In Flying the Flag of Belonging, Privacy and Creativity I made a start situating SPLectrum, exploring the type of inquiry that flows from the three core values. Epistemology — or how we come to knowledge — is all around the subject experience. Ontology is about the concepts we use in language. And then came the third: what about the way concepts relate and express meaning, what about the ‘dynamic’ part of language?

It sort of struck me: ‘isn’t this like aesthetics, how it is put together?’. The expression of language as a form of art — the chosen concepts and how they relate. An aesthetics concerned with meaning in general rather than just the sensory. It may not be a mainstream view of aesthetics, but so what? So I set about positioning it, looking around the philosophical neighbourhood.

And then came the headache … Philosophy has a very fragmented view of what is essentially expression of meaning. On the periphery there is aesthetics concerned with the sensory, poetics about the made work, rhetoric concerned with persuasive expression. Within the core of philosophy, hermeneutics has made interpretation its own, semiotics took the sign, and structuralism read meaning off a system of differences. Philosophy of language about sense and reference, meaning pinned down to the last bolt. Seven serious fields — not even all of them — each tending its own patch and each dealing with expression of meaning within their specific context.

I see SPLectrum not as being out on a limb, going down avenues blindly. Pluralism is ingrained in its core — together we know more than alone. A different approach has to make sense in the wider scheme of things. So, is my gut feeling the right way to go? Yes, go! Expression of meaning is a core activity, it evolves and diversifies — it’s a process, not static. Can we rewind a bit, how did we get here?

There was a time when there were no humans yet, there was a time there were no creatures with brains. Our current state of thinking came about after a long evolution. As cells diversified into neurons, and neurons evolved into brains, one of the main concerns was processing the sensory input. And this has always had a language associated with it — primitive at first, like an off/on switch — but a language nevertheless. Evolution has layered complexity on top of this; concepts and language evolve. Our brain reflects this through different layers: the reptilian brain, the limbic brain, the neocortex. Our pure abstract thinking is not detached from the language of our senses — it is layered on top — abstraction was always already there. It makes sense to keep all expressions of meaning under one umbrella as a field of philosophical inquiry — and let’s call it aesthetics.

Pulling expression of meaning back to where it started creates a natural flow that goes both ways: the abstract runs down into the sensory it grew from, and the sensory bubbles up into the abstract — there’s no clean break to be found anywhere along the line. Seen like that, expression of meaning stops being a human speciality, too — it runs wherever meaning is made. Which is what dissolves the headache: those scattered fields were never rivals, just this one concern at work in different places.

SPLectrum’s aesthetics as the single umbrella finds itself in resonance with many philosophical branches that touch on some aspect of expression of meaning, and that puts my mind at rest. It’s a difference that makes sense in the pluralistic landscape.

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This post is from a period before SPLectrum. I wrote a small number of posts, but wasn’t exactly a productive writer. It was not until the arrival of AI that productivity in writing was unlocked for me. I had an idea of the style I wanted, I had topics in mind, but putting it all together was were it failed - each time. It makes me smile when I read this back, I really couldn’t get it fired up …

I started this blog nearly three years ago. I laid out the course of learning I was embarking on, with a blog to accompany it. Some posts were created. More were promised but never materialised.

Oddly enough, it isn’t because I drifted off the subject. On the contrary — I am more focused and dedicated than I was three years ago. It’s the writing part that let me down. Thinking piled up faster than the words could carry it, and for a long stretch I chose the thinking over the writing. Not regretted, but it left a gap on the public side.

So what have I been up to? Getting a better grounding in the history of philosophy, the history of civilisations, and digging further into evolution and the origin of life than I had managed before. Long reading sessions, plenty of false starts, occasional moments where something clicked. I wouldn’t claim I have it sorted — the more you read in any of these areas the less sorted anything feels — but I am a lot more comfortable with what I know and with what I don’t, and I am beginning to see where the questions connect.

The biggest shift is that the material wants a structure I didn’t have before. In the early days I wrote whatever was on my mind, which is fine for beginning but not enough for building. I have decided to split the subject matter into three areas:

1. Philosophy and the brain
2. Evolution and the brain
3. The big picture of evolution

The brain sits at the intersection of the first two — it is where thinking meets biology. The third is where biology meets everything else: chemistry, time, the slow unfolding of what there is.

