1.19 Nature

Section 16 (first updated 12.25.2020)

The question of what is nature? (or what nature is) can be stated in this manner:

If you leave something alone, without interference, how will it develop, and what will it become?[^1]

When talking about what is natural, the physical question of materialist ontology can be paraphrased in this way:
How do objects return back to their “natural” position, if they are otherwise not altered?[^2]

The usage of the term natural in the physical context means default, which is the state that cannot be otherwise—it is the return place to all altered (deviated) states. The deviation of an activity from an original source presupposes that the original source is the true default of the activity[^3].

In morality, a course of action is considered right when it is true—meaning, what the activity ought to become, or what is its essential purpose, i.e., what was it made to do?[^4]

An activity considered, say, as a deviation from what is otherwise a true aim, can be said to be unnatural if it goes against the self-preservation of the thing in question. Self-preservation is not just the continuation of existence, but also the activities it must perform so as to continue existing: this for a fish to swim, for a cow to eat, and for a man to think[^5].

Even if man is sustained into continued survival, if he lacks thinking, he does not truly exist, because his existence is akin to a passing moment unrecognized by being—like a leaf falling away into other things; at that moment, it became no longer itself[^6].

The implication of ethics into the purely physical domain constitutes a necessary relation—when the full explanation of a phenomenon is unknown, and requires further account[^7].

The moral is not merely human relations with each other, but more broadly in ethics generally, the relation of the observer with the phenomenon. What his reality presents for him is an object within which the observer finds himself. That state of reality we can consider as defining the concept of Nature[^8].

It is the present circumstances the organism finds itself in. Nature always assumes that something is first, that occupies the environment of any living organism[^9].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This framing aligns with Aristotle’s idea of nature as physis—the principle of motion and rest within things themselves. Nature, for him, is what something becomes when left to itself (Physics, Book II).

[^2]: In Newtonian physics, objects return to natural motion unless acted upon. But pre-modern physics (e.g., Aristotelian) understood “natural motion” as directed by the inner telos of a thing. This concept reappears in Heidegger’s understanding of aletheia—truth as the uncovering of what already lies hidden in being.

[^3]: The assumption of a default or origin reflects the teleological structure of ancient and early modern natural philosophy. The idea that a deviation requires a reference point reinforces a normative ontology of nature.

[^4]: This is the principle behind natural law ethics, notably developed by Aquinas: that moral action aligns with the essential nature or purpose (telos) of a being. What something ought to do is determined by what it is.

[^5]: Spinoza also defines a thing’s essence by what it must do to persevere in its being (conatus). Thinking is essential to human preservation, just as eating is for animals. Failing to actualize one’s essence is to be less real in Spinoza’s framework.

[^6]: The leaf metaphor expresses existential dissociation—where a being loses its essence in time. This reflects themes in Heidegger’s Being and Time, where to “fall into the they” (das Man) is to lose authentic existence.

[^7]: When a physical cause cannot fully explain an event, ethical or teleological interpretation often steps in—seen in classical physics, but also in Kant, who insists that reason compels us to seek unconditioned totality beyond empirical causes.

[^8]: In phenomenology, nature becomes not just external substance but a field of appearance—what is given to consciousness. Merleau-Ponty and Husserl explore this: nature as the horizon within which the self is situated, rather than simply an object observed.

[^9]: The idea that nature is “first” aligns with ontological priority. Nature is that which already is there, prior to consciousness—but not necessarily separate from it. In Spinoza, nature (Natura naturans) is the active cause of all things.

Default

A “default” position in legal terms is a failure to fulfil an obligation, and therefore, one must return to a less optimal position[^1].

In nature and biology, a default position is a primary condition or a “behaviour” of objects, such that, for example, if you throw a set of objects in the air, they all naturally fall within the same approximate space, pulled equally by gravity[^2].

These elementary universal conditions of physics constitute, for any behaviour (or action), a default position whereby things return to a more primary source, so that the process can begin again—i.e., to begin the process again.
In order to begin the process again, there must be a predisposed being before, in order to begin the process[^3].

Nature is a set “default” feedback loop of being beginning before being[^4].
If you notice the course of history, especially the archaeology of anthropology, we observe a general trend of backwards time—i.e., there is always more time as you go backwards. In the future, there is no time because nothing has happened; everything is only potentially true[^5].
Whenever a new human (rational) civilization is discovered, it is always either older than we think it is, or we find an even older culture before it. There seems to always be an older culture, even older than the one we thought was the oldest[^6].

Modern archaeology is characterized by two features:
(1) The effort in maintaining the marginalized measure that human civilization is only about 6,000 years old[^7]; and
(2) The concealment of cultures older than 6,000 years[^8].

The life of the process is the deviation away from the initial (primary) condition, its origin, and then a “return” backwards towards that origin.
How far it deviates away from the origin will constitute the length (and extent) of its life course.
The return towards the origin is matched at the end[^9].

The default principle is that the end always constitutes for the process a return to the beginning[^10].

The default state is “many” and variable.
For example, some objects fall faster, while others fall slower, depending on size and weight—e.g., the heavier the object, the faster it falls.
The fact that objects are subject to gravity is actually a special and unique condition in nature.
In other words, it is a controlled experiment within a “controlled” environment[^11].

Footnotes:

[^1]: In legal terms, a “default” is a failure to meet a contractual or procedural requirement. Metaphorically, it reflects a reversion to a lesser or unfulfilled state—a contrast to the naturalistic idea of default as origin or source.

[^2]: Newton’s laws of motion define gravitational acceleration as uniform in a vacuum, regardless of mass. However, in real-world environments, air resistance, density, and shape influence fall rate, making gravity context-sensitive rather than strictly uniform.

[^3]: This recalls Aristotle’s concept of “first causes”—the unmoved mover that initiates motion. Every process presupposes a starting point that is not itself a consequence of prior motion.

[^4]: This formulation reflects process philosophy (as in Whitehead)—where reality is fundamentally a sequence of events and relations, not static substances. The “loop” is not circular repetition, but a spiral recurrence of beginnings within endings.

[^5]: In modal logic, the future is the domain of possibility, while the past is determinate. This distinction is mirrored in Heidegger’s existential analysis: the past is disclosed, the future is thrown-ahead possibility.

[^6]: This pattern of finding increasingly older civilizations challenges the linear-progressive narrative of human history. Examples include Göbekli Tepe, Nabta Playa, and newly discovered submerged megalithic sites.

[^7]: The 6,000-year timeline is rooted in Biblical chronologies, especially those influenced by Ussher’s dating (4004 BCE as creation). Modern archaeology routinely challenges this narrative with evidence of pre-pottery Neolithic and pre-Ice Age settlements.

[^8]: The notion of concealment might be a critique of institutional bias, rather than literal censorship—e.g., the delayed acknowledgment of ancient sites due to paradigm resistance or lack of theoretical integration.

[^9]: This cyclical conception of time and life mirrors Eastern philosophies (e.g., Hindu cosmology) as well as Heraclitus’ idea of eternal return—that all things return to a principle from which they originated.

[^10]: The idea that the end is the beginning echoes Hegel’s dialectic—where the culmination of a process contains its origin, but as realized, not merely potential. It also resonates with Eliade’s idea of the mythical return to origins.

[^11]: The emphasis on gravity as a “controlled” condition reflects a cosmic contingency—that certain forces (like gravity) are preconditions of matter behaving in patterned ways. This touches on anthropic principles in cosmology.

Historical Necessity

Everything that has happened in history is contrary to the accepted view that historical events randomly follow each other in no arbitrary manner—they are said to be random and not from necessity. That they do not come from necessity means that there was no rational reason or design for their existence—no one willed them into being—they just happened, and only after the occurrence can we gather a set of discernible facts that we can say describes the event in question.

The event in question, however, always follows from some necessity, in the sense that a previous moment determined, to some degree, the future outcome of the activity. The future outcome was also brought into being for some reason, or by some reason—an observer set a course of action into being, which we then later see the outcome of in time[^1].

Even when we look at natural phenomena and cannot explain their original cause, we ascribe them to a higher being—call it God, or some advanced lifeform. For it seems that life begets life, not only in that an organism is created from a previous parent organism—the offspring follows the generation as the most recent habitat of the species, the genetic diversity of which is already entirely determined into a set of already preconceived variables of being—there is infinite diversity in being a certain species, and a species contains an infinite variety of different expressions of itself[^2].

But also, that in more appropriate terms, life contains life, or life holds life—for wherever there is an organism occupying an environment, from a different magnitude, the so-called environment is itself an organism, which acts as host for another numerical set of minute organisms—held in a sequence of time and area of extended space, far out and inwardly[^3].

Whenever in history we observe a current civilization and think they are the cause of the advancement of their time, we then notice that they preserve an even older civilization. And the trend in historical development seems not to be necessarily progressive, but rather regressive. It is often observed that the older a civilization is discovered to be, the more advanced its technology appears[^4].

The reason for this is twofold: First, it may be that the most advanced civilization’s leftover technology can withstand time and last the longest—because they are the most developed. And because they are the most developed in terms of multi-thousands or millions of years of development, they produce technology that may have given rise to the current environment of life as we know it.

The current environment of life, from an unknown standpoint, appears to have arisen naturally—left alone to its own development—only the course of time has shaped the process. However, nothing in nature is truly isolated on its own within space. While in time it may be isolated to develop on its own without interference, in space it is always with some set of reactions that its position depends on for its continued existence. In nature, all are related and dependent on each other.

In time, perhaps it is also the case that life begets life—literally, that life creates future life; or, in other words, rational life begets more rational life[^5].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This notion aligns with a deterministic or teleological view of history, where events unfold according to causes, intentions, or necessary outcomes—contrary to purely random or accidental interpretations of historical causality.

[^2]: This idea recalls the Aristotelian concept of “formal causes”—that the essence or form of a thing (like a species) contains the potential diversity of its expressions, even within the constraints of inherited traits.

[^3]: Echoes the “Gaia Hypothesis,” which sees Earth as a self-regulating, quasi-living system, where ecosystems are interconnected in both space and time, and each level of life hosts others in a nested structure.

[^4]: A view often explored in alternative archaeology and ancient civilization theories, suggesting that the remnants of lost advanced societies may be misinterpreted as primitive simply due to lack of context or degradation over time.

[^5]: This final reflection hints at a recursive or cyclical metaphysics—where rationality and life are not only effects but also causes, potentially suggesting a kind of cosmic or evolutionary intentionality.

Gravity Curve

In the largest majority of the known universe, the conditions of gravity are not the same as they are on Earth. In the vast “outer” space, objects do not “fall” to the “ground” because:
a) there is no “ground”—i.e., the context of ‘up and down’ is not yet established between objects of varying masses; and
b) the differences of magnitude within the same object are not determined in the same way as objects appearing under “ordinary” conditions of gravity.

In the latter case, the difference between the “presence” (how it appears) of an object, against its lack of presence—or the object in contrast to the space that encloses it—has established an equilibrium where one takes the place of where the other one is not[^1].

There is “no” ground in space because objects are fundamentally spherical in shape, whether flat or multi-dimensional[^2]. In either case, the curvature of the plane always escapes a particular location that can be said to extend into a definite horizontal extension. The land, on the extreme edge of its observable limit, is continuously falling into a curve without ever achieving a connection. The extension of substance finds an end-point not when it is observed from a three-dimensional perspective—from a first-person point of view—but rather when the extension is observed from the “outside” of itself. From a third-person point of view, the object always appears as a limited conception of a peculiar object.

