8.0 Section eight: Objective vs. Subjective

section 5. (first updated 12.08.2020)

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“Objective” and “subjective” are convenient expressions we often employ, but their use can easily give rise to confusion. Our explanation has shown that objectivity has a threefold significance:

1. First, it signifies what is externally present, as distinct from what is only subjective—that is, what is only personally experienced within, and which no one else outside that individual can access (e.g., what is dreamed of). As Hegel says:

“In ordinary language, to be objective is to be present outside us and to come to us from outside through perception. Kant denies that the thought-determinations (such as cause and effect) were objective in this sense—that they were given in perception. Instead, he regarded them as pertaining to our thinking itself, or to the spontaneity of thinking, and so in this sense as subjective.”

2. Second, objective has the meaning, established by Kant, of what is universal and necessary—in contrast to the contingent, particular, and subjective, which we encounter through sensory experience. Hegel elaborates:

“Yet at the same time, Kant calls the thought-product—and specifically the universal and the necessary—objective, while what is merely sensed he calls subjective. As a result, the common linguistic usage appears to have been turned on its head. For this reason, Kant has been accused of linguistic confusion. But this is a great injustice. More precisely, the situation is as follows: What ordinary consciousness is confronted with—what can be perceived by the senses (e.g., this animal, this star)—appears to it as self-subsistent or independent. Thoughts, on the other hand, are seen as non-self-standing, dependent on something else. In fact, however, what is perceived by the senses is secondary and not self-sustaining, whereas thoughts are genuinely independent and primary. It is in this sense that Kant rightly called what conforms to thought (the universal and necessary) objective. The sensibly perceptible, in contrast, is subjective, because it lacks stability and inner grounding, being as fleeting and transient as thought is enduring and inwardly stable.”

3. Third, and not least, the objective has the meaning of the in-itself, known as a thought-product. It refers to what is there, as distinct from what is merely thought by us—yet still different from the mere matter itself. It is what the “thing” is in itself, as a concept. Hegel explains:

“Today we distinguish between the objective and the subjective, a distinction Kant established in the linguistic usage of the more highly educated consciousness. For example, people demand that the judgment of a work of art be objective, not subjective—meaning that it should not rest on a contingent personal feeling or passing mood, but instead on viewpoints that are universal and grounded in the essence of art. Similarly, when dealing with a subject scientifically, we distinguish between an objective and a subjective concern in the same way.”

This leads to a philosophical tension: the idea of the object becomes contradictory in the objective sense, because ideas and thoughts are experienced subjectively, within the mind of the individual—yet at the same time, they form the general foundation for understanding objects that exist outside the individual. The external world is taken to be the “real” and “true” reality, independent of the thinker’s subjectivity.

Hegel ultimately concludes:

“But neither we nor the objects gain anything merely because being pertains to them. What matters is the content, and whether that content is true. The mere fact that things exist does not help them. Time catches up with what is, and so what is will soon become what is not as well.”

(See Hegel glossary: subject and object)

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The Concept is the essence of the Objective, because it is the only thing that stands alone—outside everything else—and even outside itself, as it pertains to any one of them. Therefore, within it can be placed the explanation of the phenomenon. The concept is identical with the phenomenon because it is its essential blueprint—the “design” or structural outline of the item.

Objects possess a fundamental structure, a “blueprint,” which outlines the ingredients, relationships, and activities that combine to form the phenomenon as conceived by the observer. The concept is what we take to be the objective fact about the object because it describes this deeper “blueprint”—information about the object that goes beyond mere sensory perception.

Now, in an inverse way, the subject of the object presents a peculiar difficulty for the notion of the concept, because the inward essence of the object—the subjective side—is often presumed to be insubstantial or “not real,” simply because it is not presented externally in front of the observer. Perception is a tricky abstraction of the world because it presumes reality only when it is presented outside the point of view of the perceiver.

The common assumption is that the subject is merely an abstraction of the object, while the object is the originally real phenomenon. However, every object—in order to be real—must possess a subject, or a defining characteristic that makes it what it is. In the human case—which is the only one we can consider directly—the subject is the one who experiences the object. The subject, therefore, presents itself as the first true objective fact about the object: that every object necessarily implies a subject.

The subject experiences the object either by being that object or by conceiving it from the outside, as something other than itself. If the subject is that object—if it is identical with the object—then it does not experience itself as external, because it already is itself. Therefore, the self takes itself as an object, recognizing itself externally through another object. This process, which we attempt to fix in static terms like the Objective, is always happening outside of any one concept that we might call a subject. It is constrained to being either itself or something outside itself.

However, defining the objective as what is “outside” is limited by the internal reality that each object possesses—its own inner boundaries that cut it off from other objects. The subject stands “outside” of objects precisely by being “inside” them. The subject is like a shell within the object, looking outward from within the object toward what is “outside” of it, while still being a part of it.

