Physics as Symbolic Architecture

Physics has long narrated itself as the discipline that reveals reality’s inner workings. Its metaphors are of unveiling, discovery, penetration into the hidden core of the cosmos. The physicist is cast as a kind of explorer, prying open nature’s secrets and recording what is found inside. From Newton’s divine mechanic, to Einstein’s geometric poet, to the string theorist’s virtuoso of hidden dimensions, the image repeats: physics mirrors the real.

This narrative is powerful, but it rests on an ontological mistake. It treats symbolic architecture as ontological furniture. That is, it confuses our ways of construing possibility with the structures of being itself. Equations are taken not as symbolic cuts through potential, but as inscriptions of the world’s literal blueprint.

Relational ontology allows us to reframe this. A system is not a hidden entity waiting to be unveiled; it is a theory of possible instances, a structured potential. When physicists produce models and equations, they are not deciphering reality’s code but staging possible construals of alignment between meaning and event. A theory is a scaffolding for symbolic coordination, not a mirror of nature.

If we look at the history of physics through this lens, its “progress” appears in a new light.

• Classical mechanics construed reality as a deterministic apparatus. Motion was coordinated through force, time, and mass, aligning the symbolic cut of cause-and-effect with the experience of regularity.

• Relativity rebuilt the scaffolding in geometric terms. Events were aligned with curvature, simultaneity was cut perspectivally, and the architecture shifted from force to spacetime.

• Quantum theory staged yet another cut: potential itself construed as probabilistic, systemic possibilities actualised in perspectival events.

In each case, what is at stake is not unveiling but reorganising symbolic possibility. Physics invents new architectures that allow us to construe, coordinate, and extend our horizons of potential.

This does not make physics less powerful — quite the opposite. Its achievements are real not because they mirror nature, but because they reorganise how meaning and matter can align. A successful theory is one that scaffolds new forms of construal: new instruments, new practices, new collective myths of matter. Newton’s cosmos of clockwork gears, Einstein’s fabric of spacetime, Feynman’s sum-over-histories — each of these is less a description than a symbolic cosmos in its own right.

What of physics today? String theory is often dismissed as untestable speculation. But perhaps the deeper issue is not empirical but ontological. Its talk of hidden strings, higher dimensions, and cosmic landscapes is not the unearthing of an ultimate reality, but the proposal of a new symbolic scaffolding. The relevant question is not whether strings “exist,” but what possibilities of construal they make possible — what new alignments of event and meaning they afford.

This shift in stance carries consequences. It denies physics the lure of absolutisation: the fantasy of a final theory, a theory of everything. No symbolic architecture can close the gap between system and instance, potential and event, meaning and matter. Theories can only ever construe; they cannot transcribe.

But this is not a weakness — it is the very strength of physics. Its vitality lies in its creativity, in the invention of new architectures of construal. To demand that physics mirror reality is to impoverish it, reducing its craft to stenography. To recognise it as symbolic architecture is to restore its dignity as a generative art of possibility.

Physics, then, is not the discovery of what is, but the invention of how we may construe what can be. Its theories are less mirrors than bridges, less secrets uncovered than architectures built. To take physics seriously is not to mistake scaffolding for reality, but to inhabit its architectures reflexively — to see them as cuts in potential, ways of aligning with the world, and symbolic horizons of the real.