The next posts will fill in each area. New promise made — let’s see what happens.

It took me another two years to figure out that it was language that I was after. And it was a software project and AI that pointed it out to me.

This post is from an earlier moment in the walk(24/11/2024). This post is part of the preamble, about happening before SPLectrum saw the light of day.

Photo: Jaleel Akbash / Unsplash

Free, at last. That is how I feel. Why? In Building from the Seed I made the transition from (only) talking about the structure of language - based on the seed principles - to building on top of that structure, presenting the SPLectrum philosophy as a voice in the pluralistic conversation. It is a philosophy built from three core values of us as subjects - belonging, privacy and creativity.

The impact of these values on metaphysics is substantial: they significantly rebalance the five pillars. That is what I want to explore in the first few posts.

It all starts with a subject experiencing reality, being a private witness, before anything can be shared with others and become part of belonging. I find this really empowering, my reality starts with its disclosure to me. When I open my eyes it is always privacy first, belonging second.

But wait a minute, experience is expressed in language. Where does the language come from? I came in to being as a working system, already primed with a language to experience, a language given to me through belonging - through being human, the species I belong to. A tight coupling between belonging and privacy, but mine to decide what I share and where I decide to belong or not. This is a grassroots metaphysics — built from private experience through shared language, not given from above.

There is a price to pay: there is nothing and nobody to tell me ‘this is true and that is false, or this is right and that is wrong’. Absolute does not exist, be it objectivity or truth. The way to come to knowledge is through feedback and convergence. We experience, we share and update our language of experience. That is how we learn and converge, the core of SPLectrum’s epistemology.

The beings of ontology are concepts in that language. We create and share them. You might think this is too much a free for all. Actually, rather the opposite: language couples us tightly, belonging is important to us. So much so that it is often forgotten that everything starts within the privacy of personal experience and ‘continuous recreation’. That it could have been different. And it is in that contingency that creativity lurks.

Creativity is in all of us, in our own way. Yes, people’s names get attached to specific creations that are deemed important. But the importance lies in what they stand for, the concept, not the people. The fact that it is a specific person is contingent. Don’t forget all those that are not mentioned, contributions that make a difference but remain not named.

And this opens up an unexpected avenue: the importance of how I experience and how I share that experience. We all start with a shared toolset given through belonging. But what we do with it and make of it is in our hands. Often there is too much emphasis on learning to think rationally, ignoring the importance of learning to experience and share. It ends up too cerebral, ignoring that we can’t think without experiencing. It makes me laugh writing this, it wasn’t my thinking when I was young!

In SPLectrum aesthetics takes on an important role: there is no reality without sensory experience. And since experience is mediated by language, a reality shaped by the beauty, purity, effectiveness of the language we use to share and create belonging, that we use to function as communities.

The absence of absolute values easily instills fear - objectivity as subjectivity converging is often pushed away. In fact it should be embraced. If objectivity is where our subjectivities converge, then we all have an equal stake in shaping what counts as real. We who belong have to figure that out - together. Starting from individual and running across communities, that is where diversity makes us stronger.

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We take life for granted and expect it to last forever. Well, life as a whole will be there for quite a while yet, but our individual life is much shorter — a few decades if we’re lucky, and not one of them guaranteed.

There’s an asymmetry in how we meet the two ends of it. We become conscious and alive seamlessly, without effort or understanding of what is happening. By the time we have the equipment to notice being alive, we already are. But death we see coming, or we try to, and we struggle deeply with it. Our own mortality feels impossible to truly grasp. Everyone else dies; we keep expecting ourselves to be the exception.

Zoom out, and the picture shifts. Life is a continuous process that started over four billion years ago and hasn’t stopped since. Each new generation passes on what I think of as the olympic flame of life — an unbroken chain of existence stretching back to the earliest organisms on this planet. The flame is the point. Each runner carries it for a stretch and hands it on. The runner is not the flame. The flame is not the runner.

Death is essential for evolution. It allows life to grow what works and let die off what doesn’t work — not as cruelty but as editing. Without death there would be no change, no adaptation, no improvement. Death is not life’s enemy. It is life’s partner in the long dance of evolution. The two are inseparable. One without the other is a frozen image, not a process.