When we experience an object in a moment, we constantly undergo an identity with that moment, but often without fully grasping its concept—which describes exactly what it is. When we think about something, regardless of whether it is present or not, we are addressing its concept, or in other words, we are relating to the object in its conceptual form. When the object is not directly in front of the observer, it exists in an abstract form. However, from another observer’s point of view, it may exist in a concrete form—i.e., direct experience.

Perception seems to mark the boundary between what is concrete and what is abstract, but the eye is merely the medium through which this transition is recognized by the mind. Reality bends itself into the mind—or, put differently, the mind is like a black hole in spacetime, where abstract reality becomes concrete, and concrete reality can become abstract. This transformation is governed by how “close” the observer is to the phenomenon. In spatial terms, proximity enhances the resolution of perception: images sharpen, sounds grow louder, smells become stronger, and so on.

Aristotle makes a striking analogy about material objects. He says (paraphrased):

An object without its form (its concept) is like a marble statue capturing a man’s facial expression without the actual living man.

What the object is—what it truly is—is grounded in an idea of itself. What it does, the function it performs, and how it carries out that function, all constitute its material, physical structure—exhibited by its body. It is a unique block in nature, performing its one function, holding together everything else as a general frame—of which it is only a single, finite part.

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In contemporary times, it has almost become customary to inflate the difference between the notions of “subjective” and “objective.”

This relationship can be re-expressed as the relation between subject and object—a relation that has historically been very difficult to conceptualize, primarily because the definitions of each term are often confused or misunderstood.

The subject is not, as is commonly held, the particular feature in its relationship with the object. Nor is the subject, as materialist science proposes, secondary to the object. Likewise, it is not—as relativist ontologies claim—so variable that different subjects bear no essential similarity to one another.

In reality, the subject is defined by the universal element of the object, because the subject is the feature that exists essentially in all objects. In other words, the subject is the universal feature within the object—the shared element that all objects have in common. The only remaining question becomes: What is the nature of the subject, to the extent that it differs among objects, which themselves also differ accordingly?

The idea that the subject is more essential than the object is not accepted by materialists, who instead make the object more essential. However, materialist ontology has little to do with the actual nature of matter—rather, it begins by assuming that “matter” is the underlying substance (arche) of the world. Beyond that, materialism often explains everything in a way that is paradoxically anti-matter: that is, the entire materialist science tends to dismantle the concept of matter from the abstract forms it embodies in reality as the objects of sense perception.

The vulgar materialists—and they are “vulgar” because of their narrow, confined worldview—assume that the subject is simply the identity (or “face”) that humans abstract from the object. They then treat this abstraction as a construct, and therefore, not real. According to this view, only objects that exist outside of our conception of them are constitutive of reality.

The adjective “subjective” is typically taken to mean “dependent on” or “conditional upon” the limitations of a particular phenomenon. Whether something is particular because it is dependent on something else, or whether that dependency is the cause of its particularity—this remains an open question.

As a result, “subjective” is often used to define the primary meaning of the term “subject”, rendering it a finite feature that is contingent upon the object. In contrast, the object is normally viewed as “objective”, and therefore the first feature in the order of the relation.

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The common expression goes: “My subjective side can never be grasped by your subjective side.”

There are aspects of reality that pertain only to the specific observer. But is that true? And if so, what are they?

The expression is true in the sense that, from the side of each particular observer, the world is only viewed from that side—and no one else can occupy the same point of view at the same time. This is an anthropological rendering of a basic law of physics and logic: an object cannot be in two different places at the same time, nor can it occupy two different moments simultaneously.

The narrow definition of the subject is contradicted by the nature of the object, which necessarily extends into external reality. When two disagreeing subjects confront one another, they cannot entirely deny the same object. They must, at minimum, agree that there is an object—even if they only agree to disagree about its interpretation. For instance, we cannot disagree that the “sky is blue,” or that a color called “blue” exists. We may differ in our definitions of “blue,” or in what constitutes the “sky,” but not in the basic, shared phenomenon. And yet the object, as defined by materialism, is held to be entirely independent of the subject.

In this framework, the subject is treated merely as a kind of subject-matter for the observer—someone who recognizes in the object a feature that resembles themselves but which cannot be explained and is clearly not identical to the object. The subject becomes the opposite side of the object—its inner aspect, or that which identifies it. In philosophical terms, the subject is that side of the object which reflects its true essence, and thus makes it definable. But this side cannot exist externally or independently.

In Aristotle’s usage, the “subject” refers to the form or essence of the object—for example, the subject-matter of a given thing. In the modern era, however, a different meaning became dominant: the subject is the perceiver of the object—the one who conceives its meaning. This shift relies on the assumption that the essence of the object must be conceived in order to exist as essence.

This creates a tension: if the subject is the perceiver of the object’s essence, does this mean the essence is dependent on its conception? Or does the essence exist prior to any conception? This inquiry touches on the limitation of Kant’s philosophy. (See Whitehead on Kant.) For Kant, the phenomenon is never truly outside the knowledge of it; knowledge shapes the appearance of the object.

