Reality Is Relational

Reality is relational.

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A stone is a vibration of quanta that maintains its structure for a while, just as a marine wave maintains its identity for a while, before melting again into the sea.

What is a wave, which moves on water without carrying with it any drop of water? A wave is not an object, in the sense that it is not made of matter that travels with it. The atoms of our body, as well, flow in and away from us. We, like waves and like all objects, are a flux of events; we are processes, for a brief time monotonous.

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Space and time are approximations that emerge at a large scale.

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Knowledge is intrinsically relational; it depends just as much on its objects as upon its subject. Reality is this network of relations, or reciprocal information, that weaves the world.

A living organism is a system that continually re-forms itself in order to remain itself, interacting ceaselessly with the external world.

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The nature of man is not his internal structure but the network of personal, familial, and social interactions within which he exists. It is these that "make" us, these that guard us. As humans, we are that which others know of us, that which we know of ourselves, and that which others know about our knowledge. We are complex nodes in a rich web of reciprocal information.

The above are selections from Reality is Not What it Seems: The Journey to Quantum Gravity by Carlo Rovelli, of which I wrote for my review:

Know I review this as a lay reader curious to know more about our current understanding of quantum concepts, having always been drawn to physics as my favorite of the sciences, but having pursued no academic (or professional) study of science since my introductory college courses some 35ish years ago. From that perspective, I found this . . .

A fascinating, clear, and concise explanation of our current mathematical understanding of existence--without using math. Or, at least, Rovelli's current understanding, as he makes clear this is what makes the most sense to him as a leading scientist based on the evidence available, and that there are others who draw different conclusions from that same evidence. Regardless, it was revelatory to me and, most important, understandable. The book explains concepts and ideas without getting technical so that readers come to understand the thoughts and logic and theories, even without being able to apply them with math and equations. I found reading it fascinating, entertaining, and exciting. It's a whole new way to conceptualize the world.

Rovelli starts with the thinkers of Ancient Greece and Antiquity, the seeds of ideas they planted that scientists and mathematicians have used technological advances to develop, verify, and extend ever since, and goes through select highlights of that history. The key developments of the Twentieth Century, in his view, were the insights of Einstein--which revolutionized our understanding of the seemingly infinite distances of space--and the development of quantum mechanics--which revolutionized our understanding of the seemingly infinite minuteness of the microscopic. Each was huge, yet they seemed for a long time to contradict each other. Rovelli himself has been part of one group of thinkers that has developed the math and logic of loop quantum gravity that finds a way to merge the two as expressions of the same realities that present differently at their different scales. He finishes with a section contemplating possible implications and potential future developments should our current conclusions hold true and stand the test of time.

This book was a pleasure to read.

Extensive excerpts:

Quanta 3: Reality Is Relational

The third discovery about the world articulated by quantum mechanics is the most profound and difficult--and one that was not anticipated by the atomism of antiquity.

The theory does not describe things as they "are": it describes how things "occur," and how they "interact with each other." It doesn't describe where there is a particle but how the particle shows itself to others. The world of existent things is reduced to a realm of possible interactions. Reality is reduced to interaction. Reality is reduced to relation.

In a certain sense, this is just an extension of relativity, albeit a radical one. Aristotle was first to emphasize that we only perceive relative speed. On a ship, for example, we talk of our speed relative to the ship; on land, relative to Earth. Galileo understood that this is the reason why the Earth can move with respect to the sun without us feeling the movement. Speed is not a property of an object on its own: it is the property of the motion of an object with respect to another object. Einstein extended the notion of relativity to time: we can say that two events are simultaneous, only relatively to a given motion. Quantum mechanics extends this relativity in a radical way: all variable aspects of an object exist only in relation to other objects. It is only in interactions that nature draws the world.

In the world described by quantum mechanics, there is no reality except in the relations between physical systems. It isn't things that enter into relations, but rather relations that ground to the notion of thing. The world of quantum mechanics is not a world of objects: it is a world of events. Things are built by the happening of elementary events. As the philosopher Nelson Goodman wrote in the 1950s, with a beautiful phrase: "An object is a monotonous process." A stone is a vibration of quanta that maintains its structure for a while, just as a marine wave maintains its identity for a while, before melting again into the sea.

