How does nature do its computations?

It seems to me that you and Wen are asking the same question, but from different perspectives. Wen's point of view is human-centered, that we're looking at the physical world in a very inefficient way, that it is our failing. I think your point of view is universe-centered. (Or is it?) Why does nature perform any computations? Nature is the solution that exists in principle, and sometimes if we're lucky, it exists also in our calculations.

Finer brushstrokes

In San Diego the waves are wonderfully exhausting. They pound and heap upon me, surrounding me, pushing me always to the shore. I swam outward to where the waves will stop breaking. That point was farther than I anticipated - this beach is uncharacteristically shallow. EventualIy, I stopped running against the sea, and the waves carried me back to shore. When I climb out of the water, my ears are ringing painfully from the impact of waves, I am deafened, atingle.

I have been meaning to tell you something. Sometimes when I am alone with you, it occurs to me that I must tell you this thing. I am weighed down by imagined rejection, by fear for our friendship. If these were my only two objections, I would have thrown them to the wind. I would be wooing you to stay in Princeton, to begin a grid cell project. Instead, my will crumbles under your absolute devotion to Paris, a parrot. I am silenced by awe. I woo you half-heartedly, bow out easily.

Since we met, I have entertained a hope, quickly buried. Though I resist, I am beguiled by your unwitting charm, your absolute brilliance in philosophy, the scope of your scientific ambition, your keen sense of the moment. You challenge me, tickle, provoke, excite. Do you know, when you share with me your vision of structure, your whole being shakes in rapture, each cell resonating with your music. I have never seen such beauty.

I have felt a deep-going tension in our friendship. I am drawn to you, inexorably, but I pull myself away, lest I betray my depth. Some friendships are poised on knife’s edge, they are fragile not because of lack of feeling, but because of too much unreciprocated feeling. When we talked about the contingency of love, I often wonder if you were talking abstractly, or concretely about the possibility of us. I had a theory. Love is a nonlinear feedback loop - each partner’s obsession feeds into the other’s, until they both grow to immensity. It seemed sensible.

I do not mean this letter to change our relationship. I fear I may induce you to withdraw. A little. A lot. I don’t know, either reaction is understandable. Perhaps I’m tired of pretending. Perhaps I will afford myself this, one hope that does not seem too outlandish. I wish that you see it truly, not just as a new structure on the horizon of thought, but as a recasting of light in which all horizons appear.