Points of Concentration

Introduction: Beyond Binary Thinking

In the last episode, I critiqued the idea of clean information units—the discrete, tidy categories that underpin Western models of thought. While useful, these units fall short of capturing the complexity and fluidity of reality. The model’s flaws led me to explore a more nuanced framework: one that embraces gradients and flows rather than binary oppositions. Enter the concept of points of concentration.
Points of concentration provide a way to view the world without strict boundaries or rigid definitions. They challenge the assumption that tidy, discrete categories are the only way to understand reality. Instead, they emphasize relative differences in gradients as a more nuanced and accurate framework for capturing complexity. Instead of framing the world as a collection of distinct units, we can understand it as a landscape shaped by varying densities—zones of richness and activity interspersed with expanses of quiet diffusion. This approach rejects classical logic’s insistence on clear-cut divisions, replacing it with a model that recognizes the continuous spectrum between extremes.

Diffusion: A Universal Force

Using the language of concentration and dilution, I can describe different types of shapes or distributions in the natural world and draw comparisons to abstract concepts that behave in a similar way. This brings us to the first important element of points of concentration: diffusion. Diffusion gives us a tangible way to see these ideas in action. It’s a simple, everyday example of how gradients play out in the physical world, helping us understand the balance between concentration and dispersion. 
Diffusion is understood to be a fundamental property of matter. When things diffuse, they move from areas of high concentration to low concentration. As an example, imagine a room full of marbles and an identical room that is completely empty, with the rooms separated by a wall. The moment you remove the wall, you create one conjoined room that is half-full of marbles. This shows an even distribution of the room’s contents: if the pressure builds in one area, it will spread out and release when given the opportunity.

​

Diffusion is everywhere. Anything concentrated will eventually spread out, showing how gradients naturally form in the natural world. Sugar will dilute in water, and what starts with a few chunks of distilled crystal will dissolve into an evenly distributed drink, with no one part any sweeter than the rest. The alcohol I drink will diffuse through my body, seeping through cell walls and spreading itself throughout the body and the brain. Given the opportunity, any dense concentration will have the tendency to spread out to all corners of its environment.

The Cosmos and Concentration

If you extrapolate this pattern, you might imagine that we are heading towards a world of absolute uniformity, where this blending and homogenizing effect will make the universe slowly become one unmoving mass. Across billions of years, hot and cold will blend to form a perfect lukewarm nothingness across all existence. In the meantime, however, we see the opposite. Things tend to be extremely one thing or extremely another, forming points of concentration in space where they cluster and condense, as well as zones of emptiness devoid of content.

As an example, consider outer space. Most of the universe is mind-numbingly empty, with an infinite canvas of expansive void. Among this emptiness, there are a select few focused points of concentration where matter decides to aggregate. Instead of a uniform cloud of dust blanketing all of existence, as you might expect from a diffusing universe, matter instead clumps into stars or planets, separated by vast stretches of space. These patterns of relative density are vividly illustrated by the clustering of galaxies and the vast voids of intergalactic space, giving the impression of a binary distinction between matter and space. 

That being said, my proposed perspective only sees relative concentration, not absolute units. There is no point where definite substance exists, nor where true void persists. Instead, the universe unfolds along a spectrum of relative density and movement, where gradients define the reality we observe. Our concept of ‘objects’ or ‘solidity’ is therefore a simplification: it’s our intuitive categorization for things that are firmer or more consistent than we are, while space or emptiness is the catch-all label for everything that isn’t. From the perspective of points of concentration, the clustering of galaxies is best described as a continually moving and evolving distribution of energy, 

This model of concentration defies the simplicity of clean information units, which attempt to categorize reality in consistent, absolute terms. Instead, it emphasizes the necessity of embracing gradients and irregular patterns to fully capture the complexity of existence. The universe is an interplay between somethingness and nothingness, but neither pole on the spectrum truly ‘exists.’ The thing we see and experience is just clumps of relative somethingness that endlessly group themselves together in the most interesting shapes and forms. The stars form galaxies, and the galaxies form superclusters, each one a web of tension and movement. These shapes hold themselves together in intricate webs that resist the entropic blur of diffusion.

This interplay of relative density isn’t limited to the cosmic scale. The same patterns appear in the intricate networks of life, repeating itself at every level of scale. The structural web of galaxies echoes the web of neurons within our brain. Both gravity and organic tissue find themselves organized by interconnected network structures. They aren’t some nondescript homogenous foam; they are honeycombs of concentrated nodes and hierarchies of complexity. This preference of matter to concentrate itself and resist the force of dispersion is evident everywhere. Even within the smallest microscopic folds of matter, the building blocks of all things choose to concentrate themselves in specific shapes and distributions. A spoonful of water seems like one contiguous fluid, infinitely continuous and undisrupted. But what happens if you zoom in?