What is a wave, which moves on water without carrying with it any drop of water? A wave is not an object, in the sense that it is not made of matter that travels with it. The atoms of our body, as well, flow in and away from us. We, like waves and like all objects, are a flux of events; we are processes, for a brief time monotonous. . . . 

Quantum mechanics does not describe objects: it describes processes and events that are junction points between processes.

To summarize, quantum mechanics is the discovery of three features of the world:

• Granularity. The information in the state of a system is finite, and limited by Plank's constant.
• Indeterminacy. The future is not determined unequivocally by the past. Even the more rigid regularities we see are ultimately statistical.
• Relationality. The events of nature are always interactions. All events of a system occur in relation to another system.

Quantum mechanics teaches us not to think about the world in terms of "things" that are in this or that state but in terms of "processes" instead. A process is the passage from one interaction to another. The properties of "things" manifest themselves in a granular manner only in the moment of interaction--that is to say, at the edges of the processes--and are such only in relation to other things. They cannot be predicted in an unequivocal way, but only in a probabilistic one.

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The separation between the curved and continuous space of Einstein's general relativity, and the discrete quanta of quantum mechanics that dwell in a flat and uniform space, has dissolved. The apparent contradiction is no longer there. Between the spacetime continuum and quanta of space, there is the same relationship as between electromagnetic waves and photons. The waves give an approximate large-scale vision of photons. Photons are the way in which waves interact. Continuous space and time are an approximate large-scale vision of the dynamic of quanta of gravity. The quanta of gravity are the way in which space and time interact. The same mathematics coherently describes the quantum gravitational field as the other quantum fields.

The conceptual price paid is the relinquishing of the idea of space, and of time, as general structures within which to frame the world. Space and time are approximations that emerge at a large scale.

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The world isn't, then, just a network of colliding atoms: it is also a network of correlations between sets of atoms, a network of real, reciprocal information between physical systems. . . . 

Once we have understood that this network of reciprocal information exists in the universe, it is natural to seek to use this treasure to describe the world. . . . 

In fact, the entire structure of quantum mechanics can be read and understood in terms of information, as follows. A physical system manifests itself only in interacting with another. The description of a physical system, then, is always given in relation to another physical system, the one with which it interacts. Any description of a system is therefore always a description of the information a system has about another system, that is to say, the correlation between the two systems. The mysteries of quantum mechanics become less dense if interpreted in this way, as the description of the information that physical systems have about one another.

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Why does this information play such a central role as this? Perhaps because we must not confuse what we know about a system with the absolute state of the same system. What we know is something concerning the relation between the system and ourselves. Knowledge is intrinsically relational; it depends just as much on its objects as upon its subject. The notion of the "state" of a system refers, explicitly or implicitly, to another system. Classical mechanics misled us into thinking that we could do without taking account of this simple truth, and that we could access, at least in theory, a vision of reality entirely independent of the observer. But the development of physics has shown that, at the end of the day, this is impossible. . . . 

In order to understand reality, we have to keep in mind that reality is this network of relations, or reciprocal information, that weaves the world. We slice up the reality surrounding us into "objects." But reality is not made up of discrete objects. It is a variable in flux. Think of an ocean wave. Where does a wave finish? Where does it begin? Think of mountains. Where does a mountain start? Where does it end? How far does it continue beneath Earth's surface. These are questions without much sense, because a wave and a mountain are not objects in themselves; they are ways that we have of slicing up the world to apprehend it, to speak about it more easily. These limits are arbitrary, conventional, comfortable: they depend on us (as physical systems) more than on the waves or the mountains. They are ways of organizing the information that we have--or better, forms of information that we have.

It's the same for every object, properly considered, including living organisms. This is why it makes little sense to ask whether a half-cut fingernail is still "me," or has become "not-me"; or if the hairs left on my sofa by the cat are still part of the cat, or not; or precisely when a child's life begins. A child begins to live on the day when a person dreams of her for the first time, long before her conception, or when she forms her first self-image, or when she breathes for the first time, or when she recognizes her name, or when we apply any number of other conventions: they are all useful, but arbitrary. They are ways to think, and to orient ourselves within the complexity of reality.

