• Integrated into narrative → classical time

The Observer’s Role

In fish-eye conception:

• The observer is the collapse
• There is no separation between observer and event

In small-planet conception:

• The observer is inside the system
• Observation is secondary to continuity

This mirrors quantum vs classical observers:

• Quantum observer affects the system
• Classical observer is assumed neutral

Memory and Continuity

• Fish-eye conception lacks memory as continuity
• Each moment is self-contained
• Memory is only potential
• Small-planet conception depends on memory
• Memory stitches events into a timeline
• Time becomes narrative

Memory is what converts quantum time into classical time.

Fish-Eye Conception	Small-Planet Conception
Quantum time	Classical time
Discrete events	Continuous flow
Uncertainty	Determinacy
No stable centre	Central object
Void separates objects	Curvature unites objects
Perception = event	Perception = relation
Present as collapse	Present as duration

Fish-eye conception is reality before continuity.
Small-planet conception is continuity after collapse.

Quantum time is how reality appears before it is integrated.
Classical time is how reality appears after integration.

The mind moves constantly between these two modes. Consciousness oscillates between event and narrative, between uncertainty and control, between quantum in the abstract and classical time in the sensation.

Chromosome

There is a long-standing scientific and philosophical debate concerning what chromosomes truly are. Within the dominant materialist framework of biology, chromosomes are typically described as threadlike structures composed of nucleic acids and proteins, located in the nucleus of most living cells, and carrying genetic information in the form of genes.[^1] While this definition is operationally effective, it remains ontologically limited.

From a non-reductionist perspective, chromosomes may be understood more fundamentally as threadlike structures of spacetime, condensed within the living cell. The cell itself discloses an internal void—the nucleus—within which the processes of self-generation and ultimate degeneration unfold. In this view, chromosomal structure is not merely biochemical but expresses an underlying organizational principle of life that integrates space, time, and form.

This threadlike spacetime structure is also found, in a transformed and highly differentiated manner, within the brain of mammals possessing the capacity for consciousness—and ultimately, self-consciousness or self-reflection. Self-reflection, in this deeper sense, exceeds the psychoanalytic notion of an organism merely being aware of itself within an environment. Rather, it refers to the observer’s capacity to project mind into a reflective correspondence with reality itself.[^2]

Mind, therefore, is not merely an organ-bound function that governs awareness and decision-making. It also serves as a formative template through which reality is constituted and interpreted. In this sense, mind participates in shaping the environment it apprehends, rather than passively representing it.[^3]

All animal life—and arguably life in general—is characterized by the quality of self-determination. Self-determination is the living source of the capacity to change position in space and time, to act in accordance with free will, and to transform possible future events into realized moments. Through this process, living systems actively participate in the unfolding of temporal reality, rather than simply reacting to it.[^4]

Footnotes

[^1]: This definition reflects the standard molecular-biological account found in genetics and cell biology, where chromosomes are treated as biochemical carriers of hereditary information. See, for example, Alberts et al., Molecular Biology of the Cell.

[^2]: This conception of self-reflection aligns more closely with philosophical traditions such as German Idealism and phenomenology (e.g., Kant, Fichte, Husserl), where consciousness is understood as reflexive and world-constituting, rather than merely representational.

[^3]: The idea that mind functions as a template for reality resonates with constructivist epistemology and participatory theories of perception, including aspects of enactivism and process philosophy (e.g., Varela, Whitehead).

[^4]: The notion of self-determination here departs from strict biological determinism and aligns with debates in philosophy of biology and metaphysics concerning agency, free will, and emergence in living systems.