If you ask a scientist to explain a wooden chair, they will likely tell you it is made of cellulose. The cellulose is built from molecules, and those molecules are simply configurations of carbon atoms. If you ask them to explain what you are, you might get a remarkably similar answer. You are a collection of organs and tissue and DNA. Roughly speaking, you are a highly complex pile of atoms. This way of seeing the world goes by a heavy academic term called reductive materialism. It essentially claims that to understand any object whatsoever, you only need to break it down into its smallest physical parts. So, is that it? Are we really just walking bags of chemistry?

Okay, let’s slow down here and actually test that model. Imagine you are holding a standard acorn. If you take that acorn into a lab and sequence its chemical makeup, you can map out every single microscopic particle. You might then proudly announce that you completely understand the acorn. But do you really?

Now, let’s pause and play devil’s advocate. You might be thinking, “Wait a minute. Doesn’t modern genetics tell us exactly what that acorn will become? Doesn’t the DNA sequence entirely explain the complexity of biology?” You are absolutely right to point that out. Science shows us that evolutionary algorithms and biochemical reactions build the tree. But think about what DNA actually is. A strict materialist looks at a DNA strand and merely sees carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and phosphorus. Those raw, dead atoms bumping into other dead atoms do not create life on their own. The magic of DNA lies entirely in its sequence. Its organization. Breaking an object down strictly to its smallest physical pieces frequently blinds us to the emergent properties we are actually trying to study.

This is where we see a connection to the limits of scientism explored in Grammar of the Cosmos (#04), where physics describes but does not explain origin. Similarly, as we explored in Science is Organized Knowledge (#05), raw facts alone don’t constitute science without an organizing recipe.

So if the raw matter is not enough, what exactly is the missing ingredient? Historically, some thinkers tried to solve this by suggesting there is a magical alternate dimension where perfect, eternal ideas live(yes we are talking about Plato’s world of form). That feels a bit fishy, doesn’t it? We need a concept that stays grounded in reality. We can call this framework hylomorphism(coined by Aristotle). That sounds intimidating, but what does it actually mean? It is basically a way of saying that an object is made of two inseparable components: its matter and its form. The form is not floating in a magical sky realm. It is the highly specific structure and blueprint embedded directly in the object itself. Think of a Origami plane built by carefully folding paper(s). If you unfold the plane into a sheet of loose paper, the physical matter is completely unchanged. You have the exact same amount of paper. But the plane is gone because you destroyed its form. Your identity relies heavily on the dynamic organization of your atoms, not merely the atoms themselves.

This brings us to a slightly trippy question. If objects are defined by their form, how do things grow and change without spontaneously becoming entirely different objects? You cannot get something out of nothing. So how does an entirely new trait suddenly pop into existence?

Again, a modern skeptic might jump in here. “Hold on, evolutionary mutation explains how new traits appear. They do not just pop out of nowhere. They are biological errors.” That is entirely fair. But even in a modern evolutionary sense, the system must possess the latent capacity for that exact mutation. A genetic code can mutate into a new leaf shape, but it cannot mutate into a toaster oven. To resolve the paradox of how things evolve and change, we can split reality into two distinct states: actuality and potentiality.

In other words, are we saying an object can exist in two ways at once? Exactly. Let’s go back to our acorn. Right now, in the present moment, it is actually an acorn. But hidden inside of it is a second, very real type of existence. It is potentially an oak tree. Notice that it is not potentially a calculator or a Human. Its potential is a defined, objective characteristic of what it already is. Potentiality is not just a hypothetical future. It is a genuine, invisible property living inside the object right now. Change is simply a potentiality blossoming into an actuality. When you plug a low-battery phone into a charger, the phone is actually depleted but potentially charged, and the charger simply unlocks that hidden capacity.

We are born into an intensely pragmatic age, trained from birth to view the universe as a cold, mechanical equation. So, if you feel a bit of modern bias resisting these concepts, that is completely understandable. You do not have to discard your scientific worldview to appreciate this. Looking at reality through the lenses of form and potential is simply offering a second, highly intuitive option. It asks you to entertain the idea that matter alone is an incomplete picture. You are defined by the beautiful structure that organizes your physical body. You are equally defined by the vast, invisible tree of potential you carry within you into the future.