A living organism is a system that continually re-forms itself in order to remain itself, interacting ceaselessly with the external world. Of such organisms, only those continue to exist that are more efficient at doing so, and therefore living organisms manifest properties that have suited them for survival. For this reason, they are interpretable, and we interpret them, in terms of intentionality, of purpose. The finalistic aspects of the biological world (this is Darwin's momentous discovery) are therefore the result of the selection of complex forms effective in persisting. But the effective way of continuing to exist in a changing environment is to better manage correlations with the external world, that is to say, information: to collect, store, transmit, and elaborate information. For this reason DNA exists, together with immune systems, sense organs, nervous systems, complex brains, languages, books, the library of Alexandria, computers, and Wikipedia: they maximize the efficiency of information management. The management of correlations favoriting survival.

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The world should not be understood as an amorphous ensemble of atoms--but rather as a game of mirrors, founded on the correlations between the structures formed by combinations of these atoms.

As Democritus said: it is not just a question of these atoms but also the order in which they are arranged. Atoms are like the letters in an alphabet: an extraordinary alphabet, so rich as to be able to read, reflect, and even think about itself. We are not atoms: we are orders in which atoms are arranged, capable of mirroring other atoms and mirroring ourselves.

Democritus gave a strange definition of "man": "man is what we all know." At first sight this seems rather silly and empty, but it is not so. Solomon Luria, the major scholar of Democritus, observes that it is not a banality that Democritus is giving us. The nature of man is not his internal structure but the network of personal, familial, and social interactions within which he exists. It is these that "make" us, these that guard us. As humans, we are that which others know of us, that which we know of ourselves, and that which others know about our knowledge. We are complex nodes in a rich web of reciprocal information.

Reality is relational.

"Where sophisticated behaviours arise not from central control but from the interactions themselves."

The Entangled Brain

The brain is much less like a machine than it is like the murmurations of a flock of starlings or an orchestral symphony

When thousands of starlings swoop and swirl in the evening sky, creating patterns called murmurations, no single bird is choreographing this aerial ballet. Each bird follows simple rules of interaction with its closest neighbours, yet out of these local interactions emerges a complex, coordinated dance that can respond swiftly to predators and environmental changes. This same principle of emergence – where sophisticated behaviours arise not from central control but from the interactions themselves – appears across nature and human society. . . . 

These examples highlight a key characteristic of highly interconnected systems: the rich interplay of constituent parts generates properties that defy reductive analysis. This principle of emergence, evident across seemingly unrelated fields, provides a powerful lens for examining one of our era’s most elusive mysteries: how the brain works. . . . 

Complexity science is an interdisciplinary field that studies systems composed of many interacting components whose collective behaviours give rise to collective properties – phenomena that cannot be fully explained by analysing individual parts in isolation. These systems, such as ecosystems, economies or – as we will see – the brain, are characterised by nonlinear dynamics, adaptability, self-organisation, and networked interactions that span multiple spatial and temporal scales. . . . 

Neurons are constantly exchanging electrochemical signals with one another. . . . Anatomical connectivity, then, can be viewed as a system of roads and highways that supports cell signalling in the brain. . . . 

Notably, the cortex organises medium- and long-distance communication through special regions that act like major transportation hubs, routing and coordinating signals across the entire cortex, much like how major airports serve as central connection points in the global air transportation network. . . . 

This creates an incredibly intricate connectional web where signals can travel between disparate parts through multiple routes, hence the idea of ‘combinatorial’ connectivity. . . . 

The dense nexus of pathways allows for remarkable flexibility in how the brain processes information and controls behaviour. . . . 

Whether we consider ensembles in the case of brain circuits or large-scale networks, the associated neuronal groupings should be viewed as strongly context dependent and dynamic. That is to say, they are not fixed entities but instead form dynamically to meet current situational requirements. Accordingly, they will dynamically assemble and disassemble as per behavioural needs. The implication of this view is that whereas brain regions A, B and C might generally be active together in dealing with a specific type of behaviour, in some contexts, we will also observe an ensemble that encompasses region D, or instead the ensemble {A, C, D} that meets slightly different requirements. In all, neuronal ensembles constitute an extremely malleable functional unit.