Life is also interconnected at every level. We are part of a complex ecosystem where species depend on each other for survival — pollinator and flower, predator and prey, microbe and gut, root and fungus. Even within our own bodies, there is constant renewal. The bacteria that outnumber our own cells are not passengers; they are part of the working machinery. We are not the discrete individuals we imagine. We are moving intersections in a web of relations that long predates us and will continue without us.

We are not separate from life — we are life, expressing itself through our particular patterns of consciousness and experience. That framing helps me with the asymmetry. While we find it difficult to accept our individual finitude, we are part of something magnificent and ongoing. Our consciousness, our thoughts, our contributions become part of the larger story of life and evolution, even when the specific runner has handed over the flame and left the track.

The flame passes on, taking new forms, exploring new possibilities. Always changing, always growing. That is a way of lasting forever which doesn’t require any of us to personally manage the trick.

This post is from an earlier moment in the walk(20/02/2022). This post is part of the preamble, about happening before SPLectrum saw the light of day.

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I have been writing quite a few posts where the SPLectrum seed took center stage, and for a good reason. The seed principles deal with what is common to all languages, what is common to all of us: personal experience, shared reality and evolving understanding. It lies at the basis of what I call interrelational pluralism, and is opening an avenue to bring in category theory as a more formal treatment of the relational structure of language. Interesting as that may be, it is only one side of the SPLectrum coin.

At the seed level, SPLectrum speaks a meta-language about what is structurally common to all languages. Building from the seed is different. There SPLectrum gives its views on reality, there it speaks a ‘content’ language. It is just one of the many languages that fill the pluralistic landscape. The other side of the SPLectrum coin.

To have two distinct sides of the same coin is important. When we use a content language we use it to express our view - about our ontology or epistemology for example. Bring structural views into the content language and pluralism starts walking out the door. Whitehead’s process theory is a case in point — a real primitive, a process grown from it, and then claiming to be the structure beneath everything: a description quietly contending to replace what it described.

So, the question that kept repeating itself in my head was: are there principles that apply with continuity to all of creation - and where rigidity is appropriate - but that do not impinge on pluralism of expressing, of which philosophical pluralism is only one part. What dropped out of it was rigid on common structure, and pluralistic on what gets expressed. I already spent a lot of time on the former, now I want to restore balance and start spending time on the latter.

From the way we are ‘thrown in the world’ to paraphrase Heidegger, whatever worldview I build has to be from the seat of the subject. That is consistent with the principles. Reality - my reality - is in the way I relate to what is around me - my experience. And that experience, that view of reality can be quite different from what is expressed by the principles - hence the plurality. Of course that is not how SPLectrum approaches it - with SPLectrum I want to explore a view of reality that resonates closely with the seed. However, I will do it from three core values, not from seed principles.

Experience happens with a given language, my toolset of perception. This is given to me by my species, my human community - that gives me the value belonging. What I experience is personal, internal to me, I have no way to let others look through my eyes, hear through my ears, or feel through my skin - the value of privacy. As a community we resonate strongly on what we share, and that is contrasted by the acute privacy of the personal experience. And it is this tension that yields the third value - creativity - an expression of difference against what we have in common. Creativity points back to the creational principle P0. The other side of the coin, three values: belonging, privacy and creativity.

Reading in reverse - make, own, share — not three goods rationed against each other, but one self-creation showing three faces. Put together they are a single liberating force: you make your reality, it is yours, and you share it without losing it. Freedom — not a fourth value, but what the three come to together.

This post is part of the seed series. See also Interrelational Pluralism.

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In my younger years — I am nearly sixty now — I wanted to write a book about the human brain. I was fascinated by viewing it as a computer and exploring how we learn and perform tasks. I never wrote that book. But the fascination hasn’t dimmed; if anything the last thirty years have made the subject more interesting than the version I would have written then.

Brains started developing more than 500 million years ago. Half a billion years is a lot of generations for the design to refine itself. This incredible organ sits at the centre of how we understand the world and our place in it, and yet most of the time we forget we have one until it lets us down. What excites me most at the moment is how brain evolution may be decoupling from physical generation. We are entering territory where learning, culture, language, and now external systems of memory and computation, are shaping what brains can do far faster than bodies can catch up.

