We have arrived at a zero-parameter framework that we can intuitively understand. In principle, it allows us to compute probabilities for any structure, including our own existence. More importantly, it clarifies what the universe is made of: pure abstract information, from which subjective experience and logical reasoning (mathematics) emerge.
In mathematics, no object has ontological privilege over another. “True” is no more fundamental than “false”; the two form a binary object, much like a coin. Heads do not exist more than tails. An empty set is no less legitimate than a non-empty one. Infinity does not “weigh” more than the finite.
If there were a rule that favored nothingness over something, we would again have to ask about the origin of such a rule—who set it? Non-empty structures are just as real or unreal as empty sets. Both exist simply because nothing forbids them.
So, what kind of substrate is “the abstract”?
We can create (or more precisely, reveal and explore) these abstract universes ourselves. Modern virtual games demonstrate this principle: realistic avatars inhabit richly detailed worlds. In principle, these worlds could be expanded until they are informationally equivalent to our own universe. We can actually understand them; the more time we spend in these virtual game worlds, the easier that abstractness is to grasp.
The bullets and guns in them are not real—they are just software running in a computer. Physics is just equations executed by a processor. That same logic could, in theory, be implemented as a mechanical computer with wooden spheres rolling through wooden ports.
What is common between modern electric pulses in silicon chips and their wooden counterparts is structure. It doesn’t weigh anything. It doesn’t have an electric charge. It cannot be measured with a physical measuring device.
The block universe simply “is.” What we call interaction, causality, and the flow of information are internal processes of self-organization and compression taking place inside conscious, geometric, and spectral entities—namely, us. Time is the internal ordering of these configurations. The geometric self, with its clear spatial boundaries, is the most highly compressible, stable pattern available to the observer.
The recent development of neural networks provides a powerful analogy. Modern AI systems are massively parallel, interconnected structures with weighted connections. These weights are almost entirely static data. During interaction, there is no explicit procedural simulation of physics, no internal clockwork universe ticking forward step by step.
When a question is asked, the response is a projection from an already compressed informational structure. The “computation” is closer to high-dimensional tensor projection and constraint satisfaction than to sequential, step-by-step execution. The distinction between “running” and “not running” becomes secondary. There is no physics engine inside these systems, yet they can produce realistic simulations, motion, causality, and physical intuition.
Earlier, we wondered: could software ever allow for free will? Deterministic code—branching if-else statements and fixed CPU instructions—appears to preclude choice. The computer just runs the software; it cannot “choose otherwise,” regardless of what it might feel like to be Alice executing that program.
if (probability_of_observer_walk() < 0.3) {
A
} else {
B
}
Deterministic? Yes. Sequential? Yes. But what does the constant 0.3 really mean?
The code snippet is just our localized interpretation of the underlying bits. In reality, the number of ways the physical bits representing that constant can be interpreted is astronomically vast.
The code is merely our narrow perspective on the underlying information. The freedom of choice is enormous. Hard mathematics is just one vanishingly small slice at the top of the full, multidimensional interpretation space. Alice is not forced to flow through the code like a train locked onto physical tracks. She has the freedom to navigate the space of all consistent interpretations describing her, experiencing deliberation, anticipation, pain, and choice.
Just as “red” is the internal feeling of 700 nm light waves, pain is what it feels like to hit a steep compressibility hill. Our feelings are a heuristic navigation system—the internal experience of sensing patterns in the probability tensor. Joy is what it feels like to be the most compressible, harmonious configuration.
Only after this heuristic human experience layer does she have access to the Turing Machine—using mathematics and logical reasoning as a tool to play with.
Does any of this make sense?
The moment we fixed our four initial axioms and concluded that we must be finite informational objects, we landed on the exact object software developers can easily cope with: the bitstring. And there aren’t too many attributes in the bitstring class to play with.
Alice exists as finite information
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Alice can be simulated
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The simulation can be transformed into static data
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Alice is preserved under that transformation
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Therefore, execution is irrelevant
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Therefore, time is internal to Alice
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Therefore, reality is structure rather than active code
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The most compressible descriptions of Alice dominate the measure
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Therefore, Alice finds herself in a law-like universe fine-tuned to support her
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Because predictable information compresses best
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Predictability is what we call the laws of physics.