Think of how an orchestra works during a complex piece of music. The string section might split into different groups, with some violins joining the woodwinds for one musical phrase while others harmonise with the cellos. Later, these groupings shift completely for a different passage. The brain works in a related way: rather than recruiting fixed regions, it forms flexible aggregations that assemble and disassemble based on what we’re doing, thinking or feeling. This builds on what we learned about the brain’s extensive physical connections and the coordinated activity across regions. These features make the formation of ensembles possible. . . . 

Just as a symphony emerges from both the individual instruments and how they play together, brain function emerges from both the regions themselves and their dynamic interactions. Scientists are finding that we can’t understand complex mental processes by studying individual brain regions in isolation, any more than we could understand a symphony by listening to each instrument separately.

What’s particularly fascinating is that these brain assemblages overlap and change over time. Just as a violin might be part of the string section in one moment and join a smaller ensemble in the next, brain regions can participate in multiple networks simultaneously and shift their roles as needed. But note that, in this view, even brain networks aren’t seen as constituted of fixed sets of regions; instead, they are dynamic coalitions that form and dissolve based on the brain’s changing needs. This flexibility helps explain how the brain can support such a wide range of complex behaviours using a limited number of regions. . . . 

The extensive bidirectional pathways spanning the entire brain create crisscrossing connectional systems that dissolve potential boundaries between traditional mental domains (cognition, emotion, etc). . . . 

Healthy or unhealthy states should not be viewed as emotional, motivational or cognitive. Such classification is superficial and neglects the intermingling that results from anatomical and functional brain organisation.

We should also not expect to find a single culprit, not even at the level of distributed neuronal ensembles. The conditions in question are too heterogeneous and varied across individuals; they won’t map to a single alteration, including at the distributed level. In fact, we should not expect a temporally constant type of disturbance, as brain processes are highly context-dependent and dynamic. Variability in the very dynamics will contribute to how mental health experiences are manifested.

In the end, we need to stop seeking simple explanations for complex mind-brain processes, whether they are viewed as healthy or unhealthy. That’s perhaps the most general implication of the entangled brain view: that the functions of the brain, like the murmurations of starlings, are more complicated and more mysterious than its component parts.

"The associated neuronal groupings should be viewed as strongly context dependent and dynamic. That is to say, they are not fixed entities but instead form dynamically to meet current situational requirements. Accordingly, they will dynamically assemble and disassemble as per behavioural needs. . . . Brain networks aren’t seen as constituted of fixed sets of regions; instead, they are dynamic coalitions that form and dissolve based on the brain’s changing needs."

"The experience of the story makes it real."

When Memories from Fiction Become Part of Who You Are

Consider the influence of our real-life autobiographical memories. One function they serve is to help validate how we see ourselves. If you believe you enjoy solitude, your memories of solitary enjoyment will affirm this. On the other hand, you are less likely to rehearse and share memories of events that contradict your self-image. Autobiographical memories can also guide our decisions by informing us about the consequences of our prior choices. They also promote social sharing and bonding. I can talk about my memories from high school or my grandparents to initiate a meaningful conversation with someone.

Increasingly, psychologists are realising that memories of fictional stories can serve similar functions. Although the story is not based on reality, the experience of the story makes it real. Consonant with this view, a study from 2017 showed that the themes that people consider most important in their lives align with the fictional stories that they say most resonate with them, and the stories they choose to engage with also frequently mirror their identity. . . . 

Encountering fictional worlds often is not enough to form rich memories of them. One person might watch hours of television daily to distance themselves from their stressful lives yet remember little of it. By contrast, someone else might only watch a few movies yearly and yet form more meaningful, emotional and long-lasting memories of fiction. Frequency is not as much of a manifestation of rich subjective experience as empathy and emotionality.

"For meaningful, emotional and long-lasting memories of fiction, frequency is not as much of a manifestation of rich subjective experience as empathy and emotionality."

"A person cannot be understood in isolation from their connections with those around them."

A Cure for Individualism

The Confucian alternative begins from a notion of what contemporary scholars call the ‘relational self’ – that a person cannot be understood in isolation from their connections with those around them. What is most relevant about me is not that I am a free and autonomous agent, but rather that I am so-and-so’s son or daughter, grandchild or sibling; someone’s teacher, colleague or mentor; a member of such-and-such neighbourhood and community. In its conception of the person as inseparable from their relationships, the role-bearing self poses a challenge to the social contract view of humans as pristine individuals who participate in society only voluntarily. . . . 