We now know that the brain is wired, and that training the brain means actually wiring up neural networks. This isn’t metaphorical. It is literal. Learning creates new connections. Practice strengthens the ones we already have. Neglect lets them fade. The physical substrate of thought rearranges itself under the traffic it carries — a slow, stubborn negotiation between the brain as it is and the brain as the life lived through it is asking it to become.

What intrigues me is the dynamic configuration side. The wiring isn’t just capacity; it is a pattern that evolves in real time as the brain negotiates its world. Sometimes I suspect this dynamic side is more sophisticated than the stable functioning we usually describe. The potential for rewiring, for new patterns of thought and behaviour, seems almost limitless — within the constraints of the physical brain, certainly, but those constraints are softer and more negotiable than the older image of a fixed organ ever suggested.

More than thirty years after my initial fascination, I want to refocus on the brain with an even stronger fixation. Our understanding has advanced dramatically. Nematode neurons turn out to share functional tricks with ours. The boundary between “instinct” and “learning” keeps eroding. Consciousness remains a question nobody has cornered. Each advance reopens questions I thought I had filed away.

We train our brains to fit into society from birth — through family, school, language, and the ten thousand small adjustments a culture makes to its newcomers. But what happens as people are exposed to more information, live longer lives, and pass their wiring on to the next generation not biologically but through what they write, record, and build? That feels like a new chapter of brain evolution, one running in a different medium.

The brain remains one of the most fascinating frontiers — a biological computer that has evolved to understand itself, and that is only now starting to catch sight of how it does so.

This post is from an earlier moment in the walk (16/01/2022). This post is part of the preamble, about happening before SPLectrum saw the light of day.

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In The Concept of Nature (1920) Whitehead named the bifurcation of nature. It is the split between physical nature as physics describes it (atoms, wavelengths, mechanisms) and experiential nature as we live it (colours, feelings, qualities). They form a dualism that never closes. Whitehead wanted to dissolve it and this grew into a whole process metaphysics — the philosophy of organism (Process and Reality, 1929) where experience is built in from the ground up.

Using the example of a note in a melody to illustrate this, the note prehends the notes that came before it and the silence around it — takes them up as its given past. Pitch, timbre, loudness ingress as pure potentials, giving it its qualitative feel. Phases of becoming narrow what this note will be — concrescence, the self-constitution of a determinate event. The note reaches satisfaction, fully this and nothing else. Then it perishes into objective immortality: ceased becoming, but available as data for the next note to prehend. The melody is not a single occasion but a society of them — a pattern sustained across many actual occasions, each taking up the satisfaction of its predecessors.

It’s forbidding as language — not only the terms but the fact that each is defined through the others. The actual occasion is the basic unit of the philosophy of organism: not a substance, not an enduring thing — a determinate event of self-constitution. Everything else is built from it. The approach has two parts: a real primitive doing genuine work, and a structured process flow built on it — concrescence phased, directional, determinate, with perishing into objective immortality as the link to the next occasion. Part of why it feels so strange is its lineage: Whitehead came out of the Principia Mathematica he co-wrote with Russell, and the system turns that analytical form — careful primitives, systematic construction — against analytical content, against the atomism and substance it set out to replace.

By making experience constitutive of the basic unit, the bifurcation never gets started. The character of the note and the sound frequencies are aspects of the same actual occasions. A process language that dissolves the bifurcation — within its own terms.

But the everyday subject still talks of colours, moods, atmospheres — that language game is untouched. The physicist still measures wavelengths, runs experiments, models in field equations — that language game is untouched too. Whitehead’s vocabulary appears in neither. It appears in a third — process metaphysics — which claims meta-status over both without replacing either. In practice there are three registers running in parallel, not one. The bifurcation people actually experience between phenomenal and scientific language is undisturbed.

There is no way to claim primacy without sneaking in some kind of outside view, and with it some representational tension for the other languages. The relational nature must be left unpacked in order to avoid that — which is what Rorty’s approach is: interactions between parallel language vocabularies. The pluralism isn’t argued for, then; it is what stays once the outside view is gone. But there is real merit in the process theory approach — where Whitehead is fairly unique. Can we have the languages in parallel, a minimal open relational approach like Rorty’s combined with a formal approach like Whitehead’s process theory? The next post in this seed series takes that up.

This post is part of the seed series. See also Alfred North Whitehead.