The peculiarity of the object is wherein the infinite process takes an inward extension—internally—within a singularity disclosed by the limitation of the particular object for perception. The limitation of the object itself conceals the infinite singularity extension by disclosing it within its quality[^3].

In other words, no point can entirely go “straight” on a curved surface, because the curve will always “fall off” the extended horizontal trajectory of the object’s motion. The extension will always extend away from itself, only to then rediscover itself from the other side. It meets with itself, and therefore becomes the very “thing” that it was all along[^4].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This echoes the phenomenological idea that perception of an object is relational—it is defined as much by what it displaces or negates in space as by its own positive presence.

[^2]: The assumption of spherical or curved space is consistent with general relativity, where massive bodies curve spacetime, and no absolute “flat” space exists on cosmic scales.

[^3]: This idea relates to metaphysical concepts of the “singular within the particular”—that the infinite or universal is disclosed through the finite object, though never fully revealed.

[^4]: This resembles the structure of dialectical or recursive systems, in which motion or change returns to itself—common in Hegelian thought and certain cosmological models of cyclical time or eternal return.

Mass

When objects are thrown in the air while they are on Earth, they fall with an equal and proportionate force towards the ground, but they exhibit different rates of attraction to the ground depending on their own distinct mass. In other words, all objects on Earth are equally subordinate to the total Earth’s mass, but they contrast with each other disproportionately depending on their own respective mass[^1].

The concept of “mass” is especially interesting because it concerns the maximum number set of relations between distinct components occupying the closest approximate space between each other—such that they are differentiated by a vast empty space they do not occupy, or that is occupied by another group of distinct components. Objects in space do not equally “fall” toward a larger object, but rather they equally attract to each other, forming the same mass[^2].

The same mass is attracted towards another mass vaguely proportionate to its own, until they reach an equilibrium in space where they become locked in an orbital motion in relation with each other—e.g., normally the smaller mass orbits the greater, and the greater orbits another greater, etc., and so on and so forth.

The orbital circuit we see out in space, which constitutes solar systems, is actually the very same form (shape) that constitutes each object we observe in daily experience. The only difference is that, because the objects we observe are more proportionate to our size, we cannot directly perceive the space between the variables that make up the total mass of these objects. When they are more approximate to us in distance and size, we see a single, homogeneous figure acting as one unified form.

However, as we expand outward into space—and the proportionality of size between the observer and the object increases—we begin to notice the space between each variable. That is, the orbit of planets, which is circular in nature, is the same form that the objects assume as their own figure; i.e., they appear spherical. This means that the motion of the planets is the same as their static figure: the circular form does two things.

First, it causes them to move in circles, which maintains a specific distance and rate between each other. Second, they exhibit the form of a circle in their own structure, which discloses their internal content within a single, unified figure—making up their body. The circular form of the planets themselves generates them as independent masses in space—both in motion and in figure[^3].

If you zoom out away from a solar system, you find it to be the same homogeneous point in space, orbiting another solar system in a vast web of galaxies. These “abstractions” of the universe are only finite (limited) moments in the ongoing process of spacetime[^4].

Mass is a “large body of matter” with no definite shape, because mass only looks at the “in” content—inside a shape—and not the outer external form that discloses the matter inside its borderlines.

Mass is always a limited quantity, and therefore a finite quantity, divisible into distinct measures of the same indiscernible form. When we look at our solar system from a distant point in space, we notice that a solar system is the sum of its parts—all the planets orbiting a star. But go further away from that system, and you notice it to be the same point of energy in space known as a star orbiting galaxies. The star is both orbiting other stars, and is being orbited by other objects like planets.

The conundrum is this: How does the same “mass” of variables appear differently depending on the distance of the mass from the observer? When it’s close to the observer, you see all its variables distinguished from each other; but farther away, those same distinct variables unify into the same form that distinguishes (makes up) each one of them. The same form makes them up in two inverse ways:

1. The same form groups together a set of objects, making them the same mass.
2. That very same mass, distinguishing them into distinct variables, also at the same time simultaneously makes up the mass forming each distinct variable.

Mass is the relation between a group of objects aligning in a gravitational equilibrium with each other, such that they appear to form the same figure to an observer—operating as a single body from their point of view. Since this body consists of a set of smaller parts forming an equilibrium, their particular weights add together to form a greater weight. The total weight of these parts, forming the same body for the observer, is perceived as the mass of the object.

Footnotes:

[^1]: According to Newtonian physics, all objects fall at the same rate in a vacuum regardless of mass, due to the equivalence of gravitational and inertial mass. However, this philosophical framing explores how mass appears and interacts relationally, aligning more with relativistic or phenomenological interpretations.

[^2]: This hints at a generalized understanding of gravitational interaction, where all masses influence each other mutually—not simply smaller falling toward larger, but through mutual attraction and equilibrium formation (see: Newton’s law of universal gravitation and general relativity).

[^3]: The idea that orbital paths and the shape of celestial bodies are expressions of the same geometrical form (spherical symmetry) connects to deeper symmetries in physics, such as those governing the curvature of spacetime around mass-energy.

[^4]: This evokes the notion from cosmology and philosophical metaphysics that the universe is a dynamic, unfolding process, and our models (solar systems, galaxies, etc.) are temporary abstractions or frames within that ongoing structure.

The Eleatics – ‘no’ motion

The line between the orbit and the actual body of an object’s mass is not as differentiated as it may seem. In other words, they are the same thing.

The significance of this idea becomes more prominent when related to pre-Socratic views of the universe as lacking motion. For example, the Eleatics resisted the idea that change or motion could ultimately occur[^1]. While their theory has many limitations, its essence suggests that the universe as a whole exhibits the same form as the single objects that constitute it. In other words, there is no true delineation in motion between all things collectively and the individual units making up that collective. Therefore, nothing truly moves, because each part is equally in its place, constituting the totality of all things.

Whether the “whole” is a complete unit among other units, or the whole of those units together, it ultimately forms the same mass—and that mass cannot move outside of itself, because it is self-contained. It makes up everything, and everything is made up of it[^2].

Yet direct experience presents a different scenario: all things appear to be moving—always taking on a different position in space in relation to each other. The idea is that, if you consider the whole of all things, or even a single thing as a whole, each part constituting that whole cannot be in distinct motion from the other parts—because if the parts move independently, they dissipate the unity of the whole into nothingness.

The whole is only preserved through the harmonious motion of distinct parts, such that they form the same and single whole. That single whole is a self-derivation, infinitely branching into distinct possibilities of itself[^3]. Here is your revised text with corrected grammar, improved flow and clarity, while preserving your philosophical tone and meaning:

The opposite view, contrasted with the Eleatic school, comes from the famous claim that “All is flux”—a concept from the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus—meaning that everything is in constant change and nothing remains permanent.

We should take the latter literally, meaning that total Being, the form of reality, is always and constantly changing. But this Being is situated within a non-changing form—which is nothing. Nothing is the only quality that remains permanent. In this ontology, Being is a constantly changing form, like a screen continuously shifting its scenes situated in an empty void of non-change.

While the Eleatic school regarded the totality of Being as an object, and if it is an object—then there is, in the ultimate sense, truly no motion. If that object is ultimate, it cannot move outside of itself; otherwise, there would be more objects outside of it, reducing it to a particular part within a greater whole—resulting in an infinite regress.

Conversely, if the object is only a part, moving in relation to other parts, then their total relations also cannot move—as the motion of each part constitutes a place that cannot exceed the totality of all motions.

Therefore, the whole does not move, because it cannot. If the whole were to move, it would only be a part—moving in harmony with other parts—and that would simply be the whole. This paradox of motion reveals a limitation in how mass is conceived by an observer. The observer can only perceive a limited action of the total mass that constitutes the whole of nature. For this reason, objects appear to be in distinct motion relative to one another.

The space between them is part of the general whole—but it cannot be identified by finite observation. Objects appear to move independently throughout the universe, but if we extrapolate this process outward on a more macroscopic scale, we notice that, although individual objects may have different rates and directions of motion, they all exhibit the same form of motion: all objects move in a spherical manner throughout the cosmos[^4].

Footnotes:

[^1]: The Eleatic school, especially Parmenides and Zeno, argued that change and motion are illusions, and that reality is one unchanging, indivisible whole. Zeno’s paradoxes were designed to challenge the coherence of motion.

[^2]: This idea echoes the monistic view of the universe—where all things are expressions or manifestations of a single underlying reality, which cannot be external to itself and therefore cannot “move” in any external sense.

[^3]: This resembles dialectical or process philosophy, where the totality (the One or the Whole) expresses itself through its own inner differentiations, yet maintains unity through the relations of its parts.

[^4]: The notion that spherical motion underlies cosmic dynamics is consistent with modern cosmology, where orbits, rotations, and even spacetime curvature itself often follow spherical or elliptical geometries.

‘First’ Law of Motion

The important phenomenon left out in the early Eleatic equation of motion is the observer phenomenon found in contemporary quantum mechanics: namely, that the observer is always limited in conceiving the whole of all things, no matter how infinite that whole may be independently from its finite conception[^1].

The whole is only “complete” insofar as it is independent from the part that conceives it. However, the partial perception of the whole—by the observer—is extended beyond itself by what it cannot conceive into being, and it is precisely that which constitutes its essential existence. The world is always observed as parts of a whole, and therefore the mind recognizes what we understand as “conventional” motion[^2].

Newton’s First Law of Motion reiterates the former explanation of how we recognize motion:

“Every body remains in a state of rest or uniform motion unless acted upon by a net external force.”

The term “external force” is a “net” because it is independent—i.e., the net is the quantity leftover, meaning it exists independently from the total of all internal relations between greater quantities. This net force, then, is not simply a mechanical calculation but can be interpreted as a result of interdependent relations among observed and unobserved systems[^3].

The observer always unintentionally causes a shift in the stable conception that holds or maintains the world. In other words, the act of observation introduces an inherent disturbance in what is otherwise a stable system[^4].

The observer always perceives motion in the universe—and this was Aristotle’s rebuttal to Zeno’s paradoxes. Even if the universe itself, as a totality indifferent to the observer, is stable—such that no actual motion can be said to “exist”—this cannot be presupposed, because the world never discloses itself fully in the form of a totality. The universe is never “fully” finite in form because it is always beyond itself, manifesting as distinct finite forms, separated from one another by their inherent limitation—which is, paradoxically, infinity.

The particular objects we observe are abstractions—momentary distinctions made within the infinite—marked off and interpreted by the observer’s side of the equation[^5].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This aligns with Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle and the general role of the observer in quantum mechanics, where the act of measurement affects the state being observed. It also echoes the Kantian distinction between the noumenal (thing-in-itself) and the phenomenal (thing-as-experienced).

[^2]: The perception of motion as conventional arises from our cognitive limitations—we never perceive total stillness or wholeness directly but only through changing relations among parts.

[^3]: In physics, a “net force” is the vector sum of all forces acting on an object. Philosophically interpreted, it can represent any emergent outcome from a complex interplay of internal and external influences.

[^4]: The idea that the observer affects the system—seen in the quantum concept of wavefunction collapse—is expanded here into a broader ontological framework. Observation is not neutral.

[^5]: This resonates with both phenomenology and constructivist epistemology, where reality is always partly constituted by the perceptual or conceptual framework of the observer.