For the early Confucians, the values that we learn from good relationships within the family are central to building a society where people treat one another in the right way. They teach us what it means to be a member of a group that is held together by bonds of mutual consideration. The cultivated person, as Confucius says in the Analects, understands that, by helping others to establish themselves, he is, at the same time, establishing himself.

On the Confucian role-based view, the right thing to do depends largely on the particular person with whom we are interacting. Each relationship comes with different norms, and some of these norms are contained in specific rituals that are meant to govern our interactions. For instance, the way I greet my older and wiser retired colleague is different from the way I say hello to a group of students. Contemporary scholars contrast this particularism with contemporary ethical theories such as utilitarianism and deontology that set forth abstract principles that are meant to apply to every situation. Rather than following a list of moral rules or commandments, the Confucian focus is on cultivating yourself within the context of your everyday relationships – learning what it means to be a good child, sibling, parent, teacher, etc.

The rituals that govern our interactions with others help to ensure social harmony, which means making sure that all the different members of the group are able to flourish. In the classical Chinese context, harmony does not mean uniformity or sameness; as Confucius says in the Analects, the cultivated person harmonises but does not necessarily agree. Instead, harmony is a quality that emerges when people in different roles complement and support one another. One Confucian text compares it to a soup, where the combination of different ingredients produces something that is more complex and flavourful than any one ingredient on its own. . . . 

Whereas many people may have the same hobbies or like the same music as I do, my specific pattern of relationships is particular to me. When I stop looking inward for some ‘self’ that exists independently of the world and focus instead on my specific pattern of relationships with those around me, I can realise a more unique version of myself. As Ivanhoe puts it in Oneness, the relational perspective is not one that is supposed to erase our individuality, but rather to give us a broader conception of the self, one ‘that is seen as intimately connected with other people, creatures, and things in ways that typically conduce to the greater advantage, wellbeing, and happiness of all concerned.’

A person cannot be understood in isolation from their connections with those around them.

Teach us what it means to be a member of a group that is held together by bonds of mutual consideration.

The right thing to do depends largely on the particular person with whom we are interacting.

Harmony is a quality that emerges when people in different roles complement and support one another.

My specific pattern of relationships is particular to me. When I stop looking inward for some ‘self’ that exists independently of the world and focus instead on my specific pattern of relationships with those around me, I can realise a more unique version of myself.

"Value systems that emphasize the interconnectedness of individuals with their surrounding societal and physical worlds."

Ubuntu Philosophy

Ubuntu describes a set of closely related Bantu African-origin value systems that emphasize the interconnectedness of individuals with their surrounding societal and physical worlds. "Ubuntu" is sometimes translated as "I am because we are" (also "I am because you are"), or "humanity towards others." In Xhosa, the latter term is used, but is often meant in a more philosophical sense to mean "the belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity". . . . 

The most recent definition was provided by the African Journal of Social Work (AJSW). The journal defined Ubuntu as:

A collection of values and practices that people of Africa or of African origin view as making people authentic human beings. While the nuances of these values and practices vary across different ethnic groups, they all point to one thing – an authentic individual human being is part of a larger and more significant relational, communal, societal, environmental and spiritual world.

There are many different (and not always compatible) definitions of what Ubuntu is. Even with the various definitions, Ubuntu encompasses the interdependence of humans on one another and the acknowledgment of one's responsibility to their fellow humans and the world around them.

"An authentic individual human being is part of a larger and more significant relational, communal, societal, environmental and spiritual world."

One Carlo Rovelli book wasn't enough, so here are thoughts about Helgoland: Making Sense of the Quantum Revolution:

Exhilarating and mind-blowing. Brimming with succinctly, coherently, and poetically described big, exciting ideas. Quantum mechanics described in conceptual terms, without the math or, well, mechanics, in dialogue with philosophy and how we conceive of reality.

To give you a taste, the beginning of Part One.

Title: "A Strangely Beautiful Interior."

Subtitle: "How a young German physicist arrived at an idea that was very strange indeed, but described the world remarkably well--and the great confusion that followed.

First section heading: "The Absurd Idea of the Young Heisenberg: Observables."