Hegel resolves the difficulty that Kant raises. For Hegel, the essence of the object and its conception both affirm the subject as universal. The subject is an object to other subjects. When the subject perceives its own

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Hegel moves from a discussion of consciousness in general to a discussion of self-consciousness. Like the idealist philosophers before him, Hegel believes that consciousness of objects necessarily implies some awareness of the Self as a subject—distinct from the perceived object. But Hegel takes this idea of self-consciousness a step further by asserting that subjects are also objects to other subjects.

Self-consciousness, then, is not merely awareness of oneself—it is the awareness of another’s awareness of oneself.

To put it another way: one becomes aware of oneself by seeing oneself through the eyes of another. Hegel speaks of the “struggle for recognition” that is implied in this process of self-consciousness. This struggle arises between two opposing tendencies within self-consciousness:

• On the one hand, there is the moment of unity, when the self and the other come together—making self-consciousness possible.
• On the other hand, there is the moment of separation, when one becomes conscious of the otherness of other selves in contrast to oneself—and vice versa.

These two moments—otherness and pure self-consciousness—stand in mutual opposition. Their interaction becomes a “life-and-death struggle” for recognition. Each self-conscious being seeks affirmation from the other, yet must simultaneously assert its own independence. In this tension, Hegel explores how self-consciousness develops through the dialectic of recognition.

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The principle of subjectivity, or what is understood by the term “subjective,” is derived from the point of view belonging to the Particular. The Particular portrays an infinite set of relations with itself and is thus the object of such relations. It is subjective by definition, as it is distinguished from itself as a particular. The relation against Self implies that the particular exists as an “other”—something independent from something else.

The Pre-Socratic notion of the “Many” forms the foundational understanding of the principle of Particularity. The indifferent relations—those that are external to the inner differences of the particular—constitute the Objective nature in relation to the subjective relation to the particular.

In other words, the subjective relation to a particular arises when a limited observer conceives the world in a limited way. This is the ordinary conception of objects—where perception is bound by the observer’s particular standpoint, and thus cannot fully grasp the objective totality.

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What is understood by the principle of objectivity, or the “objective” is the universality, the constitution of the “Particular as the Subjective”, I,e., it is an objective fact that the Particular is subjective. In other words, every finite fact is still an objective fact about the universal, which is always unlimited beyond the limited scope of its description. The idea that, it is objective that every object has a subject, i.e every “thing” has a defined character that explains it. The objective is substance in the form of activity or process; it is the initial relation, the Particular possess within itself to be subjective, from itself, for itself. The initial relationship that characterizes the Particular as subjective is objective in that it is Universal that the Particular is subjective. (Go to universal/particular)

The “universal” is understood as the necessity where something relates to itself from “not” itself; that each particular is “subjective” in-itself, but in relation to an “other”, constitutes the objective relation. Universality is ordinarily understood as the common features shared among different subjects, for example, common experiences we all share. The scientific definition of “universality” makes it the quality of always being “true” or applicable in all situations. This definition however, assumes that things are first different before they have a common relation. This does not answer how tings are different in the first place? The first universal principle therefore becomes that everything is different, and that is the first common universal relation. This is not an answer also, but a redundancy of the same contradiction. The Particular is itself, not like anything “other”. The Universal is the common relation shared by the differences of the same substance. The term “subjective” is itself objective from the viewpoint of a second subject. Something is only subjective in that it is objective; the subjective as itself is the objective as the other, and from the other, the subjective is itself objective. 

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It is objective that the Particular is subjective, but what is subjective is only Particular as objective.

Contrary to the ordinary understanding of the infinite, it is the subjective that constitutes the Infinite, whereas the objective is Finite. The Particular is infinitely subjective in its determinations, whereas the objective is finite, as it represents the determined.

The Finite, in this sense, is not independent, and cannot be separated from the Infinite. Moreover, the principle of the Finite does not merely imply a limitation of the Infinite, but rather, its result—that is, what it means to limit something presupposes a process of limitation. This process, in turn, invariably assumes the result of limitation. The Finite is not the denial of the Infinite, but its manifestation through limitation.

To put the above in more concrete, or more relatable terms: the mind of a person is understood as the seat of their subjective self. In that subjectivity, the person is infinite—that is, an infinite range of ideas and thoughts can arise without any definite end or boundary to their motion.

However, whatever the person perceives outside the mind—when observing the objects of existence—they encounter only finite and limited conceptions of things. These are what we commonly refer to as “objective facts”—presumed to be fixed, stable, and enduring truths about the external world.

From within, however, the person remains subjective, because they are in a state of constant flux—indeterminate and yet infinite. The self is both without end and without a fixed form.

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The finite presupposes the infinite as itself; and as itself, it is infinite. The infinite becomes finitude to its own infinity. This is the order of the universe, contrary to what scientific materialism claims as disorder—the very basis of the concept of “randomness.”