Zeno Paradox

The paradox presented by Zeno reiterates the idea that motion does not exist, demonstrated through his famous analogy involving a turtle and an Olympic runner. On the surface, we can all agree that the runner is faster—because they cover more land in a shorter timeframe. However, in the ultimate sense, in the grand scheme of all space, the runner is not faster than the turtle—because there is an infinite amount of space between them[^1].

The infinite space between the runner and the turtle is microscopic, and therefore infinitesimal, and not just infinitely macroscopic, such as the large-scale, aggregate voids separating stars or galaxies[^2].

Zeno’s paradox can be summarized in this way:

“At every instant, an arrow is at one place, and the tip of the arrow—a point—occupies zero distance. No matter how many instants we add, we never achieve a finite distance, so the arrow cannot move.”[^3]

The “arrow” is simply an illustration for an extended length that converges toward a point of zero space—i.e., a point with no measurable dimension. The dynamics of this notion can be expressed as follows:

The space between any two objects moving at the same rate as each other is also always moving at the same rate as the objects themselves. Therefore, no two objects can ever truly surpass each other in total space. This “moving” within the same space reflects a kind of inertial state, because there is always a smaller area to which movement can be reduced.

This smaller area within space is always enfolded by a greater area, which must remain stable for the infinitesimal transition toward an infinitely small point to occur[^4].

In this view, one object can never truly surpass another—no matter how much faster it moves—because the space between them is simultaneously moving along with the objects moving within it. Space acts as a dimension that conceals any relative difference between distinct abstractions of objects[^5].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This reflects Zeno’s “Achilles and the Tortoise” paradox, where a faster runner can never overtake a slower one if the slower one has a head start, due to the infinite number of points the faster runner must reach before catching up.

[^2]: You’re distinguishing between infinitesimal (mathematical or quantum-scale smallness) and infinite (cosmological vastness), a distinction important in calculus and theoretical physics.

[^3]: This is a paraphrase of Zeno’s “Arrow Paradox”, which suggests that if time is composed of discrete instants, motion is impossible—since at each instant, the arrow occupies a fixed position.

[^4]: This recalls the idea of infinite divisibility from classical philosophy, and connects with modern concepts like Planck length, the smallest meaningful measure of space in quantum physics.

[^5]: This resembles a kind of relational ontology, where space is not an empty container, but a dynamic medium that co-exists and co-moves with the objects it appears to separate—echoing some interpretations of general relativity and quantum field theory.

Halfway

Zeno aims to prove that there is no motion—ultimately. In the grand scheme of the universe, motion does not exist in any absolute or final sense.

Zeno’s paradox depends on the idea that there is always “half” a space between any complete duration from one point to another. The halfway point of space between any two objects also contains another halfway point. Any complete duration contains a halfway point, and that halfway point also contains a halfway point, continuing on in an infinite regress[^1].

In other words, in any area of space, there is always a midpoint between two positions, such that to move from point A to point B, one must first reach the midpoint between them. But then, one must first reach the midpoint of that midpoint, and so on indefinitely. Therefore, to take a full step forward presupposes an infinite number of steps through midpoints that must be crossed first[^2].

This logic implies that one can never make a complete step beyond any space, because every space contains half of another space. The beginning and the end always contain the middle—and the middle is always trapped between the two. If the middle surpasses the end, it becomes the end; if it goes behind the beginning, it becomes the beginning. It is always constrained within its position.

If there is an infinite amount of space between two objects—whether micro or macro—then that space must first be crossed halfway, and then halfway again, and again, such that there is always some small distance remaining. Thus, no single point can ever truly surpass another on a continuous series of points. The series itself is just a number set—one point after another—without any point ever fully overtaking another in absolute terms[^3].

The idea of “total space” will never be reached. For example, if there is a finish line that the runner must cross to defeat the turtle, at the infinitesimal level, there is always a smaller segment of space the runner must first cover before reaching his goal. Each time he takes a step forward, he must first take a half step before that, and this happens infinitely, because there is always a point he must reach before he gets to the next.

Aristotle rebutted Zeno’s paradox on the ground that it lacks practical truth. It may be theoretically valid, but it does not hold in empirical reality—since motion can be disproven simply by taking the step and reaching the destination[^4].

However, the essence of the idea remains true: in the broader metaphysical scheme, motion is not present in any ultimate sense, because nothing goes beyond that which no single thing can surpass. The runner will never overtake the finish line if the point he aims for keeps getting pushed one step further ahead of him. He is always chasing a space that moves with him.

Both the turtle and the runner inhabit an infinite space that neither can fully cover. Though unequal in speed, they are equal in their inability to overcome infinity. Both are disclosed within the same infinite limitation.

No matter the magnitude of interaction between objects, there is always a greater “area” in which they interact. However, this “greater” area is not a surplus of space—it is a net, meaning it is a result of relational balance. It is concealed within a smaller area that discloses the object from the inside-out. From within itself, the object falls into a smaller space nested inside it.

The greater area is a net value contained within the object—where the greater is the potential for further reduction. The smaller area is infinitely divisible, and it is this infinite divisibility that defines the greater.

The frame of the object acts as a reference frame that infinity can utilize as a dimension—to go both deeper and greater within. Deeper, because the area always falls within a smaller subdivision of space inside the object’s boundary. Greater, because that smaller area can always become smaller, thus unfolding new levels of complexity within the form of the object[^5].

There is always a region within the object that can become smaller. The function of the “greater” lies in the capacity for a smaller state to continue becoming even smaller. Likewise, for a greater state to always continue expanding. This capacity for infinite variation in magnitude reflects the function of the Aleph number[^6].

When an area within a greater area becomes smaller, the larger scale is now the space disclosing that smaller area. As one area becomes smaller, it does so relative to a greater field. The residual is always a greater spatial context left behind as a smaller extension goes deeper within it.

Footnotes

[^1]: This is the core of Zeno’s Dichotomy Paradox, where completing any movement requires an infinite number of steps, each halving the distance of the previous.

[^2]: The paradox arises from treating space and time as infinitely divisible—an idea challenged in quantum mechanics, where minimum measurable lengths (e.g., Planck length) may cap this division.

[^3]: This reflects an abstract view of space as discrete or relational, rather than continuous—a concept explored in set theory, non-Euclidean geometry, and quantum gravity.

[^4]: Aristotle’s empirical rebuttal emphasized actual motion observed in reality, introducing potentiality and actuality as a metaphysical framework to explain change without contradiction.

[^5]: This resonates with fractal geometry, where complex patterns are formed through self-similar structures at every scale.

[^6]: “Aleph numbers” (ℵ) refer to transfinite cardinalities in set theory, used to represent the size of infinite sets. Your use of “Alph number” seems to gesture toward this same idea: the relative hierarchy of infinite magnitudes.

Quantum Entanglement

The area discloses the infinite set of possible ways the total extension among any infinite number of objects can spread into measurable divisions.

No matter how far apart objects are separated by space, there is always a greater space disclosing their interaction. The latter idea is echoed in the modern notion of quantum entanglement, whereby particles (the most basic forms of objects) always exhibit the same “angle” of rotation—regardless of the distance between them.

Particles are distinguished by infinite distance, yet they still move and behave in consistent ways. This suggests that the way the universe is may be ordered more by events than by what we observe as static objects. Events disclose objects, and determine for them the nature of their interactions and motions. The universe may be ordered into parallelisms of events occurring instantaneously, each interacting and exhibiting the same form of motion outwardly. Though separated by space, they mimic each other in behavior and direction of motion. This idea posits that the same event may concur across parallel dimensions of time.

In the totality of space, this makes sense if space is infinite, because both objects then appear as abstractions of time: sequences of events disclosed by a single form, or moments in that process—distinct events following one another. However, if the process actually separates moments into distinct objects moving in space, then it must ultimately disclose all separate objects into the same manifold. Thus, objects do not ultimately move in space, because in an infinite sense, there is no more space into which they can move—space ends (or converges) at an infinite point. Objects only exhibit motion when viewed relative to each other’s path in time, occupying the unfolding sequence of events.

Zeno example: If we paint an image of a slow-moving turtle and a fast-moving Olympic runner, the runner is only moving fast within his own disclosed space—but that space is inherently distinguished from the space disclosing the turtle. Therefore, the runner never truly surpasses the space that hosts the turtle, if they lie in different dimensions. In the totality of nature, they are not necessarily in the exact same dimension, even if they inhabit the same region of space. You can occupy the same space but exist in different dimensions—i.e., size relative to the speed of time. Size alters speed; speed in space alters time.

Footnotes

1. The idea that “area discloses possible extensions” resonates with mathematical and topological notions of infinite dimensional spaces and the latent potentials embedded within them.
2. Quantum entanglement suggests nonlocal correlations that defy classical spatial separation—particles sharing states instantaneously across distance.
3. Thinking of the universe as ordered by events recalls process philosophy (e.g. Alfred North Whitehead), which privileges occurrences over static substances.
4. The notion of a single manifold into which all objects are disclosed is related to monism or holism, the idea that distinctions are modes within one underlying unity.
5. The last remark about size, speed, and time gestures toward relativity: motion changes time (time dilation) and sizes are not absolute in different frames.

Warp Drive

The hypothetical proposal of a “warp drive” assumes that the spacetime fabric—the continuum in which all physical phenomena occur—can be manipulated using high levels of energy, such that a “piece” of spacetime itself can be extracted from the whole. This localized section of spacetime could then be made maneuverable within the general plane from which it was taken, effectively allowing it to move faster within that plane by surpassing the portion of spacetime it originated from.

In this conception, space can be separated into distinct units—imagine them as cubes—and these can be layered onto one another, extending toward an observer and infinitesimally away within the observer. The observer functions as the reference frame, defining a spectrum that extends across a range: from a greater (macroscopic) area of space, down to a microscopic, or even zero space—what might also be described as infinite space from a reversed perspective[^1].

This suggests that space itself can be divided into discrete units of measurement (e.g., like the cubes on an XY axis graph), and these units can be manipulated such that they surpass one another at different levels of speed—both backward and forward in time. Events form the past by remaining as infinite possibilities (still open within a different spatial frame), and form the future by occurring each in succession, moment after moment. If an object is moving “faster” through space within its own measure of time, it does not transcend spacetime—it is still contained within it.

The measure of time, at a different spatial location, only observes that object moving relative to the space in which it is disclosed. The object never truly surpasses the space that contains it. No matter how fast it moves, it is always bound to spacetime; it never fully escapes or completes the space it occupies. It can only shift reference frames relative to other objects that are themselves shifting across temporal events. It never actually transcends the infinite space that also discloses all other objects[^2].

Here is your passage with grammar corrected, style preserved, and improved clarity and coherence, while staying close to your original philosophical tone. I’ve also added a footnote to anchor your idea in Zeno’s paradox and the implications of infinite divisibility.

This latter complexity is the absurdity arrived at by Zeno’s paradox—that no matter how fast an object is moving, or no matter how many times a piece of space is divided into smaller parts, there is always a residual space left over—a remainder into which each divisible piece will fall, or by which it will be disclosed. Within every larger section of space, there is always a smaller space left inside it, and this infinitesimal remainder allows for an endless duration or division to be revealed within what appears to be a finite slab of spacetime[^1].

Theoretically, one can always draw a smaller cube within a larger one—as long as there are atoms on the surface of the medium (e.g., a piece of paper). Each cube would cover the surface of each atom, and theoretically, there is always the possibility of another atom being generated—an infinite regress of spatial division, each new level disclosing further subtlety within what was previously conceived as a singular or bounded unit.