Rovelli knows the basic ideas of quantum mechanics are strange and seemingly absurd, at odds with what we have been taught is common sense and the basic workings of things, and brilliantly manages to convey them in a sensible, digestible way.

This is a brief and highly enjoyable meditation on a series of absurd ideas.

A few of Rovelli's words:

The abyss of what we do not know is always magnetic and vertiginous. But to take quantum mechanics seriously, reflecting on its implications, is an almost psychedelic experience: it asks us to renounce, in one way or another, something that we cherished as solid and untouchable in our understanding of the world. We are asked to accept that reality may be profoundly other than we had imagined: to look into the abyss, without fear of sinking into the unfathomable.

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Thankfully, there is much more than [nuclear] weapons. Quantum theory has been applied to atoms, atomic nuclei, elementary particles, the physics of chemical bonds, the physics of solid materials, of liquid and gas, semiconductors, lasers, the physics of stars such as the Sun, neutron stars, the primordial universe, the physics of the formation of galaxies . . . and so on and so forth. The list could go on for pages. Quantum theory has allowed us to understand whole areas of nature, from the form of the periodic table of elements to medical applications that have saved millions of lives. It has predicted new phenomena never previously imagined: quantum correlations over a distance of kilometers, quantum computers, teleportation. All predictions have turned out to be correct. The astonishing run of quantum theory's successes has been uninterrupted for a century, and it continues today.

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At the physical level, the world can be seen as a web of reciprocal information. . . . The cosmos is change, life is discourse. The cosmos is interaction; life organizes relative information. We are a delicate and complex embroidery in the web of relations of which, as far as we currently understand it, reality is constituted.

If I look at a forest from afar, I see a dark green velvet. As I move toward it, the velvet breaks up into trunks, branches and leaves: the bark of the trunks, the moss, the insects, the teeming complexity. In every eye of every ladybug, there is an extremely elaborate structure of cells connected to neurons that guide and enable them to live. Every cell is a city, every protein a castle of atoms; in each atomic nucleus an inferno of quantum dynamics is stirring, quarks and gluons swirl, excitations of quantum fields. This is only a small wood on a small planet that revolves around a little star, among one hundred billion stars in one of the thousand billion galaxies constellated with dazzling cosmic events. In every corner of the universe we find vertiginous wells of layers of reality.

In these layers we have been able to recognize regularities and have gathered information relevant to ourselves that has enabled us to create a picture of each layer and to think about it with a certain coherence. Each one is an approximation. Reality is not divided into levels. The levels into which we break it down, the objects into which it appears to be divided, are the ways in which nature relates to us, in dynamical configurations of physical events in our brain that we call "concepts." The separation of reality into levels is relative to our way of being in interaction with it.

Fundamental physics is no exception. Nature follows its simple rules, but the complexity of things often renders the general laws irrelevant to us. Knowing that my girlfriend obeys Maxwell's equations will not help me to make her happy. When learning how a motor functions, it is best to ignore the nuclear forces between its elementary particles. There is an autonomy and independence of levels of understanding of the world that justifies the autonomy of the different areas of knowledge.

This is but a small sampling. The book has so much more.

Much more:

We think of the world in terms of objects, things, entities (in physics, we call them "physical systems"): a photon, a cat, a stone, a clock, a tree, a boy, a village, a rainbow, a planet, a cluster of galaxies . . . These do not exist in splendid isolation. On the contrary, they do nothing but continuously act upon each other. To understand nature, we must focus on these interactions rather than on isolated objects. A cat listens to the ticking of a clock; a boy throws a stone; the stone moves the air through which it flies, hits another stone and moves that, presses into the ground where it lands; a tree absorbs energy from the sun's rays, produces the oxygen that the villagers breathe while watching the stars, and the stars run through the galaxies, pulled by the gravity of other stars . . . The world that we observe is continuously interacting. It is a dense web of interactions.

Individual objects are the way in which they interact. If there was an object that had no interactions, no effect upon anything, emitted no light, attracted nothing and repelled nothing, was not touched and had no smell . . . it would be as good as nonexistent. To speak of objects that never interact is to speak of something--even if it existed--that could not concern us. It is not even clear what it would mean to say that such objects "exist." The world that we know, that relates to us, that interests us, what we call "reality," is the vast web of interacting entities, of which we are a part, that manifest themselves by interacting with each other. It is with this web that we are dealing. . . . 