The very concept of randomness presupposes a preconceived disorder as the underlying order. In other words, the claim that the universe is disordered still assumes a principle of disorder—which, paradoxically, becomes its own form of order.

If disorder is taken as the notion of order, then it is merely the distortion of an already assumed order. Even the conception of disorder itself originates from a framework of order. Disorder is thus nothing other than the distortion of order.

The fact that a process appears to include disorder does not mean the process is unordered. What does it mean to say that order itself contains disorder, if not that order must first be present for disorder to even be conceived?

Is disorder not, then, a first kind of order?

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There is no chronological order to the existence of ontological principles, but that does not mean there is disorder, nor does it imply the absence of a hierarchical order. Our ordinary understanding tends to define order chronologically, as a sequence of events or causes in time. However, order, as opposed to disorder, is a rational conception of the same substance expressed through different forms.

The difference we perceive in the world presupposes an underlying unity of substance. The mind, in maintaining and distinguishing between these variations of substance, is the principle of order itself. For example, the principle that matter cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed (paraphrasing the law of conservation of mass-energy), affirms that while the form of matter may change, its substance remains.

Order is not merely the regularity of patterns or their direction across a stretch of time; rather, it is the form that reveals a set of different—and apparently unrelated—objects as part of the same conception for an observer. Chronological order may appear to define a trend, but such a trend is only identifiable when contrasted with its opposite. For instance, one only knows that a stock market is trending upward because it has previously trended downward—just as we recognize “up” in relation to “down.”

Chronological order becomes meaningful only when accompanied by a qualitative or hierarchical order. A hierarchical order assigns value, priority, or structure to events or principles—something mere chronology cannot provide on its own. For example, the Pareto Principle (80/20 rule) shows that in many systems, a small number of causes accounts for the majority of outcomes. This principle can be used to define priority—determining which causes or principles are higher in value or influence.

This idea can be misapplied, as in materialist ontology, where one might assert that most life in the universe is confined to a small planet like Earth. This is a potentially false abstraction, based on finite appearances rather than metaphysical principles.

The finite does not precede the infinite, nor does the infinite necessarily precede the finite. Rather, they exist as each other, and through each other they constitute existence. The Particular is subjectively infinite insofar as it is objectively finite—and the subjectively infinite becomes objectively finite when the subjectively finite is objectively infinite.

The reason chronological order is imposed on ontological principles is that the Understanding requires a logical structure to apprehend the Reason in the world. The abstract notion is the necessary systematic condition for Understanding to grasp Reason. However, this differs from the system of Reason that constitutes concrete reality.

Understanding and Reason differ in that their systematic operations are inverses of each other. Understanding constructs order sequentially, requiring formal logic—where contradiction is seen as something to be resolved later. Reason, by contrast, is the pre-constructed order of reality, existing there to be conceived, and in this sense, it uses informal logic, in which contradiction is part of the resolution itself.

In formal logic, contradiction is something to be avoided or resolved at the end. In informal logic, however, contradiction is the resolution—it is the point of insight. The logic of nature, or Reason in the world, always integrates contradiction into its process. Nature always resolves contradiction, whether the result is seen as positive or negative. Every event has an end—and that end is also the beginning of another.

The intellectual logic best suited to understand the workings of Reason is informal logic, which works intuitively outside of any predefined system. Its purpose is to conceive the beginnings of a system—not to operate randomly or arbitrarily, but to grasp the emergence of order. The dialectical method exemplifies this logic and represents the kind of informal logic the Understanding uses to grasp Reason.

The process of Understanding the Dialectic is inherently negative, in contrast to the Dialectic itself, which is positively given. The concept of negativity, in the science of logic, does not mean something unethical or morally inferior. It is understood in the same way mathematics treats subtraction or multiplication. However, logical negativity differs from arithmetic subtraction because it does not treat quantity and quality as equivalent. Rather, quality is the foundation of quantity—it is the determining factor.

To judge which concept is more fundamental in a hierarchy, one must assess which is determining and which is yielding. These are roles any pair of concepts may take on within a dialectical relationship. In other terms: which concept leads, and which one follows.

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Hegel writes about wanting to establish ‘cognition before cognition’, e.g methodological scepticism:

“The faculty of cognition was to be investigated before cognition began. This certainly involves the correct insight that the forms of thinking themselves must be made the object of cognition; but there soon creeps in, too, the mistaken project of wanting to have cognition before we have any cognition, or of not wanting to go into the water before we have learned to swim. Certainly, the forms of thinking should not be used without investigation; but this process of investigation is itself a process of cognition […] The forms of thinking must be considered in and for themselves; they are the object and the activity of the object itself; they investigate themselves, [and] they must determine their own limits and point out their own defects. This is the same activity of thinking that will soon be taken into particular consideration under the name ‘dialectic.’” (Hegel Pg. 82)

The subjective side possesses objectivity by being the hypothesis for reason, and thus expresses the very essential nature of thought to itself. The problem introduced by this subjective aspect into the objective nature of thought arises when negations are applied to derive abstractions about its own possibilities. These abstractions begin to develop distinct characters of their own.