Footnote

[^1]: This reflects the core of Zeno’s paradoxes, especially the dichotomy paradox, which argues that before an object can reach a destination, it must first get halfway there, and before that, halfway to halfway, and so on—leading to an infinite number of steps. The idea challenges the coherence of motion and division by asserting that space and time are infinitely divisible, suggesting that motion or completion of action is theoretically impossible, even though it is observed in practice.

[^1]: This interpretation draws from theories in general relativity, where space is not uniform or flat, but curved and variable based on mass and energy. The idea of extracting or isolating “pieces” of spacetime is often discussed in speculative physics, particularly in Alcubierre’s model of the warp drive.

[^2]: The notion that objects never truly surpass the space containing them, regardless of speed, aligns with relativistic limitations—in particular, the impossibility of exceeding the speed of light within spacetime. Changing reference frames (as in Lorentz transformations) alters how motion is perceived, but all motion remains bounded by spacetime’s structure.

Unoccupied Space (inertia)

Objects truly separated within space are also dimensionally separated by space.

Space is a dimension that discloses different dimensions of objects—not merely objects appearing different in size. This means that, if space is a dimension separating objects, then space is also itself distinct from other dimensions—like time, for example. Yet time and space are different dimensions of the same entity: call it the object, or the motion of it. Thus, if there is one object occupying space, then that space which the object occupies is also separated by more space which the object is not occupying—and therefore there is space that no two or more objects can ever occupy simultaneously.

This inherently unoccupied space stands as a divider between the regions objects occupy—serving as the difference between their dimensions.

For example, imagine one continuous line extending infinitely forward, and beside it a point which is not moving, in a purely flat space. It appears that the line and the point are in static relation. The line cannot infinitely extend outward away from the point, because then the point would be surpassed and no longer appear relative to the line. The line must therefore terminate at a limit, wherein it appears to be itself. Alternatively, if it extends outward to the limit of space, it might fold back—or loop—toward the earliest point from which it began its extension.

The heavier the object, the more directly downward it falls and the faster it does so. Conversely, the lighter the object, the more slanted its descent and the slower—for example, a feather falls slower than a metal ball in air. However, in a pure vacuum, with no interference from air, gravity, or other forces, they fall at the same rate. Some objects do not fall vertically but instead drift at an angle—for example, a parachute diver falls at a slanted trajectory under air resistance. These examples show that the animation of motion takes into account all variables in relation to each other when forming the event.

The basic principle is that an uninterrupted object will remain itself as long as possible, until it becomes something else. Every object undergoes a process of degeneration—the object slowly, over time, begins to lose more molecules than it produces. This decline in gain and increase in disorder will gradually dismember the object at a subatomic level, until it dissipates into the indeterminate flux of spacetime.

Footnotes

1. The notion of unoccupied space as a divider recalls metaphysical ideas of void or nothingness that separate being from non-being, as in ancient atomist or Neoplatonic thought.
2. The example of falling objects in vacuum invokes Galilean and Newtonian physics, wherein all bodies fall at the same acceleration absent external resistance.
3. The gradual disintegration of objects parallels ideas in thermodynamics and entropy, where ordered structures tend toward disorder unless maintained by external input.

Self-externality

Nature is understood through the idea of self-externality.

Nature is the negation of itself, and this self-negation constitutes the positive determination through which nature, as nature, exists. This externality manifests as the indifferent subsistence of each component—isolated from every other—such that this “otherness” is itself the negation of negation. Therefore, what exists positively are not pure negations, but rather a multiplicity of distinct things—each different from the others—yet all unified within a shared commonality.

Each particular body in nature is conceived as external to every other in relation, and this externality forms the structural resolution of natural existence. The concept of nature, then, possesses no intrinsic freedom, but only necessity, understood as contingency—the external, given relations that appear accidental but are systemically necessary.

The logic of the negative is the abstract essence of nature. As Hegel writes:

“Nature is to be viewed as a system of stages, in which one stage necessarily arises from the other and is the truth closest to the other from which it results, though not in such a way that the one would naturally generate the other, but rather in the inner idea which constitutes the ground of nature.”[^1]

When nature is conceived in and through its own workings, each particular stage appears to give rise to the next. For example, the atomic stage gives rise to the molecular, and the molecular to the macroscopic. Each particular stage seems to contain within itself the capacity to multiply or develop into the next, yet this capacity is not merely accidental—it is essential, even though it is often taken for granted.

The dialectical process—reason or consciousness—is the inner logic or movement behind each of these external stages, sustaining them from within. The continuity between these stages is not merely mechanical or empirical, but dialectical: the inner contradiction and development of each stage drives it to its resolution in a higher one. However, this dialectical unity is concealed in nature itself, and becomes explicit only in the emergence of spirit.

As Hegel further writes:

“Precisely this externality is characteristic of nature: differences are allowed to fall apart and to appear as existences indifferent to each other; and the dialectical concept, which leads the stages further, is the interior which emerges only in the spirit.”[^2]

Thus, nature appears as a series of objects seemingly emerging from other objects. But this temporal transition is, in truth, the development of the indifferent substrate into its own identity. Nature appears as a process—an indifferent, inert substance undergoing stages of development that eventually characterize and realize its own inner concept. The apparent contingency of nature’s parts is only a manifestation of a rational structure unfolding through dialectical necessity.

Footnotes:

[^1]: G.W.F. Hegel, Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences, §246. Hegel’s conception of nature is not empirical but rational—he views nature as the “other” of Spirit, structured dialectically, but only understood fully when reflected upon by thought.

[^2]: Ibid., §247. Hegel’s point here is that while nature seems chaotic or indifferent, its inner rationality only becomes visible when mediated by Spirit—i.e., through thought or consciousness.

Natural Paradox

(First articulated – March 17, 2015)
Reason is Self-Creation (Automeiosis)

Scientific materialism creates a paradox in the conceptual analysis of the universe. On the one hand, the laws of nature are understood as static, determined, and mechanical operations. On the other hand, there exists an undeniable aspect of nature that involves spontaneity, indeterminacy, and freedom.[^1] The former is described through formal systems—formulas underpinned by logic. But the question, “Where does this logic originate from?”, is typically dismissed as unnecessary or even meaningless. This is due to the crude pragmatism of modern empiricism, which assumes that the utility of something is explanation enough. In other words, there is no need to explain how a phenomenon came into being if it already appears before us.

However, such an approach is incomplete. If we exclude the process of Becoming from Being—and if Being is itself a process of Becoming—then the essence of that Being is not truly revealed. The scientific method, in this respect, becomes detached from the very logic that makes it possible. That is, the basis of scientific thought is not itself subjected to the scrutiny of science.

This gives rise to what may be termed a categorical paradox in ontology: the laws of nature are seen as expressions of rationality, which is what makes them intelligible to scientific inquiry. But at the same time, the source of this rationality—whether it is life itself, or the human mind—is treated as independent from the rational structure of the universe it inhabits.

In other words, modern science is grappling with a fundamental tension: the relationship between reason in the world and reason in the mind. The laws of logic that govern understanding within the mind are sublated (i.e., preserved and overcome)[^2] from the deeper laws of Reason that govern the universe. The understanding presupposes these universal laws. The laws of nature, therefore, are mediated by Reason and by the human mind.

This relationship can be broken down into two interpretive positions:

1. If Reason is internal, then the mind possesses the capacity to determine itself within its environment, acting with intent and according to principles it finds within itself (autonomy).
2. If Reason is external, then the world is ordered in such a way that it imposes a rational necessity on the mind, forcing it to adapt to an externally predetermined structure. Action in this view is guided by external laws, independent of the self.

In either case, Reason mediates the relation between the mind and nature—whether it is expressed as an internal principle or as an external force. What appears as a contradiction between the laws of the natural world and the laws of Reason is in fact a dialectical inversion: each is the negative of the other, and the contradiction between them reveals their unity.[^3]

What is the resolution?

The human mind is the resolution.

Our logical capacity to comprehend the laws of nature is where the laws of Reason themselves are made manifest. The only difference is that the laws of Reason in nature are unconscious, while the laws of Reason in the mind are conscious. Nonetheless, both operate according to the same rational structure.

The enduring question, then, becomes: What is consciousness? It is this unresolved question that underlies and sustains the entire problem of the relationship between nature and Reason.

Footnotes

[^1]: This is a major tension in modern physics. Classical mechanics posits deterministic laws, while quantum mechanics introduces indeterminacy (e.g., Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, quantum superposition, and the role of the observer).

[^2]: Hegel uses the term Aufhebung (sublation) to describe how contradictions are preserved, overcome, and elevated in dialectical development. Here, understanding is a moment in the dialectic that depends on and contains Reason as its deeper truth.

[^3]: This echoes Hegel’s doctrine that contradiction is the root of movement and life in thought and in nature. The identity of opposites, mediated through contradiction, leads to a higher unity.

Naturalism

A Rational Understanding of Nature: Naturalism and Its Misconceptions

A rational attempt to understand nature as disclosed by an observer is often dismissed by scientific materialism. This dismissal occurs because the observer is assumed to be impartial to the phenomenon—not merely as a method for collecting data, but as an ultimate metaphysical principle. The observer is viewed, in essence, as the name implies: a passive agent reacting to an independent phenomenon, without altering or participating in it.

It is commonly claimed that it is, at the very least, impossible for every part of nature to be rationally explained. The contemporary term that most closely captures this stance is naturalism. However, the definition of naturalism is often inconclusive and misrepresents its most crucial philosophical component.

Naturalism is misunderstood—defined inversely to its true meaning—in the following five ways:

1. Naturalism as Empirical Reductionism

Naturalism is often defined as an approach to philosophical problems that interprets them as solvable through the empirical sciences, or at the very least, without recourse to a distinctively a priori theorizing.[^1]

2. Understanding Without Reason

This method, taken on its own, divorces empirical science from its own enabling condition: the faculty of understanding. It treats understanding as independent from Reason, whereas in truth, Reason is not only the precondition of understanding but also its resolution. Reason is understanding in its conscious form—it is the organic completion of the understanding faculty.

The true task of empiricism should be to grasp the understanding as it occurs in its natural form, i.e., as Reason.[^2]

3. Applying Reason While Dismissing Its Existence

Naturalism applies rationality to interpret phenomena but simultaneously denies its ontological necessity. Rationality is not considered essential for nature’s existence; instead, nature is treated as a default state—a background into which all processes dissolve and from which they emerge.

The term “nature” is used broadly to encompass both organic and inorganic processes, though the distinction between the two remains ambiguous. Without grounding empiricism in a deeper metaphysical structure, understanding becomes blind, failing to see any rational order in nature. The human understanding, at this stage, fails to do what it is ironically built to do—reveal the intelligibility of the world.

A clear example of this is Darwin’s theory of evolution, which makes an empirical claim without presupposing or even defining what evolution fundamentally is. The process is interpreted as moving toward no aim, with teleology dismissed outright. The result of evolution is viewed as accidental, rather than a reflection of an inherent direction or purpose.

But this view is flawed: whether the result is interpreted as the goal or the starting predisposition, the process is only intelligible if it mediates between the two. The idea that evolution yields infinite, aimless results originates from pre-Socratic atomism,[^3] which conceived the universe as composed of indivisible atoms falling randomly in the void.

This notion is retained in modern scientific materialism, which presupposes infinity as the ultimate explanation of any rational process. However, this “infinity” is treated as irrational—a contradiction, since any finite explanation of a process exhibits some rational intelligibility to an observer.

