When asked about realism, we often think of the philosophical position that objects exist independently of our minds. However, this answer does not withstand scrutiny. We might begin by asking what the “other” of reality is. Is it the mind, spirit, consciousness, or ideas? Suppose we claim that reality is distinct from all forms of subjectivity. In that case, we must accept that subjectivity is not real—an implication both problematic and paradoxical. Moreover, we would have to concede that we, as thinking beings, can never truly know the real. If we cannot experience the true world directly, does it even matter to distinguish between reality and ideality, as realism attempts to do?
A realist must argue for the existence of an objective reality that is separate from “us” yet still knowable. Otherwise, asserting the existence of an unattainable realm is akin to Kant’s contentious notion of things-in-themselves.
Is realism a philosophical stance? It asserts that objects exist independently of us. Yet, the term “independence” defines reality negatively—as the opposite of us. It is akin to saying that reality is “not us.” However, we seek a positive formulation: What exactly constitutes this “not-us”? Perhaps more aptly: I may be part of reality, but it is not limited to me. There is more than just myself—more than subjectivity. Yet I, and subjectivity, are also part of it. Can we articulate this idea effectively?
We need to replace the term “independence” with one that is more constructive. In German, there are two distinct words for autonomy. The first is Unabhängigkeit, meaning “independence,” with the prefix un- negating abhängig (dependent or “hanging on”), akin to the Latin pendere—to hang. The second is Selbstständigkeit. The particle selbst means “self,” denoting a reflexive relation, while Ständigkeit refers to the quality or capacity of stehen—to stand. Thus, the real stands by itself, or by its own forces. Philosopher Luis Fernando Mendoza suggests translating this as self-sistance.
If the real has a relationship with itself, it establishes its own conditions for existence. It is not labor, power, meaning, language, or thought that binds things together. They are self-sufficient—independent of or indifferent to human affairs—but more importantly, they are positive, developing within their own temporal and spatial dimensions.
This is undeniably a philosophical inquiry. Yet it is mistaken to assume that philosophical questions are separate from experience. “The real” is philosophically significant precisely because it is not given in a straightforward manner. Were it consistent, predictable, and homogeneous, there would be no need for philosophical questioning. Our experiences vary across space, time, and individual perception. We have observed ourselves making errors, correcting them, or succumbing to illusion.
This inconsistency in experience is the source of all our doubts. Above all, we are aware not only of the variability in how the real is presented to us, but also of the presence of a subject that organizes, filters, and structures experience. To deny this would require a remarkable degree of ingenuity. And because it is impossible to draw clear boundaries between pure thought, intuition, and imagination, we must rely on experimentation—changing perspectives and altering variables, objects, and observers.
The real world does not consist of a single entity. It is not a large structure or system in which its inhabitants have a predetermined, closed existence, existing exclusively either as elements of a set or as parts of a whole. Individuals in nature, on the contrary, seem to be open to both necessary and contingent relationships; they can also follow both conservative and emergent behaviors, allowing for an evolutionary process that embraces the entire universe. There are wholes and individuals, without a strict hierarchy where the latter are exhausted by the former. This is a “philosophical problem” indeed, but it involves our knowledge of nature too. The concepts of evolution, variability, and our own finite nature originate from scientific inquiry.
There are two temptations when it comes to thought: reducing science to philosophy, or the other way around. Many tried to naturalize philosophy, i.e., to make it part of the history of science. Phenomenology reacted against this empiricist form of philosophy, calling it psychologism and historicism, where states of affairs and rules, quid facti and quid juris, are confused. The questions about the “origins” and the “ground” of all things are not themselves empirical. They are philosophical, exceeding the immediacy demanded by empiricism. But beyond this trivial statement, and in order to explore a positive answer, we need science and the knowledge we derive from it. Yet science is not just a collection of facts, but also contains the rules, processes, and structures of nature, which make up the contents of our thoughts.
There are several misconceptions about the relationship between science and philosophy. The first of these concerns the distinction between a priori and a posteriori. Either this distinction is clear and fixed (transcendentalism), or it does not exist at all (rationalism: the empirical derives from the transcendental; empiricism: the transcendental constructs itself based on empirical experience). A moving difference. This is what we claim: a difference in constant motion and evolution. But also, a difference with structure, not a pure and empty mark.