This implies that impartial thought, when engaging with these different determinations, must itself develop a character that is indifferent to any one of them. It must transcend its particular abstractions to remain impartial.

This recalls the ancient question raised by Aristotle: In what way does the object of thought limit the thought about that object? This is problematic because, if the objective nature of thought develops a particular subjective character, and thus becomes limited by it, how is it to produce objective knowledge beyond its limited scope?

In other words, why should thought be compelled to transform or change its subjective identity once it has become fixed in a particular determination? This becomes a paradox, because if thought gives rise to subjectivity, does that mean that it, as an objective principle, loses the intent that originally drives it toward something more than a limited abstraction of itself? And why should its intent be otherwise, if it has already solidified into a particular way of being?

This is the limit of thinking that the nature of abstraction reveals. Abstraction brings thought to the threshold of its own determinacy—where the process must either regress into repetition or advance dialectically into transformation.

The nature of the subjective inherently restricts knowledge within the confines of how the observer perceives itself through a certain character. However, the objective nature of thought transforms itself, in the first place, into the subjective identity that constitutes the particular character from which it finitely perceives phenomena. This transformation into a finite subjective character is what it means to possess objectivity—because it becomes a particular thing whose nature can be depicted in specific ways.

The objective side of the observer provides itself with a subjective identity, but this simultaneously requires the observer, in the first place, to objectively conceive that identity of itself—with the ability to contradict it. Whenever the subjective side represents its objective form into a particular character, the objective nature of that thought quickly circumvents the representation as an abstraction with limited characteristics, derives knowledge from it, and moves beyond it, having “done that,” and returns to where it started—now with the capacity to do it again, though never in the same way, since it carries with it the experience of the previous event as memory.

The use of “memory” here is allegorical, referring not merely to a faculty of the human organism but to a faculty of the universe in general. The universe has “memory” on the grounds that every event, on the ultimate scale, has already happened and is simultaneously happening—instantaneously, for all time. Thus, objectively, thought adds to the character it deems limited the experience of having deemed itself limited. This constitutes, for thought, the recognition of its own ability—and having acted on it, thought becomes aware that it possesses substance.

Substance is NOT merely given as the essence of a thing. The act of discriminating itself into something other determines the level of its intent, which in turn confines its ability. Your intent constitutes your ability, because ability is the acting upon intent. This, however, requires ability in the first place, and so it appears that the acting upon ability simultaneously requires the recognition of the ability to act.

The notion of consciousness lies precisely in this recognition, but recognition is NOT something separate from the action. The action itself is its own recognition. Intent is the very first action, and the actual act is simply the carrying out of the intent which initiated it.

Self-negation

Logically speaking, the negation is a self-negating principle, because negation, by definition, not only implies that one thing is abstracted from another, but also that the same thing abstracts itself. (This connects with the “I” explanation—the “I” is to take things on…)

Subjectivity is always “fleeting” because ascribing an identity to it is an objective fact about it—but the very step of identifying itself assumes that, at one point, it had no knowledge of what the identity entails. Yet, in order to identify itself, it must, in the first place, have the idea to represent itself. These conflicts, which we associate as hesitations or indeterminacies, are the objective nature of its subjectivity.

The answer to this question becomes somewhat superfluous if we realize that both subjectivity and objectivity are the ways consciousness is in motion. When one is the “warp,” the other becomes the “woof.” The question only becomes relevant if it is meant to ask for the differences of something that is fundamentally the same. But as we have just shown, logically, their difference is undifferentiated by their presupposition of each other. Therefore, their differences are the subsistence of the continuity of thought—having the capacity to always find itself when it becomes lost in its own activity.

The subjective and objective constitute the world when the abstract and the concrete coincide as the same entity. This idea—that the concrete and abstract form a relation—is found in every great philosophical and religious tradition. The unity between the “universal” and the “particular,” however, is a process. These concepts are NOT fixed categories into which an object simply fits. When we say something is “abstract,” it is derived from some concrete basis; and when we describe something as “concrete,” we are referring to its “idea”—what something is essentially is its concrete nature. Rationalists ultimately argue that the most concrete basis of all objects is an abstract substance—not as we directly observe with the senses, which are argued to be entirely material. The true concrete basis of the world is how we indirectly conceive things with our mind.

Virtues are NOT merely ethical conducts that human beings impose in relation to others in their environment. Rather, they are universal forms that generate the character of individuals and their relations. In our ontology, the rational element of an object—or the truth that makes it describable—is an intimately identical result of a set of ethical relations.