4. Mistaking Process for Results

In this view, evolution is not truly a process, but a collection of results. This corresponds to a mathematical logic where contradiction itself is treated as the resolution. In materialism, splitting matter only results in more matter—an infinite regress. Similarly, in mathematics, numbers produce more numbers.

But infinite regress is only theoretical. When we observe any object in nature, we encounter a definite and finite entity. Even the mind that makes these derivations is oriented toward the finite. Mathematics, in this sense, fails to conceive what Alfred North Whitehead understood as “aim.”[^4] Aim refers to goal-oriented behavior, a concept taken very seriously in quantum theory, where outcomes are influenced by measurement—a kind of “final cause.”[^5]

5. Reversing the Logic of Evolution

The true nature of evolution involves aim, or telos—a goal. Every resolution, by its logical necessity, involves development. Evolution is inherently progressive, not in a moral sense, but as a function of logical movement. However, scientific materialism inverts this truth: development is said to exist for the sake of survival, whereas in fact, survival exists for the sake of development.

This reversal must be corrected if evolution is to be properly understood. To frame it correctly: survival is the means, while development is the end. Evolution should be seen not as the blind mechanism of adaptation, but as the rational unfolding of potential into actuality.

Footnotes

[^1]: See Papineau, D. (2009). Naturalism. In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (E. N. Zalta, Ed.). Naturalism broadly interprets reality through scientific understanding, yet varies greatly in scope and meaning.

[^2]: Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit and Science of Logic develop this dialectic where Reason is the completed form of Understanding. Reason is both immanent in nature and transcendent through consciousness.

[^3]: See Democritus and Leucippus’ early atomic theory. They proposed that all things are composed of atoms in motion within the void, without inherent purpose.

[^4]: Whitehead, A.N. (1929). Process and Reality. Whitehead reintroduces teleology as an intrinsic part of the universe, arguing that every process aims toward a subjective aim or satisfaction.

[^5]: In quantum physics, particularly in interpretations involving the observer effect and delayed-choice experiments (e.g., Wheeler), final causality (in the Aristotelian sense) finds renewed relevance.

Savage; The Rationality of the Social Animal

Savages are not rational in the sense of being individuals who consciously think for themselves, but they are rational by nature, because they are inherently social. If we take the term social in its most basic or crude sense, it implies that they participate in rational relations. These relations, even among social animals, are not chaotic or random, but are structured by reason, purpose, and intent—even if these are not consciously realized by the individuals involved.

For example:

• Sex is engaged in for the purpose of reproduction.
• Eating is tied to the function of preserving health or survival.
• In higher animals (and especially in humans), relations such as learning can aim toward truth, or art toward beauty.

Whether these aims are fulfilled or corrupted is itself part of the rational process—that is, they are structured in accordance with logical conditions and determinable outcomes.

Thus, the rationality between members of a species lies not in individual deliberation, but in the orderly nature of their interrelations. Even if the animals themselves are not rational in the full human sense (i.e., capable of abstract thought or reflection), their behavioral interactions conform to patterns that can be explained by reason. In this sense, one could say that an implicit rational force is guiding the evolutionary direction of the species—although this rationality is unconscious to the individual members participating in it.[^1]

Sociality as a Presupposition of Ethics and Reason

The social always presupposes ethics, and ethics in turn presupposes reason. Ethics, in its rational form, refers to the right set of relations constituting Being. Even in its most basic sense, the social implies an arrangement of relations that is logically consistent and oriented toward some purpose.

Therefore, when we observe social animals, their structure of interactions points to rational sets of relations. This is not to say that the individual animal is rational in and of itself, like a human who can reflect on their own thought, but rather that its instinctual arrangements and conditioned behaviors—even when unconscious—are nevertheless rational.

That is, these behaviors:

• Are done for some aim;
• Can be explained teleologically or functionally;
• Appear as if they were structured by a conscious design, even if no such individual consciousness is present in the acting organism.

This raises a central problem:
If the individual animal is unconscious, but behaves as if its actions were shaped by consciousness (i.e., intentional, ordered, purposive), then who or what accounts for this conscious structure? Where does the rationality originate, if not in the particular organism?

This question points to a metaphysical dilemma: If unconscious agents act in accordance with laws that seem rational and purposeful, is there an underlying consciousness or intelligible principle at work in nature itself? This is a key point in teleological and dialectical philosophy, particularly in thinkers like Hegel, who argued that reason is immanent in nature, even if only fully revealed in spirit.[^2]

Footnotes

[^1]: This is in line with the general thrust of Aristotle’s teleology, where nature does nothing in vain, and each natural process has a final cause (telos), whether or not it is consciously intended. See: Aristotle, Physics, Book II.

[^2]: Hegel writes in his Philosophy of Nature:

“Precisely this externality is characteristic of nature: differences are allowed to fall apart and to appear as existences indifferent to each other; and the dialectical concept, which leads the stages further, is the interior which emerges only in the spirit.”
Here, Hegel proposes that the dialectical structure of reason is present in nature implicitly, and becomes explicit only through the self-conscious human mind. See also: Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences, Part II.

Aristotle – Natural vs. unnatural motion 

#53- (first articulated Nov.21.2015)

Internal and External Relations in Aristotle: Natural vs. Unnatural Motion

Aristotle distinguishes between natural motion—motion that is derived from within a thing itself—and unnatural or violent motion, which occurs when something external moves an object. In natural motion, the origin or source of movement lies within the thing itself, whereas in unnatural motion, the source is external to the object being moved.[^1]

According to Aristotle, natural motion is associated with life, because life maintains its own motion toward its own end. It is self-determined and directed toward the subsistence or continued survival of the living being. In contrast, unnatural motion is associated with disorder or violence, because the being in motion does not control the cause of its movement. It is subjected to a cause outside of itself, and therefore cannot freely determine its own path or outcome.

An artificial object, for instance, cannot initiate its own movement; it must be set into motion by an external agent. It is dependent upon that external cause not only for its initial creation (its “birth”), but also for its continued existence and operation (its “maintenance”).

In Aristotle’s framework, natural motion is the primary cause of unnatural motion. That is, only something that moves naturally, from within itself, can initiate motion in something else. Thus, Aristotle concludes that the order of the universe is ultimately derived from a natural, self-moving, and living source. This source may be organic nature, or—at the highest metaphysical level—God, or the Unmoved Mover.[^2]

Footnotes

[^1]: Aristotle discusses natural and unnatural motion in Physics, especially Book VIII. Natural motion is directed by the internal nature (physis) of a thing, while unnatural or violent motion is imposed externally.

[^2]: Aristotle introduces the concept of the Unmoved Mover as the first cause of all motion in the universe. See: Metaphysics, Book XII (Lambda), where he writes, “There must be a principle of such a kind that its substance is activity.”

Matter is artificial & Mind is natural

Life as the Principle of Motion in Matter

The motion of matter is directed by life, because matter does not move itself. Its motion is caused externally. For example, fire always moves upward, not downward; if fire possessed its own motion from within itself, it would be able to move both up and down, or in any direction. This limitation demonstrates that matter, in and of itself, does not possess autonomous motion.

Matter without form is unidentifiable, a state of flux (metabole), and is therefore indiscernible and cannot truly be said to exist in a determinate way.[^1] In contrast, mind (or nous) always brings itself into being by conceiving itself. Even in doubting its own existence, the mind affirms that it is—a principle articulated famously by Descartes in the formula cogito, ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”).[^2]

The mind identifies matter in flux by limiting it—that is, by giving it form through conception. This act makes matter discernible and transforms it into a definite object. Thus, matter becomes knowable only through the rational activity of mind, which imposes structure upon the indeterminate.

What possesses its own motion (i.e., life or mind) is what moves what does not possess motion within itself (i.e., matter). If life is natural motion—because it moves from itself—and matter is unnatural motion—because it is moved by something else—then life is the principle that directs the motion of matter.[^3]

It would be mistaken to say that a thing capable of moving itself can only move in one way. In Aristotle’s De Anima, he notes that natural motion brings actuality to the activities that are only potentially possessed:

“What is actually hot brings motion to what is potentially hot” (De Anima, 426a30).[^4]

Similarly, hot water cools down over time—not because it directs itself downward, but because the actuality of heat dissipates and potential coldness becomes actual.

Because the term potentiality (dynamis) is applied in different ways, this can explain why it is difficult to grasp how motion from within itself is not unidirectional. For instance, a man gaining knowledge is in a different kind of potentiality than a man who already has knowledge but is not actively using it.

When something capable of acting is unified with something capable of being acted upon, potentiality becomes actuality. This is the core of Aristotle’s metaphysics: movement occurs when form (actuality) actualizes matter (potentiality).

This distinction applies equally to things that cause motion, which can do so in two ways:

1. Unnaturally – when the object does not move itself, yet contains within it the capacity to be moved.
2. Naturally – when the object moves itself, possessing the principle of motion within itself.[^5]

Footnotes

[^1]: See Aristotle, Physics, Book I. Matter without form is pure potentiality (hyle), which does not exist independently but always as a substrate of form.

[^2]: Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, Meditation II. The “cogito” affirms that doubt itself confirms the existence of the doubter—i.e., thinking is proof of being.

[^3]: Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book XII (Lambda), discusses the Unmoved Mover as the first cause of all motion, which itself is not moved by anything else.

[^4]: Aristotle, De Anima (On the Soul), Book II, 426a30. The distinction between potentiality (dynamis) and actuality (energeia) is central to Aristotle’s theory of motion and change.

[^5]: Aristotle, Physics, Book VIII. He identifies natural motion as intrinsic to the being of an object, and unnatural (or violent) motion as imposed externally.

Definition of nature as “natural”

On the Modern and Classical Definitions of Nature

Modern definitions of the term “natural” are somewhat shallow, primarily due to their emphasis on specification rather than essence. The word “natural” is commonly applied to distinguish between things that are caused by or exist within ‘nature’, and things that are made or caused by human beings. However, this distinction—between nature and man—is a vague and superficial one, as it does not clarify what “natural” actually means beyond that binary.

In standard usage, nature is often defined both as:

1. The collective force or principle that discloses everything in the physical world, and
2. The innate and essential quality of a thing—what makes it what it is.

In Ancient Greek thought, particularly in Aristotle’s philosophy, the terms physis (nature) and to physikon (the natural) are unified to mean the essential character that constitutes the proper function of a thing. That is, a thing is natural insofar as it operates in accordance with its inherent purpose or function (telos).[^1] For Aristotle, something is natural if it has the capacity for proper work (ergon). For example, whether a knife is made by humans or not, it is still considered natural if it cuts well—because cutting is the proper function (telos) of a knife.

In Middle English, the word nature derives from the Latin natura, meaning birth, character, or quality. It was commonly used to denote the physical power or inherent force of a person or object. Hence, it is natural for a knife to cut well and unnatural if it is dull or ineffective.[^2]

In contemporary thought, however, “nature” is typically defined in more mechanistic or reductionist terms. Nature is seen as a set of rudimentary components—that is, things that are basic, primitive, or at a very early stage—which exist independently of human influence. Nature, in this modern framework, is often regarded as a kind of default template, one that is already there, prior to any observation or intervention by a rational subject.

However, this definition becomes problematic at the level of quantum mechanics. At the subatomic level, nature does not behave in the way this default-template model assumes. In quantum theory, the act of observation has been found to influence and even alter the state of nature.[^3] The famous observer effect, demonstrated in experiments such as the double-slit experiment, reveals that particles behave differently when observed. Thus, at the most fundamental level, nature does not exist as fully independent from the observer.