The discovery of quantum theory, I believe, is the discovery that the properties of any entity are nothing other than the way in which that entity influences others. It exists only through its interactions. Quantum theory is the theory of how things influence each other. And this is the best description of nature that we have.

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The properties of an object are the way in which it acts upon other objects; reality is this web of interactions. Instead of seeing the physical world as a collection of objects with definite properties, quantum theory invites us to see the physical world as a net of relations. Objects are its nodes.

There are no properties outside of interactions.

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Facts are relative . . . 

The properties of objects exist only in the moment of their interactions, and they can be real with respect to one object and not with respect to another.

The fact that some properties exist only with respect to something else should not overly surprise us. We already knew as much. Speed, for example, is a property that an object has relative to another object. If you walk along the deck of a ferry, you have a speed relative to the ferry, a different speed relative to the water in the river, a different one relative to the Earth, another relative to the Sun, another again relative to the galaxy--and so on, endlessly. Speed does not exist without being anchored (implicitly or explicitly) to something else. Speed is a notion regarding two objects (you and the ferry, you and Earth, you and the Sun . . . ) It is a property that exists only with respect to something else. It is a relation between two entities.

There are many similar examples: since the Earth is a sphere, "up" and "down" are not absolute notions but relative to where we find ourselves on the Earth. Einstein's special relativity is the discovery that the notion of simultaneity is relative, and so on. The discovery of quantum theory is only slightly more radical: it is the discovery that all the properties (variables) of all objects are relational, just as in the case of speed.

Physical variables do not describe things: they describe the way in which things manifest themselves to each other. There is no sense in attributing a value to them if it is not in the course of an interaction.

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The world is a network of relative facts: relations realized when physical entities interact. A stone collides with another stone. The light from the sun reaches my skin. You read these lines. The world that emerges from these considerations is a rarified one. A world in which, rather than independent entities with definite properties, there are entities that have properties and characteristics only with regard to others, and only when they interact. A stone does not have a position in itself: it only has a position in relation to another stone with which it collides. The sky does not in itself have any color: it has color with respect to my eyes when they look at it. A star does not shine in the sky as an autonomous entity: it is a node in the network of interactions that forms the galaxy in which it resides.

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The world fractures into a play of points of view that do not admit of a univocal, global vision. It is a world of perspectives, of manifestations, not of entities with definite properties or unique facts. Properties do not reside in objects, they are bridges between objects. Objects are such only with respect to other objects, they are nodes where bridges meet. The world is a perspectival game, a play of mirrors that exist only as reflections of and in each other.

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You look at a butterfly and see the color of its wings. In relation to me, a relation is established between you and the butterfly: the butterfly and you are now in an entangled state. Even if the butterfly moves away from you, the fact remains that if I look at the color of its wings and ask you which color you have seen, I will find that our answers match . . . even if it is not impossible that there will be subtle interference phenomena with the configuration whereby the butterfly is a different color.

All the information that we have about the world, considered externally, is in these correlations. Since all properties are relative properties, everything in the world does not exist other than in this web of entanglement.

But there is method in this madness. If I know that you have looked at the butterfly's wings, and you tell me that they were blue, I know that if I look at them I will see them as blue: this is what the theory predicts, despite the fact that properties are relative. The fragmentation of points of view, the multiplicity of perspectives opened up by the fact that properties are only relative, is repaired, made coherent, by this consistency, which is an intrinsic part of the grammar of the theory. This consistency is the basis of the intersubjectivity that grounds the objectivity of our communal vision of the world.

The wings of the butterfly will always be the same color for all of us.

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The discovery that quantities we had thought of as absolute are, in fact, relative instead is a theme that runs throughout the history of physics. Beyond physics, relational thinking can be found in all the sciences. In biology, the characteristics of living systems are comprehensible in relation to their environment formed by other living beings. In chemistry, the properties of elements consist of the way in which they interact with other elements. In economics, we speak of economic relations. In psychology, the individual personality exists within a relational context. In these and many other cases, we understand things (organisms, chemicals, psychological life) through their being in relation to other things.

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How do we see? How do we know that what we have in front of us is a book, or a cat?