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Virtue is the skill of living

The 7 deadly sins (vice)

https://goo.gl/TMR7E1

Science of logic, Part 3 ch.4

3:7:15

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Morality is defined by practical Reason. According to Kant, ‘practical Reason’ is the “will” of thinking that determines itself according to universal principles. Ethics and morality explore the ways in which the will determines itself. Specifically, ethics deals with the nature of conduct by examining rationality as the basis of universality, whereas morality considers the individual value of particular actions that make up the totality of social relations.

The term “will” is vague, because it can refer to the capability to act, the act itself, or the restraint from acting—three opposite determinations that nonetheless share the same meaning: that of determination. For example, the lack of action is still a form of restraint from acting, which itself is a kind of determination. The will is an ethical principle, and it is this that gives it moral significance. The notion of intention links the studies of ethics and morality because it explores the value of determination, which is judged by the qualitative and quantitative nature of ability. What one is capable or incapable of determines the ground for one’s moral merit.

This is not meant to compare people against one another, but to allow for a proper judgment about each person’s own ability. As the German Modern tradition popularized in the slogan (Marx), “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need,” this is NOT merely a call to accommodate people differently depending on their needs. Rather, it points to the idea that an individual’s ability determines the kind of “need” they naturally require. This is not a slogan advocating equity, but rather an observation about the fundamental relationship between “ability” and “need” that forms the basis of human nature.

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Intention is the substantial activity of the “will” that gives it character. This activity is divided into objective and subjective formal components. Subjective intention aims to maintain a stable state for thought through representation. Objective intention captures the relationship between what thought conceives itself to be and how it negates that conception.

The objective notion of intention is by no means a straightforward concept, because “thought,” in its very nature, is the active process of contradicting what it conceives itself to be. In that act of negation, its power lies in the ability to maintain itself despite the contradiction. Its subjective character is therefore the substratum of this form—meaning that these elements “lose” themselves in inverse roles by taking a personal position against their opposite.

Capability is the force of intention and the power that transcends dimensions. It is analogous to light, because it is, in the first place, the precondition for something to happen—and therefore, also its end.

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The point of view is ordinarily conceived as “relative”—that is, there are said to be multiple “relative” points of view. This means there are opposing perspectives that do not agree with one another and may contradict each other, yet are both considered true in their own respect. However, in recent times, this argument has been taken to an extreme. Crude relativism holds that, insofar as each point of view is “true” in itself, it bears no real relation to any other point of view. That is, there is no absolute point of view by which one view could be determined as truer than another.

This understanding only suggests that there is truth behind each point of view, but it does not clarify which point of view is the truth—or what is “true” in relation to a point of view. If we deny any truth beyond our own point of view, we fall into an extreme form of solipsism, wherein the world exists solely in relation to our personal perspective—and if that perspective ends, so does the world. More appropriately stated: the world becomes entirely dependent on the perspective conceiving it.

The problem with solipsism is that it fails to address the following dichotomy between the observer and the world: (1) On the one hand, within the mind of the observer there is constant flux—change in thoughts, feelings, and ideas. (2) On the other hand, the world that the observer perceives appears to be determined, stable, and static. How do the operations of thought within the mind correlate with the objects and mechanics of the external world? We cannot simply assume that the only relation between the observer and the world is that the former passively receives the content for experience from the latter.

At the same time, if it is a feature of the world that it cannot be separated from a particular point of view—without that point of view having any special power to determine the world—then it becomes an objective fact that the world is inseparable from a non-specific point of view. In this case, the observer becomes non-specific, even while holding specific perspectives. In arriving at the realization that there is truth, this conception enables the understanding of the first truth about the observer: that the subject is an object for itself.

There exists a countably infinite number of points of view, each taking on a particular form. Each of these forms invariably produces a universal of itself. The universal then becomes an independent “self” apart from the particular body occupying it, since many bodies share the common universal feature of hosting a “self.” It is through this relation that the first understanding of truth is no longer sufficient. The first truth is not the one that precedes all others; rather, Truth—with a capital “T”—is the potentiality of every individual truth to constitute the actuality of One truth.

From this point onward, the understanding of truth becomes marked by its own self-relation—it bears only a “relative” relation to itself, becoming indifferent to itself. Any variability that arises is the radiance of the same substance expressed as opposite versions of the same concept.

The essential nature that constitutes the relative relation is excluded from having a relation to itself as relative. What underpins the conscientization of the first truth? This question points to the complex relationship between consciousness and self-consciousness.

According to Hegel, consciousness characterizes the primary principle of the universe. He asserts that consciousness possesses the spirit of Reason, and that the essential nature of consciousness is Reason. Hegel’s understanding of Reason is derived from Aristotle’s notion of Substance. Aristotle defines substance as “thought”—a concept that extends beyond the understanding of individual beings and into the capacity for ultimate reality, i.e., God.