This language becomes unnecessarily complex. Let’s try to put it in simpler terms. Science is never fully empirical. It relies on conceptual schemes, mathematical structures, and logical rules. However, it is incorrect to claim that such schemes and structures a priori form all content, as if imposed from the outside. The prejudice at stake is double:
a) that the way the world affects us (either materially or already translated as sense data) is atomic and unstructured—pure matter waiting to be formed by our minds, which, in turn, are holistic and formal;
b) There is a process of complexification in the transit from material contact between our bodies and the world to sensual experience and conceptual configuration.
Now, our experience of the world is not reduced to a pure encounter of bodies, later followed by the efforts of a mind. Just as we, as humans, understand our world without further elaboration, animals also have an understanding of their corresponding world. We both understand our surroundings through the body, including inherited biological structures that help decipher them. Understanding the world around us is essential for survival, just as it is for other living creatures. Animals are not mere physical entities colliding with other physical entities; they are engaged in information exchange and understand their world. This is crucial: if they misjudge distances, they may become prey or fail to obtain food, leading to death—or extinction on a larger scale.
Now, information does not belong exclusively to living beings. It permeates all matter. Matter always possesses some “form,” but the processes of acquiring a form (morphogenesis), maintaining it dynamically (duration through structural stability), or modifying it (transformation, deformation), are all informational processes.
Touching and experiencing the world is not a simple, localized, atomic action. It involves information, and therefore structure and complexity. Thought reduces the complexity of this contact while increasing conceptual complexity. In this sense, it is both more and less than lived experience. It is a transformation—a translation from one order to another—that entails both loss and gain in different ways. Hermeneutics as translation becomes generalized as in-formation and transformation within the universe (mathematically: morphism). Interpretation is this very process of informational exchange with consequences on matter and its configurations. Matter cannot exist without information, nor can information exist without matter.
Philosophy is neither entirely a priori (as in prima philosophia) nor entirely a posteriori, as in the empirical sciences. Rather, it is a process of going back and forth. Proper thought has already begun before “thought” itself—in anonymous informational processes embedded in matter. This claim is neither empirical nor theoretical but the result of a reflection that takes distance from, and then returns to, the immediate. Too much distance from data leads thought astray. Data is either too poor or an unreflected residue of previous thoughts (not acknowledged as such). In any case, present philosophical ideas are impossible without a relation to current science. Even the most rigorous phenomenologist, who claims that the “world” is a spiritual phenomenon, assumes some unfathomable domain: the non-spiritual or non-subjective. This is the reservoir out of which human language and thought disclose and constitute the world as sense and meaning. Yet, like Kant’s enigmatic “thing-in-itself,” the reservoir remains mysterious. Nevertheless, objects reveal themselves through their interactions—just as individuals connect with the world around them.
Matter and information are indispensable notions that any realistic position must acknowledge. They are what endow nature with its auto-sistency—its capacity for self-sustaining properties—and individuals with their existence and endurance (the ability to persevere in their being through conatus). They also unify disparate elements, giving rise to various relationships. However, matter and information are not merely logical or mathematical principles, nor are they purely empirical or contingent concepts. They lie between both domains.
Now, there is a third concept that cannot be neglected in a realist position: energy. This approach necessarily engages with the topics of realism, naturalism, and materialism. This makes sense, since there is no inherent conflict in holding realistic views regarding ideas or monads. To truly understand realism, it is essential to connect it to naturalism, which includes our understanding of the world through scientific inquiry and reflection.
Science is a diverse field, with no single set of fixed principles or methods. It is a complex web of interconnected disciplines, yet it is non-trivial and non-linear. This is why we use the term “matter” as a conceptual center, allowing us to explore isomorphisms and evolutionary processes. We speak of formed matter, matter in formation, and transformation as a way to link all phenomena of the universe.
Matter, information, and energy: these are the “material” conditions for non-abstract realism—or, if one prefers, for a realism cum naturalism cum materialism.