In this sense, nature always comes indivisibly tied to the observer, who acts as a source of nature’s own self-origination and/or self-determination. The implication is profound: that nature is not fully objective, as it is co-emergent with the act of conscious awareness. Nature does not simply exist, but rather comes into being in dynamic interaction with conscious observation.

Footnotes

[^1]: See Aristotle, Physics, Book II, especially 192b–198a, where he distinguishes between natural and artificial things on the basis of their inner principle of change (nature). Also see Nicomachean Ethics, Book I, for the concept of ergon (proper function).

[^2]: The Latin natura comes from nasci, meaning “to be born.” In medieval philosophy, “nature” often signified the inner principle or essence by which a thing acts.

[^3]: See Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle and the double-slit experiment. These quantum phenomena show that particles behave both as waves and particles depending on whether they are observed, implying a fundamental interaction between consciousness and physical reality.

Artificial Motion

The Ambiguity of the Natural in Relation to Inorganic Matter

The biological definition of nature often limits the term natural to the domain of organic life—that is, to living organisms. This definition implicitly excludes human-created (artificial) objects on the grounds that they are derivatives or copies of something naturally occurring. In Aristotle’s terms, anything that lacks an innate tendency for self-motion—that is, a principle of motion within itself—is considered artificial, as its motion and generation are *caused by something other than itself.*[^1]

Regarding the status of the inorganic, biological sciences do not typically define motion as something derived from or inherent to living matter. In the modern scientific taxonomy, an organic compound is one that contains both carbon and hydrogen, while inorganic compounds may contain one or the other—but not both. This biochemical distinction draws a sharp line between what is categorized as life-bearing (organic) and what is not (inorganic).[^2]

However, the status of inorganic matter as natural remains ambiguous within the specialized sciences. Biology, in particular, tends to delegate the study of inorganic matter to physics, claiming it lies outside the domain of life. Meanwhile, physics analyzes inorganic matter through mechanistic laws, but does not account for the emergence of life from these laws. In other words, physics strips matter of any inherent vitality, treating it purely as quantifiable substance governed by abstract forces.

To fill this conceptual gap, chemistry is often treated as the intermediary discipline between physics and biology. Yet chemistry, too, explains life processes largely in mechanistic terms—e.g., as biochemical reactions—without addressing the organizing principle that distinguishes a living system from a complex chemical reaction.[^3]

This leads to a broader question that remains unanswered: In what sense can inorganic matter be considered “natural” if it is not regarded as exhibiting any living principle? The lack of synthetic integration between the sciences—physics, chemistry, and biology—has resulted in no unified account of how inorganic matter relates to the principle of life.

Compounding this issue is the relation between organism and environment, a topic approached differently across the sciences. Biology treats the environment as an external factor that organisms must adapt to, physics sees it as a background space governed by universal laws, and chemistry regards it as a reactive field of molecular interactions. Yet none of these disciplines fully accounts for how the environment is, in part, conceived through the organism itself—that is, how the boundaries between organism and environment are not merely given, but co-constituted by relational structures and internal organization.[^4]

This leads into the problem of the whole and the part: modern science tends to analyze systems in terms of parts, assuming that the whole is nothing more than the sum of its components. However, life—especially in its biological form—often exhibits properties where the whole organizes the parts, not vice versa. This teleological or formative dimension is what appears to be missing in the mechanistic treatment of nature, particularly in the context of inorganic matter.

Footnotes

[^1]: See Aristotle, Physics II.1 and Metaphysics V.4. Aristotle distinguishes between things that have an internal principle of motion (natural) and those that move only by external influence (artificial).

[^2]: The modern distinction between organic and inorganic chemistry arose in the 19th century. See Friedrich Wöhler’s 1828 synthesis of urea, which challenged the belief that organic compounds could only be produced by living organisms.

[^3]: For a critique of the reduction of life to chemistry, see Erwin Schrödinger’s What is Life? (1944), where he explores how life seems to resist entropy, raising questions that chemistry alone does not resolve.

[^4]: This relational or enactive approach to biology has been advanced in the work of Francisco Varela and Humberto Maturana (e.g., Autopoiesis and Cognition, 1980), who argue that organisms “enact” their environments through structural coupling.

Nature as abstraction

The word nature is misleading because it produces a static image of a scene happening on its own accord that observation simply stumbles upon. And it is imagined as a set place within definite perimeters. For example, we have the image of a forest with birds and animals as depicting nature because we simply stumbled upon this and observe it happening independently of our interference with it. Or, when we look into a microscope, we stumble upon a set of molecular activity. Whatever we abstract as a static scene of nature is really an instant or a moment in the life of an activity that is operating on a different magnitude of time relative to the observer—but that does not mean this general activity is independent from the observer[^1].

If time is fundamentally a motion, and motion is fundamentally the process of generation, and there are discrepancies between the rate at which different things generate—some things happen faster, and some slower—but they are all happening. The point at which one thing happens intersects with a point in the happening of a different phenomenon at a different point in its happening. Some processes appear more static from the point of view of another, while others appear instantaneous, but there is still the indispensable factor that they are happening in time.

For example, we see most trees and flowers attached to the ground, and we conclude that trees must originate outwards from the soil. But the reality is that the chemical ingredients of a tree are derived mainly from air, and the heat and light from the sun[^2]. Those are the ingredients that make up all organic aggregates in nature[^3].

In other words, the point from which we observe a phenomenon to originate within an environment is itself generated from the total reactions of the environment as a whole. Therefore, does the environment originate from a single point within itself, or are the individual points we observe within an environment merely particular abstractions of a whole? This dichotomy points to the fact that an environment, although it contains objects, is itself more of a scene—or, in other words, a moment.

Footnotes

[^1]: This echoes the principle in quantum physics known as the observer effect, where the act of observation influences the system being observed. In philosophy, Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty also challenge the idea of the observer as separate from the phenomenon, emphasizing relational perception.

[^2]: As demonstrated in Jan Baptista van Helmont’s 17th-century experiment, which showed that the mass of a growing plant does not come primarily from the soil, but rather from water and air. This was later supported by the discovery of photosynthesis, in which plants use carbon dioxide (CO₂) from the air and light energy from the sun to produce glucose and oxygen.

[^3]: According to modern plant physiology, approximately 95% of a plant’s mass is derived from air (CO₂) and water (H₂O), while only a small portion (minerals) comes from the soil. See Taiz & Zeiger, Plant Physiology, 6th edition.

Life Process

The chemical composition of wood varies from species to species, but is approximately 50% carbon, 42% oxygen, 6% hydrogen, 1% nitrogen, and 1% other elements (mainly calcium, potassium, sodium, magnesium, iron, and manganese) by weight[^1].

The yellow to orange-coloured flower head of the dandelion only demonstrates an abstraction of a particular time period in the flower’s lifetime when it is on the ground. However, when it matures, it transforms into spherical seed heads containing many single-seeded fruits, prepared for the next stage of its life: air-aided dispersal over long distances[^2].

Nature is the entirety of this life process, not merely the abstraction we encounter in observing an object at a given moment. These snapshots in the life of a dandelion constitute it as a living being, but the way it is living is not the same as how we understand something living—such as an organism.

An organism is a developed kind of way of living, because the object develops free agency, moving away from being merely part of a time sequence constrained by a set of unfolding events. It becomes independent of a duration as being nothing more than a succession of moments. It becomes instead an object which maintains the same identity throughout the movement of time as a set of events.

Footnotes:

[^1]: U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Products Laboratory. (2010). Wood Handbook – Wood as an Engineering Material, Chapter 2. https://www.fpl.fs.fed.us/documnts/fplgtr/fpl_gtr190.pdf

[^2]: Ridley, H. N. (1930). The Dispersal of Plants Throughout the World. L. Reeve & Co.

Stages

Life prior to the development of willing organisms is an instantaneity or an event taking on the form of an object. In other words, the event does not happen to the object; rather, the event is the object. It is only with the development of an organism that maintains an identity through time that the conception of an event happening to the object arises as a valid concurrence.

For example, the stages of the dandelion make it appear to be completely different objects, but they are all identified as the same because they are different events within the same duration. The life of a dandelion is identical to the events of its duration in time. Self-conscious beings like humans do not identify themselves with the changing events that constitute their life duration, but rather take on a third-person point of view, an ego that watches over the changing effects of time on the body, seeing themselves as simply the same duration of a set of different events—because we maintain the same identity throughout. For example, it is very difficult to discern mere appearance alone—looking at a baby and an elder—that they are the same person, unless we are told they are the same individual.

We infer situations where something of weight, say a rock, falls toward something of greater mass, say the ground, into a “natural” state, but nature is not one thing or one place. It is only insofar as a conception where a set of inverse logical relations can unfold in a rational order. This means that nature has no fixed borderline disclosing a fixed state called “nature,” but is identical with the uncertainty of the fleeting conception: any one of its parts forms a point in a set of relations constituting a whole.

(Add sun is like spinning circle of fire.)

But nature, as a logical principle, is always predicted by a subject; it possesses character in the form of determination—that nature is subject to its predicate, having a rational form of determining its object predicated by its subject. The object exhibits a set of relations not only in possible agencies of action but also in the implicit structure that the object discloses as its form. There is a discrepancy between the structure of the object that enables it to act, and the actions of the object that constitute its structures—both of which appear to be different processes, yet they operate under the same rules. The object is determined by a fundamental logical and mathematical sequence of activity, a sequence that takes into account both the strict and rigid principles of empirical science—which we denote as fixed by direct observation, no matter how fundamental they are—and also the ontological conduct which posits a set of free assumptions, which are in the first place presuppositions for a thing to be considered as a fact at hand. In the former case, we can always observe a fundamental form, like an atom, by altering space and time—by magnifying the matter of an object.

Mind has the role in nature of determining a fundamental form that becomes its circumstances, but the way it does this is really our enigma, because the link between when mind conceives something and when it experiences it is not finely defined—since their relation is an instantaneity of a moment. The difficulty in answering this question is not only a direct result of the limitations of the sense organs, but also because the theoretical activity of the mind must necessarily impose on the uncertain principle what it is not conceiving, thereby projecting what is unperceived as its basis. For example, when you are directly perceiving something and therefore know it to be there, you are also invariably ignorant of all the other things not directly perceived; to directly perceive something, and therefore know it, is an imposition of the unperceived as its basis.[^1]

Footnotes

[^1]: This idea echoes aspects of phenomenology (e.g. Husserl) and some interpretations of quantum mechanics, where observation not only reveals but also helps constitute what is observed. The observer’s knowledge necessarily includes what is unseen or unperceived, forming a background for the perception.

How a “thing” conceives itself

A thing conceives itself by taking an internal aim, end, idea, inclination—or whatever you call a representation of a will or thought that characterizes the thing—and deriving that through an external relation. In other words, a fundamental abstract form is adopted and characterized by a physical manifestation. For example, one might say that each skin cell has the internal aim or idea of making the organ we identify as skin, and they do this by binding externally with one another, forming the protein fibers that make up the skin.

The claim that a thing conceives itself basically means that something enters into being, but moreover, it also means that the thing posits an idea of itself outwardly to other things. For example, how I conceive of myself is how I portray myself. And so, there is an invariable external relation attached to the conception of a thing. The internal aim is not anything concrete by our typical understanding—meaning an object here and now—but rather it is the motion of the object that is already presupposed as being the external relation of the internal aim. That is, the internal aim becomes real as an act, and the external object is the expression of that act.