The mass of the water, the chunk of matter itself, is held in the core of its atoms. These bits of matter don’t behave like a dispersed, evenly distributed cloud, as you might expect a smoothly diffused fluid to behave. They instead clump and concentrate in tiny clusters, tight spheres surrounded by huge expanses of space. These centers of mass (the nuclei) bend in such a way that they manipulate the surrounding electromagnetic field, pulling electrons to them across a distance many millions of times the nucleus’ size. From the largest to the smallest structures, matter congregates and solidifies in points of concentration that resist the equalizing spread of diffusion.

Abstract Systems: The 80/20 Rule
Matter might be the most concrete way to describe points of concentration, but it’s a phenomenon that applies itself to abstract concepts as well. Just as the universe is shaped by relative densities on a cosmic scale, human systems mirror these patterns in their distributions of influence and impact. A good example of this uneven distribution phenomenon is the 80/20 rule, which describes a formula where a few points of concentration have a disproportionate, dramatic impact. 

For instance, on tech platforms, 20% of influencers account for 80% of the subscribers. Similarly, a small portion of coral species contribute disproportionately to reef structures, and a few major earthquakes cause the majority of casualties. These examples reveal how a handful of concentrated points can dominate an entire system, leaving the rest to fill in the background. 

This distribution highlights how relationships in such systems are best understood through relative comparisons rather than absolutes. In this way, the 80/20 rule reveals the limitations of clean information units, which struggle to capture the disproportionate influence of concentrated points within complex systems. For instance, it’s not the exact number of followers or coral structures that matters, but the striking imbalance between the most influential and the least. This reinforces the idea that gradients—not strict categories—are a more accurate way to describe and analyze these phenomena.

Personal Reflections: Selectivity and Focus

These patterns aren’t just theoretical; they shape the way I interact with the world around me. Instead of relying on the black and white thinking that comes naturally to my intuition, I can look at points of concentration to help me to more deeply understand the patterns in the world. I’m averse to unitary thought or binary thought, which is the mode within me that assumes every interaction or experience can be categorized and measured.  I try to quiet that part of me, allowing experiences to flow through without conscious interference. I try to instead tap into the concentration gradient perspective, which means letting myself be pulled by specific points of interest among a sea of relatively less stimulating alternatives.

Not all experiences in life are the same. Some environments in life provide information-rich stimulus, while others feel devoid of meaning and beauty. I do my best to give everything a chance, but I learn quickly what satisfies me and I’m very selective when discerning what I surround myself with. For example, I focus on the people I love and ignore all the rest. I have a low tolerance for strangers because it costs so much to interact with them. This aversion is linked to the cognitive effort it takes to meet someone new, the effort I spend to widen my circle of attention and include a new subject in its sights. I do my best to commit entirely to soaking up the experience of someone else, giving anyone in my sights the full spotlight of my attention. It invigorates me if they reciprocate the effort but quickly drains me if I’m not getting anything back from it. This makes me very engaged when I interact with the world at large but very selective with the people who I habitually interact with.

From this perspective, I conceptualize a finely distributed web of meaningful events that cluster around centers of interest, whether people, cities, or topics, and these concentrated points of light are spread unevenly across an otherwise broad sea of homogenous, dilute boredom. Just as mass sorts itself into different densities and distributions, the elements of the world that pull my attention also sort themselves into a labyrinth of concentrated points of allurement. 

The perspective of points of concentration is not just a tool to conceptualize the exterior world, but also frames how I respond to it. I choose to push my will in a similar way, choosing to be universally tolerant and only insist in rare circumstances. I tend to be someone with few preferences: I’m okay with a wide variety of food or activities; I’m easy to bend in the majority of contexts. I’m very willing to accept things, to go with the flow and let others direct my path. This means I tend to relax my mental muscle of assertion in most contexts; it stays sharp for the parts of my life that require action or response. This gives me the confidence to be able to give my full focus in the moments that I choose to exert myself, such as when publishing my writing or when developing my game. In these moments of deliberate action, I embody the principles of concentrated effort, channeling energy into pursuits that align with my values and ambitions.

From Theory to Practice
The writing up until now has been focused on describing my philosophical foundation. The structure of information units summarizes what I see as our 'default intuitive model' here in the West, and 'points of concentration' is a first look at a perspective that is easily accessible to intuition but that goes contrary to classical logic. 
​
Starting next episode, the writing will delve into practical elements, beginning with an exploration of the rules for my game. Rules are an intriguing reflection of points of concentration: they condense meaning and structure while allowing room for interpretation. Crafting these rules requires balancing clarity and ambiguity, finding language that is explicit and intuitive without being overly burdensome. By understanding the gradients of player preferences and expectations, I can craft rules that resonate deeply with my intended audience, reflecting the role of diffusion and concentration in a real-world context. Philosophical concepts will continue to appear regularly but will be woven more diffusely into the narrative of my personal challenges and creative process. By anchoring these ideas in the tangible aspects of game design and business, I aim to show how abstract insights can shape practical outcomes, starting with the interplay of creativity and structure in crafting rules.