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On this day seven years ago I had a fortuitous car crash — if something like that exists. Although I have always been interested in inquiry, spanning science and philosophy, it is this event that set me on course for SPLectrum.

I got what could be described as the equivalent of a Windows blue screen of death while driving on the motorway. The lights went out. I lost consciousness at motorway speed and was knocked around by other vehicles without any memory of the collision itself. When I woke up I was stuck at the central reservation, facing oncoming traffic. I wondered how I got there. I still have no memory of what happened while the screen was blue.

I can’t complain. My system rebooted and I had hardly a scratch on me. The doctors never found a hard cause for the blackout. Physically I was through it within days.

My poor central computer took a bit longer to recover. No functional damage but I was thinking in slow motion and tired as hell. Simple sentences took effort. Things I usually reached for without looking had moved a little. I had to notice myself noticing, and that was new.

It rubbed my nose in how much I valued thinking and studying, and how central that kind of mental activity is to who I am. The slow-motion weeks were a forced inventory of a life I had been conducting on autopilot. I really got set on retraining my brain to its former glory — not out of fear, out of recognition. I wanted back what I had been taking for granted.

So I picked up my interest in philosophy again and decided to pursue it seriously. I decided to refresh my foreign language knowledge and extend it, so I could read works in their original languages. I decided to strain my brain and hopefully make some more sense of what life is about. And in doing so, I discovered that this crash, as traumatic as it had been, had put me back on a course of learning with a destination I might never have found otherwise - the World of SPLectrum.

Now, don’t take me the wrong way. The destination is not some claim of something great. No, the destination is a seat of learning. And my mind has something it always wanted, an anchor point to weave thoughts and ideas around. To start explorations. And if I have one burning ambition, then that is to achieve a true interdisciplinary and consistent view of all things under the sun. I decided to go on this journey in public, so that whoever finds it and sees something of interest can make use of it as they see fit.

How a blue screen of death rebooted me into a well-appreciated direction. I’m not sure I recommend the method. But I’m grateful for what it set in motion.

This post is part of the preamble, about happening before SPLectrum saw the light of day.

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Whitehead and Rorty don’t often show up in the same sentence. Process metaphysics and pragmatism keep to their own neighbourhoods. Both reject representationalism — the view that reality is out there and our experience is a deficient copy of it. Both insist that reality is at its core relational. They are two prongs of the same attack.

Reality starts as personal experience, lived and enacted, and propagates through sharing. P2 — Language is the medium through which a subject experiences reality. Reality is lived, not witnessed.

By grouping Whitehead and Rorty together I like to draw attention to the duality this expresses. To understand what I mean we must start from the creational principle: P0 Being implies language. It could be freely translated as where there are entities, there are relations between them. It is a duality of a similar nature as, for instance, the particle-wave duality. Each chooses a different side for the formulation of their rejection. Whitehead veered towards being, Rorty towards language. Where Rorty’s treatment is purely epistemological, Whitehead’s framing ends up ontological while his content is epistemic. SPLectrum aligns with Rorty on the epistemological side, and aims for alignment with Whitehead on process and methodological rigour. A future post will go into more detail on this.

Whitehead rejects representationalism because he rejects what he calls the bifurcation of nature, the split between the world physics — of measurements — and the world we live in — of experience. Physics in his time is still overwhelmingly outside-view, and Whitehead responds to that measurement-first picture of nature. He responds with a relational metaphysics — one where nothing stands outside its relations. The actual entity is its prehensions; nothing is a self-contained thing first and secondarily related. There is no inside-the-mind that represents an outside-the-mind, because the inside/outside line gets dismantled at the metaphysical level. But the framing he puts around it is ontological.

Rorty in his rejection sets aside the mirror — the picture of mind as a reflector of nature. He keeps a minimalist view — there are only vocabularies. He switches the conversation. Knowledge isn’t accurate representation; truth isn’t correspondence. Both are what survives in our practices of justification. Truth as solidarity. He doesn’t argue against representation so much as walk out of the room where representation was the only game.

Two rejections of representationalism starting from the same relational core but expressed along two different axes. Rorty on the language axis has an epistemological view that at its heart is simple. The complexities of reality are lived and enacted by evolving vocabularies. Whitehead on the being axis ends up in a framework with real tension — relational content in an ontological framing. His strength is on the processual side — about how things come to be in relation — epistemic. But his categories of existence, types of being, make the framing ontological. The form and the content pull against each other. Ontological framing needs an outside vantage from which to lay out its categories. That outside vantage is what reintroduces the witnessed view — the very thing the relational content was trying to refuse.