The internal aim is therefore the organization and ordering of a set of already presupposed external relations. What is external does not come out of what is internal—these typical cause-and-effect formulations are logically inaccurate. Rather, what is external is already presupposed as there, and the internal is the structuring or articulation of those external relations into a form. We only witness a thing coming into being from a linear perspective of time, in which something develops and grows through a process. But this growth of a thing in time is actually the abstraction of its conception, whose development has already carried out all its necessary temporal variables in an instant. The process of development is, in this view, the experience of the conception.

The question then becomes: In what sense is the conception conceived into being?

Footnotes

[^1]: This view aligns with aspects of Aristotle’s notion of form and teleology, where the form (or internal aim) of a thing is the cause of its motion and development—not merely in the future, but already operative in the present. See Metaphysics, Book VII.

[^2]: The idea that the external world is already “presupposed” echoes Hegelian dialectics, particularly in the Science of Logic, where the internal and external are not separate domains but moments of the same process—Becoming.

[^3]: The abstraction of time as development is also central to Bergson’s notion of duration (la durée), where true time is not linear but intuitive and lived. The conception is not an unfolding but a totality grasped through experience.

[^4]: The distinction between motion as action and object as result also recalls Whitehead’s process philosophy, where reality is fundamentally constituted by processes rather than static things.

Ultimate Nature

The Problem of the Ultimate Principle in the Difference Between Nature and Reality

The subject of acting, or determining into being, is more significant within the broader domain of reality, particularly in theology, which deals with questions of ultimate cause. In more recent times, however, the specialized study of nature, such as physics, does not accept any principle as ultimate without demonstration. This does not imply that there is no ultimate principle, but rather that the nature of the ultimate—like everything else in nature—is dynamical. Therefore, it is not valid to claim that because there is an ultimate nature, any one principle involved in nature must itself be ultimate.

To have an ultimate nature, as opposed to identifying something specific within nature as ultimate, is a difficult problem. This is because all we know of nature are particular and specific things. What remains unknown is the final end or telos of these processes, and for this reason, we tend to assume that no particular thing can be ultimate. Yet, since all we know to exist are particulars in nature, we are led to approach the ultimate only through particular things. Thus, to have an ultimate nature and to have something specific be ultimate are not necessarily mutually exclusive claims.

This paradox reflects a larger ontological problem between the concepts of nature and reality. As Whitehead notes:

“In these lectures we are keeping off the profound and vexed question as to what we mean by ‘reality’. I am maintaining the humbler thesis that nature is a system. But I suppose that in this case the less follows from the greater and that I may claim support of these philosophers [who maintain reality generally is a system]. The same doctrine is essentially interwoven in all modern physical speculation.”[^1]

The distinction between nature and reality is often made for technical reasons—so that the writer does not need to enter into discussions of principles that go beyond the specific subject matter at hand. In this case, Whitehead does not stay entirely true to his metaphysical inclinations and reverts, in part, to the empiricist within him. He uses this move to assert that both nature and reality are systems, but without needing to explain why reality—arguably the more difficult of the two—is a system, at least not in that section.

However, the task of ontological science is precisely to go “off-topic” to uncover general truths that are applicable back to the specific. This principle corresponds with Whitehead’s later observation:

“The aim of science is to seek the simplest explanations of complex facts. We are apt to fall into the error of thinking that the facts are simple because simplicity is the goal of our quest. The guiding motto in the life of every natural philosopher should be, Seek simplicity and distrust it.”[^2]

The latter quote expresses a necessary metaphysical attitude that a thinker must carry when investigating physical causes, such as in physics. That is, because the world—whether at a glance or even through deeper analysis—appears complex, we assume that our goal is to move toward simplicity. However, while simplicity offers the convenience of making it easier to understand complex facts of nature, it also convolutes reality into an image of itself that is not necessarily fully true. The motto that philosophy brings to the sciences is, to paraphrase: “Seek simplicity—but then distrust it.“

Footnotes

[^1]: Alfred North Whitehead, The Concept of Nature (Cambridge University Press, 1920), Lecture I. Here, Whitehead distinguishes between nature as a systematic order and reality as a broader metaphysical question—one he avoids explicitly defining in that context.

[^2]: Whitehead, The Concept of Nature, Lecture V; also echoed in The Function of Reason (1929). This quote underscores Whitehead’s caution against conflating scientific simplicity with ontological clarity, a theme running through his process philosophy.

Simple

By “simple” here is meant not only that which is easy to communicate or understand, but also the most basic and primary facts and substance. Yet the most basic and primary facts about nature are often the most abstract and difficult to communicate. When we ask the question of what is “simple” in scientific terms, we mean the most basic substance. However, in the ontology of philosophy, thought—or more precisely, reason—is identified as the most “simple,” meaning basic and fundamental in composition.

Meditation: “Watching” Thought

In modern formulations, thought is disassociated from the natural unfolding of events, as if thinking has nothing to do with the objects constituting the events of experience. The ultimate subject of metaphysics is encompassed by Aristotle’s notion of “thinking on thinking,” which presents a logical confusion to ordinary understanding. This is because whenever two of the same words are used in conjunction with one another, the specific meaning of one is often confused with the other, forming a double meaning.

“Thinking,” on the one hand, is the process of losing oneself in speculation—the natural flow of thought as it happens in the mind, concerned with possibilities. On the other hand, it is the intention of awareness, the meditative attention the mind turns onto itself—“watching” the natural flow of thought as it speculates. The natural thinking that the mind loses itself in is identical with the natural unfolding of events that occur for the experience of the observer. This is because thought is about what will happen in reality, while what happens in reality is about what thought is. What happens and what thought is are the same thing, except there is a discrepancy in time between them.

Natural “flow” – generation

The generation of an event is natural when a phenomenon comes into being from an unknown determination in time—that is, the self‑determination of the thing. Instead of treating this fact about an activity as an enigma, in nature it is the first principle: for a process to be distinguished as having a beginning is to be predicated by its arrival from an unknown blank state. This so-called “unknown” state is not merely the result of a lack of comprehension on the part of the observer; it may also be that there actually exists an unknown state of being in the world. That is, the world may be ordered independently of the observer—but at the same time, it may not be, and instead exist in a state of indeterminacy.

A conception must emerge out of a void gap, being an unknown relation to any other known events; otherwise, the beginning of the event would be part of some middle portion of an event belonging to another object, and the distinction between beginning and end would be lost.

The interesting part is: when you allow something to act in its natural “flow” in time, there is no rigidity in its physical composition as it expresses activity. Things are not externally put together as if coming from outside each other; rather, the activity and the parts we take as distinct from the composition appear as a harmonious flow of the same event. The whole event is the simultaneous appearance of these distinct parts. It is only when the natural flow of an event is interfered with that the composition changes, becoming that of two objects outside each other that were once together. But when we take an already‑put‑together object and disassemble it into parts, we cannot put it together in the same way we dismantled it. We separate the object into different objects—and that changes the natural composition of what was once the same activity in time.

For example, if you do not let the flower naturally blossom, but you take it out of its root and separate that from the stem, now you have two completely different objects: a stem is a stem, and on its own it is not the daisy. One can be used for medicine, the other for materials. This simple interference with the natural composition of the flower changes it altogether into an entirely different set of events in time. We may take this as an obvious and straightforward situation: when we break something down spatially, it turns into separate things. But in quantum mechanics, how the natural operations of a phenomenon change based on its interaction with an observer—an observer who can determine it in a way other than the destiny belonging to it—is a perplexing, unexplained problem. Because the observer always plays a role opposite to the determination it set out.

Footnotes

1. Alan Watts often described nature as unfolding—all parts together forming a whole scene—not as components assembled afterward. This idea resonates with this description of natural flow versus artificially constructed parts.
2. The “unknown determination in time” recalls philosophical notions of originary temporal potency, as in Aristotle’s potentiality/actuality, or in Kant’s transcendental time as that which frames experience but is itself not experienced.
3. The example of interfering with a flower’s natural development is analogous to biological and ecological observations: changes in environment or removal of parts alter not just appearance but the life process and function.
4. The quantum‑mechanical observer effect (e.g., the double‑slit experiment) shows that the act of measurement (observation) can change the behavior of particles, suggesting that the observer is not wholly external to the phenomenon but participates in its determination.

Naturally

The Tao Te Ching speaks of acting “naturally,” which turns out to be an ‘easier said than done’ statement. What it means to be “natural,” or—what is essentially the same thing—what “nature” itself is, remains a difficult concept to define. In our modern scientific context, we tend to treat nature as an object: a landscape, an environment, or an ecosystem that is distinct from its organismic inhabitants. This presupposition alienates the active agency in nature from the passive, and we are left with two abstractions that seem complete on their own, but only appear so because they depend on one another—a relationship often left unexamined in scientific inquiry[^1].

Classically, in both the ancient Greek and Buddhist traditions, nature is not an object or specific environment, but rather a way, a process, or an activity. To say that it is the nature of a rock to fall to the ground is the same as saying that it is natural for something to happen that way. In other words, nature is the way something happens.

Modern thought, however, does not consider the way a phenomenon occurs as belonging inherently to the phenomenon itself. Instead, it abstracts that process as an objective law, universally applicable to many phenomena—disassociating the “how” from the “what” in an effort to standardize knowledge[^2].

Footnotes:

[^1]: This divide reflects the Cartesian dualism between subject and object, or mind and body, which has historically influenced the development of the natural sciences. See Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, and critiques thereof by Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty.

[^2]: For further reading, see Whitehead’s Science and the Modern World, where he critiques the tendency of scientific materialism to reduce nature to a set of abstract laws detached from lived experience and immediate perception.

Natural as what is already happening

To be “natural” is associated with acting in the way that is already happening—for example, “keep walking – just act natural.” This crude understanding does not point out what is required for something to actually happen. The mere happening of a thing is adopted as the reason why it happens. Modern interpretations of Buddhism assert that there is absolutely no reason why things happen—events just simply occur—and that is the satisfactory explanation. The Taoists, for example, define nature as “of itself so” (ziran, 自然); nature is a spontaneity—something which is not forced into being but simply occurs into being[^1] (Allan Watts, 2:20:14)[^2]. This, however, does not explain from where this “way” occurs, and locating the source of the way is the scientific task.

The materialist notion of “force,” as the energy of compulsion for physical action, implies that activities are caused by an external source that can be specifically discerned as arriving from a specific position. But this specific position is assumed to be the cause of a general scale, to which the position only belongs as a specific location within. The question becomes: in what way does a specific point derive? But this is only one of the ways something generally happens. The “way” a phenomenon happens is that it is generally occurring, but within that generality there is a particular point we can identify as the definite way it is happening.

For example, the light from the sun equally covers all sides—the south, east, and west—but we can look up at noon and say, “this sunlight is coming directly from the north where the sun stands.” If we face away from the sun, south of it, we see that the light covers the south, and if we turn to the east or west, we see the same generality of sunlight. But the way this is happening is derived from the particular of where the sun stands in the north. A force is a specific way a phenomenon generally happens.

Footnotes

[^1]: The Taoist principle of ziran (自然) translates as “self-so” or “of itself so.” It reflects the idea that things arise spontaneously in accordance with their own nature, without external imposition. It is central to the Tao Te Ching and Taoist philosophy.