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What do we mean by subjectivity unique to the individual? Do we mean that each consciousness pertaining to an individual is different from—and indifferent to—every other consciousness, by virtue of it pertaining to that individual? Is this “pertaining” to an individual the very “limit” of consciousness in bearing an objective nature more fundamental than the individuals that host it?

Is consciousness relative to the body it constitutes, in such a way that each consciousness is unique and conceives things differently? Or, on the one hand, is consciousness subjective because it exists in separate bodies occupying different positions in space and standing at different focal points in time? Yet on the other side of that same hand, consciousness is objective because these so-called “separate” bodies in space and time are all subject to the same set of mechanics and laws—laws which are always universal and constant, disclosing them within a field of varying values and qualities. These universal laws serve as their determining factor.

The perception of variables in space and time is also often called “subjective.” But we must ask: what is it that is perceiving? And what is it that it is perceiving? It cannot be the case that what it perceives is something unique to itself alone. If it perceives only things that are different from itself—for example, objects—then it will never fully identify with itself. But if all it perceives are things of itself, then it can never draw a proper distinction of itself. The environment is the spectrum in which bodies are situated and distinguished from one another. But the reason they became different from each other runs deeper than the simple fact that they do not occupy the same positions in space.

Time also differentiates objects from each other—but how? In the case of evolution, for instance, the environment presumably starts by shaping the organism. Yet, as time unfolds, the organism begins to shape the environment. For example, the environment made man, and in turn, man remakes the environment. Why do we assume that at the beginning of evolution, the environment is lifeless, and that only toward the end of nature does life become advanced and complex?

This assumption stems from a point of view situated at a particular, linear position in time. But from the perspective of God, as the Bible says, “He declares the end from the beginning” (Isaiah 46:10).

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How is consciousness the reflection of itself? What remains now that belongs specifically to individual consciousness—that is, what is unique to my subjective consciousness? The answer lies outside of consciousness, insofar as there exists an infinite set of variables in each environment. On the surface, the environment appears as a set of clear and discovered variables. Yet it also presents an unpredictable number of unknown variables that may “emerge,” to which the organism must then adapt. The organism, therefore, is the active agent of self within a predetermined environment.

However, even deeper than those unpredictable variables is an infinite set of unknowable variables—those that a particular organism may never encounter or interact with. In other words, most of the time, a particular organism will never engage with the total number of possible variables constituting the manifold of its ecosystem.

What belongs uniquely to subjective consciousness, then, is the kind of encounters it experiences in relation to its environment. Bodies in spatial-temporal motion encounter variables at different focal points. The locomotion of bodies allows consciousness to assume a different perspective in relation to other consciousnesses housed in different bodies. But this difference in perspective is always a perspective of the same variable. Thus, it is the agreement about the variable—between two indifferent subjective consciousnesses—that in fact gives rise to objective consciousness.

This is why ants form colonies or honeybees construct hives—there is an unconscious agreement among the individuals of a species that forms their general consciousness in relation to their environment. That relation is translated into productional powers. There is determinacy in the species. In other words, this determinacy defines consciousness as extension.

Subjective consciousness is only the means by which consciousness becomes objective. Yet what is objectiveconsciousness is only ever embodied through the subjective. And so, here we encounter a paradox: how is subjective consciousness in the individual body the means for the collective, while the collective only actualizes its end through the subjective?

This paradox is resolved when we grasp what mediates between the individual and the universal, the subjective and the objective.

At the outset of this inquiry, the following question is asked: What can we learn from human history? What we learn—based on an understanding of Truth—is that the many particular points of view, each relative to another, exist as the dialectic of Reason with itself: the becoming of consciousness.

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The science of phenomenology, or the study of experience, faces the following difficulty: it is generally held that because experience is subjective, my experience of reality differs from your experience of reality. Therefore, the reality of a phenomenon is rendered differently depending on the nature of the subjective experience. As a result, the reality of a phenomenon cannot be fully shared by two differing experiences. If this principle is adopted as the foundation of phenomenology, then the science itself becomes impossible as a study of “experience” in any universal or communicable sense.

To say that experience is subjective means nothing more than that a subject is conceiving of a phenomenon in a specific and particular way. Yet the subjective experience itself is objective in being the particular experience for a subject. The fact that I see something differently from you merely means that experience is objectively different—i.e., the objective nature of experience is its variability according to perspective.

However, this does not mean that experience is dependent on perspective in the sense that it has no external subsistence. If we take seriously the notion that subjective experience is objective in its variability, then this variability—which is unique to the subject—is itself the basis from which an objective framework can originate. The subjective functions as though it were a limited passageway through which the infinite objective connects into other finite points of itself.

The dilemma between the objective and the subjective is thus stated:

1. If experience is dependent on the observer, then perspective can arbitrarily create any experience, and there is no true objective basis for experience.
2. If the observer is dependent on experience, then the subject becomes merely a passive recipient, with no power to alter or determine their experience beyond what is given. In this case, it remains unexplained from where the experience originates or how it is determined into objective reality.

