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For most people, the “biggest question” in physics sounds dramatic and mysterious.
What is inside a black hole?
What happens at a singularity?
What was there before the Big Bang?
Go a bit deeper into modern theory and the questions become more technical. Why does the electron have the mass it has? Why is the fine-structure constant close to 1/137 and not 1/200 or 1/10? How do we unify quantum mechanics with general relativity?
These are real, important questions. But I don’t think they are the deepest question we can ask.
To see why, it helps to step back and look at the long story of how humans have tried to understand “what moves what” in the universe.
TL;DR — Soon, the paper that shows the origin of forces will be published; it will be much more than the previous discovery from Rw=c, the emergent fine structure constant, and emergent electron mass, g-factor calculation without using QED.
Long before black holes and quantum fields, people in ancient Greece and ancient Iran were already asking: what makes the world act the way it does?
Greek philosophers tried to find the “archē” — the first principle behind everything. For Thales it was water. For others it was air, fire, or something more abstract. Aristotle later spoke of a “prime mover,” something that causes motion without itself being moved.
In ancient Iran, thinkers spoke in terms of order and disorder, Asha (راستی، نظم، قانون کیهانی، هماهنگی با حقیقت) and Druj (دروغ، بینظمی، فریب، آشوب، کژی). The world was not just a random mess; there was a structure, a pattern that held things together. Something made the cosmos behave in a consistent way instead of collapsing into chaos.
All of these early ideas were rough and metaphysical. But they were already circling around a core intuition: there is some underlying “rule” that tells matter how to move and how to interact.
Centuries later, Newton turned that intuition into equations. Instead of a prime mover, he gave us forces and universal gravitation. Force became a number you could write down, calculate, and test. Maxwell then showed that electricity, magnetism, and light were different aspects of the same electromagnetic field. Einstein went further and told us that gravity is not a force in the old sense at all, it’s the curvature of spacetime.
In the twentieth century, quantum field theory replaced classical fields with quantum ones and described forces as the exchange of particles called bosons. The strong, weak, and electromagnetic interactions became different “gauge forces,” each tied to a symmetry.
The story sounds like progress — and it is. At each step we got better language and better predictions. But there is something very simple that we still have not answered.
Why is there any force at all?
We can describe how forces behave with great precision. We can unify them under common frameworks. We can compute the strength of an interaction, the path of a planet, or the probability that a particle scatters in a collider.
But underneath all this, something basic is still left hanging.
Why does one part of reality influence another?
Why is there any tendency for one system to “care” about the state of another system?
Why is the universe not just a collection of isolated points that never affect each other?
We give names to the different layers of description. Sometimes we call it a field, sometimes curvature, sometimes exchange of virtual particles, sometimes symmetry and gauge connection. All of these are powerful models. Yet they all assume, without really explaining, that interaction is permitted and structured.
When I say “origin of force,” I am not asking which particle mediates which interaction, or which symmetry group we should use. Those are downstream questions. I am asking something more primitive: why is there, at the most fundamental level, a rule that couples parts of reality together at all?
In other words, unification asks: how are all known forces related?
The origin of force asks: why is there any force-like relation in the first place?
This question became very concrete for me while working on what I call the Relator theory.
The core idea of Relator theory is that physical reality is not just living in ordinary three-dimensional space, it’s over a combination of two spaces: an internal complex 1-D space ( C ) and physical space ( R³ ). These two are tied together by a simple lock,
R ω = c
Here, R is an effective spatial scale, ω is an internal frequency, and c is the speed of light. This relation forces the internal and external descriptions of a particle to stay in sync. You cannot change one freely without affecting the other.
In simple words, reality is the outcome of a one-complex-dimensional space, and our universe is the projection of that generator.
When you take this lock seriously and work through the consequences, something interesting happens. Quantities that we usually treat as arbitrary “fundamental constants” start to look like emergent properties of the locked structure. In my work, this includes:
- the fine-structure constant α, which controls the strength of electromagnetic interaction,
- the mass of the electron,
- and even precision effects like the electron g-factor and the gravitational constant G.
- all General Relativity phenomena will emerge without the space-time postulate and the GR formalism, like light deflection, time dilation.
Instead of inserting these by hand, they appear as consequences of the way internal and external structures are constrained by R ω = c — it just needs the classical Schrodinger equation, and not even Dirac. They are not sacred numbers anymore; they are outputs.
Whether the physics community ends up accepting this specific framework is a separate question, and it will take time, criticism, and tests. But the direction is important. Once you see constants as emergent, you are forced to ask: emergent from what, exactly?
And that takes you right back to the origin of force. Because if forces and constants both come from a deeper relational rule, then the real object of study is that rule — the “grammar” of interaction itself.
If a theory can really do all of the following:
show that major constants like α and the electron mass are not arbitrary but follow from a more primitive structure,
explain why interactions exist at all, not just how they look in different regimes,
and connect this structure consistently with both quantum and gravitational phenomena, while remaining testable,
then we are not just slightly improving what we already know. We are touching the level of the rulebook itself.
Newton gave us universal gravitation. Maxwell unified electricity, magnetism, and light. Einstein turned gravity into geometry. Quantum mechanics and quantum field theory revealed the discrete and probabilistic nature of the microscopic world.
A true understanding of the origin of force would sit at least on the same level as these revolutions, and possibly even deeper. It would not just tell us which equation to use. It would tell us why the universe allows anything like an equation of interaction in the first place.
That idea is not new in spirit. It is an echo of the old questions asked in many cultures: what is the principle behind motion, order, and connection? What is the source that makes the world act, not just exist?
What is new today is that we finally have the mathematical and physical tools to try to give this question a precise, quantitative answer.
We have become very good at playing the game of physics; we can compute, simulate, and predict. We can measure constants to many decimal places. We can detect gravitational waves from distant black hole mergers and track quantum interference in delicate experiments.
But beneath all this technical success, there is a quieter, older question still waiting:
Why does anything in the universe pull, push, attract, repel, or couple to anything else at all?
To me, that is the biggest question in physics. Not what is inside a black hole, not what came before the Big Bang, and not even why α is 1/137. Those are all important pieces of the puzzle.
The deepest mystery is the origin of force itself.
If we ever manage to answer that, in a way that is not just poetic but predictive, consistent, and testable, I believe everything else will become part of a much clearer picture. The constants, the fields, the particles, the geometry — all of them would become chapters in a story whose main character we have finally met:
the fundamental rule of interaction that makes a universe like ours possible.