[^2]: Alan Watts often explained ziran as “spontaneity” or “that which is so of itself,” contrasting it with Western notions of control and compulsion. See his lectures, particularly the one referenced around the timestamp 2:20:14.

Happening for no reason at all vs. happening for its own sake

Happening for No Reason at All; and Happening for Its Own Sake

The latter claim, however, is usually asserted without the equivalent ancient claim made by the Greeks: things are done for their own sake. The Buddhist idea that there is no reason why things happen—only that they do—is synonymous with the Ancient Greek notion that things happen for their own sake, and that is the reason why they happen. Empirical science today is an interesting variation of these ancient rules concerning the question of “why,” because empirical science explains that a satisfactory explanation does nothing but observe the already occurring operations of a phenomenon. An ontological problem arises from this simple belief adopted by modern science, because the phenomenon is meant to be viewed unscathed by the observer. It is assumed that the scientist should not be concerned with why it is happening, which is taken as a premise to claim that the phenomenon actually has no reason for happening; the reason is said to be random. The scientific method of falsifiability concludes that a piece of information is factual when the experiment is repeated multiple times, showing the same result.

Modern times have grown the temperament that assumes the fact things happen excludes the reason why they happen, as if “why something happens” and “that it happens” are two separate things. In ontology, however, the need for an explanation requires more than confirming that the same fact, repeated over and over again, provides the same result. Moreover, the mere happening of a phenomenon is not a satisfactory explanation, because the connection between the observer’s own reasoning must be taken into account in the reasons discovered in the natural operations of the phenomenon.

Interpretations of Aristotle’s definition of nature are confused similarly to interpretations of the Buddhist notion. Aristotle’s definition of nature as “a source or cause of being moved and of being at rest in that to which it belongs primarily” requires special attention to what is meant by “belongs primarily” in this context; because the capacity to cause or move is what we mean by ‘acting from its own end’ uninfluenced by outside source—which is what “belongs primarily” means. In other words, the “end” comes at the moment of a thing acting independently of anything else, and is the first precondition of being able to act.

In the Buddhist traditions, the self‑determination attributed to nature did not yet bring with it a recognizable character of nature identified as having the intention to bring an activity into being. Mind was not recognized as a distinct character of nature, only that what is nature and mind are the same phenomenon. But in the ancient Greek era, mind is specifically assigned the self‑determining element of nature. In modern empirical views, mind and nature are seen as separate objects externally related to each other, and so the capacity to cause or self‑determine is seen to belong to one against the other. Mind is said to derive its capacity from nature, but nature is the tendency of what is already occurring—changing or resting in a particular way unless stopped otherwise or acted on by an external source—and so it does not have the capacity of self‑determining. But nature has already suscitated (or produced) the conditions necessary for self‑determination to arise, and so in some sense it is a determination of it.

The mind must have somehow lacked self‑determination but have gained it from nature; but nature is assumed to lack self‑determination, so where does the quality of self‑determination appear in mind from nature? To act upon nature is not seen as a primary quality of nature because it is assumed to only come after an already established natural concourse. On some level, this is the grounding presumption for the empirical method: to preserve what is already happening as unscathed by intervention that would otherwise alter an accurate picture of the natural course of a phenomenon. But to say nature processes without the force of some will is quite inaccurate if what is shared by man and nature is a quality of self‑determination, or that there is something occurring from its own end. And only when they are seen as external causes to each other; what is passively perceived is said to be natural and what is actively acted on is distinguished as, loosely speaking, artificial.

An artificial object has no innate tendency to change because it is only acted on by an external source—for example, a thing degenerates because of time, or a table comes into being because of a man; time and the man act on the object that otherwise cannot itself act. But change, whether brought upon by time onto the object, must exist in both. The empirical definition similarly states that nature is already in motion and it changes or stops when something external affects it; otherwise it remains in a particular motion unless acted on. Something artificial is different in that it had no originative motion like nature but is the same in that it is acted on to change. In the artificial case, the motion that acts on the object is always known—whether it be time that degenerates styrofoam or a man making a table—the external cause outside the artificial object is always known and can be identified as the natural source. Yet when it comes to the side of nature, the motion that is already naturally happening, unless acted on, exhibits no external cause for its movement; unless when acted on by something, we say there is an interference. Nature exhibits no external cause for its activity, and this is a scientific problem for causation, as it provides no reason for explanation other than a descriptive account which is always limited, as it relies on whatever information is readily available.

Nature is active since it has a movement that is already preconceived to act in a specific way.

Footnotes

1. Aristotle’s concept of nature (physis) includes the idea that things have an internal principle of motion and rest, that which “belongs primarily” to them. See Physics, Book II.
2. In Buddhist philosophy, particularly in some schools of Abhidharma and Madhyamaka, phenomena are considered to arise without inherently existing causes in the way Western teleology would assume—this leads to interpretations that things “just happen.”
3. Karl Popper’s scientific method of falsifiability treats a hypothesis as valid when repeated observations confirm it; but this does not address why phenomena occur, only that they repeat.
4. Whitehead also discusses the problem of subject and object and self‑determination in nature. See Process and Reality.

Nature is the activity of yielding to a logical result

Something being called natural is identical with its being a logical necessity. In other words, something is natural because it must always be conceived in the very way that it is conceived.

The term “nature” is an abstraction used to capture a scenario or scene already occurring by its own accord—uninfluenced by any conception external to it. Ordinary usage of the term “nature” often evokes a static image, while the term “naturally” expresses the active side of nature, pointing to when an activity yields to a rational basis. In fact, nature is just the abstraction of a rational process yielding to a logical result.

The first criterion for determining whether something has a rational basis is whether an activity is self-determined. If an activity is not determined by itself, it is not, in the first place, identifiable as a distinct process—it belongs instead to another identity, which has already presupposed itself as self-determined, producing motion independently of any other source. For example, when something heavy falls to the ground, it is considered natural because it is caused by no other factor than those already involved in the process (i.e. mass, gravity, etc.)¹.

In a natural process, there is no need to look anywhere else but within the phenomenon itself to find the reason for its occurrence. Something natural also happens in the same way each time and without interference from any other external factor. This is the same thing as saying it is self-evident—that it is always true.

Nature, in this sense, is an organic basis for logic because all the axioms are self-contained and comprehensive within a single element. All the possibilities pertaining to a phenomenon are already contained in it. If all the material necessary to understand a thing is self-contained and given in the thing itself, then the only task left is the labor of actually understanding it. That task belongs to science, and it is carried out through the process of experience.

Footnotes

1. This reflects the Aristotelian view of “intrinsic causes”—that nature is a principle of motion and rest intrinsic to the thing itself (Physics, II.1, 192b13). Similarly, Newton’s laws later formalized such processes (e.g., gravity causing motion) as part of the object’s natural behavior.
2. The idea that “natural = logical necessity” echoes the rationalist tradition, particularly in Spinoza, who held that everything in nature follows from the necessity of divine logic (Ethics, Proposition 16).
3. The idea that something natural must be self-determined resonates with Hegelian metaphysics, where self-determination is the mark of true freedom and actuality. See Science of Logic, where the concept’s unfolding is itself the structure of logic and being.
4. The description of nature as self-contained aligns with axiomatic systems in logic, where all conclusions follow from premises without requiring information from outside the system. This is also a premise of scientific realism.

Energy is first logical element of nature

The logical quality of nature is found in the first element in the universe: energy. Energy already has all the power necessary for work, and this is why there cannot be any energy added or destroyed, but only altered or, in other words, applied. This fact is sometimes misleading, because to say an element already has all power raises the question: why does it still manifest as a duration of particular sequence? Or for what else does it have left to do? This question is synonymous with the question of why there would be a limited form of energy if there is an infinity of it—based on the logic that one concept cannot be true if the other is true. At the same time, the claim that energy is infinite is derived through the limited scope of a particular form of energy. To say that energy has all its power self-contained brings concern as to how a particular use of it can be made sense of. For example, all the energy is already there, so it is not created; but not all the energy is used, and so making use of energy is different than its mere availability. Someone making use of energy is a particular creation of it. Energy is therefore only potentially all there.

The same critique against the omnipotence of God arises: if God is all‑powerful and perfect, why would He create an imperfect man, who is a limit to perfection? This is a critique from the negative that presupposes the result without the process. In logical terms, the proposal of a negative is itself positive because it is a move placed forward—a proposition—but is negated by the result, producing a contradiction against its own proposal. Any particular thing on its own is a perfect or complete creation, but in relation to a whole it is a limit. For example, the creation of the eye as an organ of nature, no matter how ugly the face it is on, is a perfect production.

Jung: to say that the conscious state is the complete state is like saying there is nothing missed by conscious awareness, which we know to be false because there is always more information not picked out consciously than what is.

Jung distinguishes the unconscious from the conscious on the basis that the latter involves partial and limited experience, whereas the former constitutes the majority of experience. Except one is made aware of the conscious parts; the unconscious remains unknown. We associate the aware part of the mind with where reality mostly exists. The characterization of consciousness as the limited form of experience is a poor philosophical explanation but a necessary psychological one, because consciousness in the psychoanalytic tradition of Freud and Jung is defined from the subjective point of view: the experiences, feelings, dreams, thoughts, and so on, of the individual. The unconscious, on the other hand, which is said to characterize most of experience, is given a kind of “dead” or inactive meaning from the perspective of the subjective self, because it constitutes the unknown. The conscious side wills and determines itself in a particular manner, but from its view the unconscious contents appear already determined; it is not obvious what the cause of their nature is, nor even whether anything directly aware of is fully known. Alan Watts points out that the term “unconscious” has the unfortunate connotation of meaning a dead and inactive nature—which, because it constitutes most experience, makes almost all experience seem as though it is not living. Of course, Jung maintains that the unconscious is far from dead or inactive; he argues the opposite—that the unconscious is active and is determining conscious contents even if the individual is unaware of this influence.

The idea of consciousness has a more objective side in the modern German philosophical traditions of Kant and Hegel. Descartes, known as the father of modern science, simply introduced the natural intuition that the body is one form of substance about which the individual is directly conscious, while thought is an altogether different substance about which the individual is only partially conscious. He argued that the body exhibits a certain degree of deception for consciousness, while thought exhibits approximate certainty, since it cannot be doubted. This dualism is contained in the consciousness of the individual, denoting the so‑called two sides of his nature: his external versus his internal experience. Kant universalizes what is taken to be the subjective thoughts of an individual, arguing they are actually part of general principles of Reason, which are indivisible from the subjective side. Principles such as space and time are the indivisible relation of the subjective side of the individual with the general whole of nature. Hegel finalizes the modern tradition concerning Reason and its relation to consciousness. What Jung later calls the unconscious in psychoanalytic theory is called by Hegel consciousness in philosophy, and what Jung calls conscious is defined by Hegel more specifically as self‑consciousness.

Consciousness is already generally in nature because a natural phenomenon is an exhibition of a rational principle.

Footnotes

1. The law of conservation of energy states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed—suggesting that energy is, in some sense, self‑contained and logically necessary. (Wikipedia)
2. On Jung’s distinction between conscious and unconscious: Jung sees the psyche as consisting of both conscious and unconscious realms, where the unconscious is vast and contains not only repressed contents but also potentialities for future conscious states. (jungpage.com)
3. The metaphor of consciousness as an island surrounded by the unconscious — only a part of the psyche is in awareness, while a much larger realm remains unseen. (jungpage.com)