Rorty keeps reality lived by staying inside vocabularies. Whitehead rejects the bifurcation of nature and develops a process theory of how things come to be in relation. Two-pronged anti-representationalism. How can this contrast be turned into a unity, take Rorty’s minimal position in language and add Whitehead’s process and rigour?

This post is part of the seed series. See also the seed.

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When I put together the seed, I wasn’t thinking about privacy. I was thinking about language, about how subjects experience reality, about the web of complexity that grows when they share what they know. Privacy wasn’t on the list.

But reading the second principle:

Language is the medium through which a subject experiences reality.

There it is. Hiding in plain sight. If every subject experiences reality through its own medium, then experience is inherently first-person. Nobody else is inside that medium with you. Your thinking, your processing, your becoming — that happens in a space that is, by its very nature, yours. Privacy isn’t a right that needs to be granted. It’s not a regulation. It’s certainly not a cookie banner. It’s a structural fact. It’s already there. Naturally.

And it goes deeper than secrets or things you’d rather keep hidden. It’s about the freedom to think. To sit with half-formed ideas. To change your mind quietly, without an audience. To be uncertain. That space — that private medium — is where a subject does its most essential work. Without it, you don’t just lose privacy. You lose the capacity to be.

Now, the third principle — language is where subjects share knowledge about reality — is where things get interesting. Sharing is how the web of complexity grows. It’s how we learn, how cultures form, how knowledge evolves. There is nothing wrong with sharing. We need it. It’s fundamental.

But something has gone deeply wrong with how we share. I’d call it pathological P3 — not sharing itself, but sharing that has been distorted, forced, extracted, captured, to the point where it turns against the very subjects it was meant to serve. And it hasn’t happened by accident. There are structural reasons, and I see three big ones.

First, the web got centralised. Sharing was supposed to be relational — subject to subject. Instead, a handful of platforms became the infrastructure of sharing itself. When a few actors own the bridges between subjects, you don’t choose how to share anymore. The bridge chooses for you. It decides what gets amplified, what gets buried, what gets monetised. That’s not sharing. That’s P3 captured.

Second, personal data lost its context. In your own medium, personal experience comes with context. It’s your encounter, your experience, embedded in the web of meaning that makes you who you are. When you share something, that context travels with it. But when data gets extracted and recombined somewhere else — by an algorithm, a broker, an advertiser — the meaning is stripped away. What remains isn’t knowledge in any meaningful sense. It’s raw material for someone else’s agenda. Your words without your world.

Third, data became permanent. A subject is alive. It grows, shifts perspective, contradicts itself, forgets. That’s not a bug — that’s what being a subject is. But the digital world doesn’t forget. It freezes moments of sharing and treats them as permanent truths about you. You are held accountable to a version of yourself that no longer exists. The freedom to evolve — to be — requires the freedom to leave things behind.

These three — centralisation, decontextualisation, persistence — don’t just coexist. They reinforce each other. Centralised platforms extract data out of context and store it forever. The combination creates a machine that systematically erodes the private medium every subject needs to function. Pathological P3 squeezes P2.

And that erosion has real consequences. When you know you’re being watched, you think differently. When your half-formed thoughts can be captured and stored, you share less freely. When an algorithm decides what you see and what you say, the boundary between your experience and its agenda blurs. The space for genuine thought — for genuine being — shrinks.

We’ve ended up treating privacy as a policy problem. Regulation, consent forms, data protection laws. These aren’t useless, but they’re patching symptoms. They accept the pathological structure and try to manage the damage. They don’t ask the more fundamental question: why did sharing become pathological in the first place?

The answer, I think, is architectural. When the centralised infrastructure of sharing hijacks shared interactions for its own gain, pathology is inevitable. The incentives demand it. The few who control the bridges between subjects will always find ways to extract more, store more, decontextualise more — because that’s where the value is for them, not for you.

Which makes me wonder. What if the architecture itself could be different? What if sharing could be returned to its natural form — relational, subject to subject, without the middleman?

I think it can.

This post is part of the seed series. See also the home page.

Photo: Jason Dent / Unsplash