It would seem natural to think that receptors detect the light that reaches the retinas of our eyes and transform it into signals that race to the interior of the brain, where groups of neurons elaborate the information in ever more complex ways, until they interpret it and identify the objects in question. Neurons recognize lines that separate colors, other neurons recognize shapes drawn by these lines, others again check these shapes against data stored in our memory. Others still arrive at the recognition: it's a cat.

It turns out, however, that the brain does not work like this at all. It functions, in fact, in an opposite way. Many, if not most, of the signals do not travel from the eyes to the brain; they go the other way, from the brain to the eyes.

What happens is that the brain expects to see something, on the basis of what it knows and has previously occurred. The brain elaborates an image of what it predicts the eyes should see. This information is conveyed from the brain to the eyes, through intermediate stages. If a discrepancy is revealed between what the brain expects and the light arriving into the eyes, only then do the neural circuits send signals toward the brain. So images from around us do not travel from the eyes to the brain--only news of discrepancies regarding what the brain expects do.

The discovery that sight functions in this way came as a surprise. But if we think about it, it becomes clear that this is the most efficient way of retrieving information from the surroundings. What would be the point of sending signals toward the brain that do nothing but confirm what it already knows? Information technology uses similar techniques to compress files of images: instead of putting into the memory the color of all the pixels, it stores information only on where the colors change. That is less information, but enough to reconstruct the image.

The implications for the relationship between what we see and the world, however, are remarkable. When we look around ourselves, we are not truly "observing": we are instead dreaming an image of the world based on what we know (including bias and misconception) and unconsciously scrutinizing the world to reveal any discrepancies, which, if necessary, we will try to correct.

What I see, in other words, is not a reproduction of the external world. It is what I expect, corrected by what I can grasp. The relevant input is not that which confirms what we already know, but that which contradicts our expectations. . . . 

In the words of the nineteenth-century French philosopher Hippolyte Taine, we can say that "external perception is an internal dream which proves to be in harmony with external things; and instead of calling 'hallucination' a false perception, we must call external perception 'a confirmed hallucination.'"

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Every vision is partial. There is no way of seeing reality that is not dependent on a perspective--no point of view that is absolute and universal.

And yet, points of view communicate. Knowledge is in dialogue with itself and with reality. In the dialogue, those points of view modify, enrich, converge--and our understanding of reality deepens.

The actor of this process is not a subject distinct from phenomenal reality, outside it, nor any transcendent point of view; it is a portion of that reality itself. Natural selection has taught it to make use of useful correlations: meaningful information. Our discourse on reality is itself part of that reality. Relations make up our "I," as our society, our cultural, spiritual, and political life.

It is for this reason, I think, that everything we have been able to accomplish over the centuries has been achieved in a network of exchanges, collaborating. This is why the politics of collaboration is so much more sensible and effective than the politics of competition . . . 

It is for this reason, as well, I believe, that the very idea of an individual "I"--that solitary and rebellious "I" that led me to the unbridled questions of my youth, that self that I believed to be completely independent and totally free . . . recognizes itself, in the end, as only a ripple in a network of networks . . . 

Relations make up our "I."

At the physical level, the world can be seen as a web of reciprocal information. . . . The cosmos is change, life is discourse. The cosmos is interaction; life organizes relative information. We are a delicate and complex embroidery in the web of relations of which, as far as we currently understand it, reality is constituted.

*

Facts are relative . . . 

The properties of objects exist only in the moment of their interactions, and they can be real with respect to one object and not with respect to another.

*

The world is a network of relative facts: relations realized when physical entities interact.

*

It is a world of perspectives, of manifestations, not of entities with definite properties or unique facts. The world is a perspectival game, a play of mirrors that exist only as reflections of and in each other.

*

When we look around ourselves, we are not truly "observing": we are instead dreaming an image of the world based on what we know (including bias and misconception) and unconsciously scrutinizing the world to reveal any discrepancies, which, if necessary, we will try to correct.

*

Every vision is partial. There is no way of seeing reality that is not dependent on a perspective--no point of view that is absolute and universal.

And yet, points of view communicate. Knowledge is in dialogue with itself and with reality. In the dialogue, those points of view modify, enrich, converge--and our understanding of reality deepens.

*

Relations make up our "I," as our society, our cultural, spiritual, and political life.