When Does Something Become Material?

I've been thinking about what we actually mean when we call something a material.

Iron is a material. But when I say “tube,” I'm no longer thinking about iron in the abstract. I'm thinking about a form of iron that I can cut, bend, weld, drill and assemble.

Yarn is a material. But turn yarn into cloth and suddenly I have something with an entirely different set of possibilities. I can cut it, stitch it, fold it, drape it or stretch it.

The substance hasn't necessarily changed as dramatically as the possibilities have. What has changed is the form in which I can interact with it.

That made me think about intelligence.

Perhaps intelligence is a little like a raw material.

On its own, its potential is enormous, but potential isn't the same thing as usefulness. It becomes useful when we find forms through which we can work with it.

A conversation is one such form. Research is another. Code is another. An image, a design, a plan, a calculation or a written argument can all be different forms of the same underlying intelligence.

And each form gives us a different set of things we can do with it.

This is where the analogy with making becomes interesting.

A metalworker doesn't ask only, “What is this made of?”

They also ask, “What form is it in, and what can I do with that form?”

A tube isn't useful in the same way as a plate. A plate isn't useful in the same way as a wire. They may all begin as the same material, but the form changes the relationship we have with it.

Perhaps the same is true of intelligence.

The interesting question may not simply be how intelligent something is.

It may be:

What can we turn that intelligence into?

And perhaps that is when intelligence starts becoming a material.