The study of experience assumes that experience is something external to the subject—something that can be reflected upon. But we must be cautious here. The idea that the subject creates the phenomenon, and that the very production of the phenomenon is the experience, involves the following fallacy: when we say that the phenomenon is created by the subject by virtue of experience, this implies that the phenomenon already exists externally, and that experience is the subject’s contact with the object. That contact supposedly allows the subject to imprint upon the object a unique version of reality—different from another subject doing the same.

However, this does not answer the question of what the object is, and why it is able to receive any and every imprint, even from unrelated or incompatible subjective perspectives. What is the nature of the object that makes it capable of taking on such varying experiences?

In its ultimate form, as Aristotle explains, the idea that thought produces the object is made clear through the concept of the objective. The term “objective” means that there is an experience that has been objectified—that is, the subject generates an experience outward and transforms it into an object. In this way, the subject actively involves experience.

This subtle distinction explains how the object is generated: experience is not subjective in the sense that the object is merely perceived differently by each subject. That account fails to explain how the object is a phenomenon. Rather, the object is generated by the subject as an objective experience—and in this lies its being as a phenomenon. This is a necessary condition for an object to exist: the object is the representation of an internal being objectified as something external.

Just because both the subject and object are equally necessary does not mean they are necessarily equal in function. The latter suggests that in the inverse relation between the two, one principle may be active while the other is passive. It is this tendency—that each becomes the other in a self-relating opposition—that makes both equally necessary. Yet this tendency itself is contradictory.

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Same Object from Two Different Angles

The problem with claims such as “everything is only subjective” or “everything is only objective” is that they fail to recognize how each principle is necessarily used to explain the other. For example, when we say “everything is objective,” that claim is true in the sense that anything can, in theory, be demonstrated, explained, and possesses a nature that can be communicated, agreed upon, and verified independently of any specific observer. However, this view fails to address what constitutes the content of the objective—what is the nuance of objectivity itself?

In other words, it is the subject that is objective—not any specific individual observer, but the very nature of being an observer. To be an observer is, in itself, an objective condition. This oversight is mirrored in the opposite claim, that “everything is subjective.” The more accurate expression is that everything is objectively subjective, or subjectively objective—and both expressions amount to the same fundamental insight.

When we make the abstraction that everything is subjective, the idea is to present the world from an internal point of view. That is, the observer conceives of a reality in which a set of “other” things operate independently from one another and externally from the self that observes them. Each individual self has the capacity to disclose these external things while, at the same time, being disclosed by other selves as themselves external.

While this basic picture reflects the immediate appearance of experience, it is incomplete. To claim that everything is subjective is, paradoxically, an objective statement. That is, the condition of being a subject is itself an objective feature of reality.

This leads to the deeper question: What universal features of the subjective can be communicated between different minds, such that they reveal themselves as one and the same substance?

The answer lies in moving beyond these simplistic abstractions that the world is either subjective or objective—as though one excludes the other. The objective nature of the subjective is that there exists a conception which discloses a set of objects, each observed in a particular way. The set of objects in the environment appears to the observer as a continuity, while the observation of objects at specific positions in space and moments in time is the particular conception of a single moment—one among an infinite number of potential moments.

Each of these moments is somehow disclosed within the object itself. And this disclosure—this presentation of the infinite through the finite—is the objective feature of being a subjective observer.

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There is no real continuity independent of the conception through which the observer discloses the world. For example, if I am standing at one position looking at an object, and another individual is standing at another position looking at the same object, we are both perceiving the same object in the sense that it is a thing true in and of itself. The object is real for both of us, but the way it is real is different for each of us. I am viewing it from one angle, from one point of view, while my friend is viewing it from another angle. We are both perceiving different possible moments disclosed within that same object—an object which, in itself, is an infinity of possible moments. Each of us abstracts one of those moments at a specific time and place.

Continuity is disclosed within each of these conceptions. What happens within the confines of a conception is conscious; however, the distinction between one conception and another forms a discreteness. This discreteness is what constitutes a possible moment of the object. Two observers looking at the same object from different angles are, on some level, determining two different possible moments of that object.

From within one conception, the object appears as a single and continuous entity to which its various moments belong. But across different conceptions, the object becomes a set of different moments, each occupying a place in a distinct conception. For instance, from the perspective of ten people, the same object is ten different moments. But for one person, it might be experienced as ten different moments over time. Subjectively, we are part of that interplay, where there is no single object but rather a recurring character that manifests across many different moments.

The claim that no one can occupy the same unique perspective as yourself is true—not because that position is subjectively unique to “you” as a person, but because “you,” despite your uniqueness, are merely occupying a position in the objective reality of multiplicity. You are simply the character—one particular personality—of consciousness in general. What it means to be subjective is itself an objective feature of all things that are distinct and separated by space. All particular things possess a subjective side; subjectivity is the common feature of all things.

To be subjective does not mean reducing the world to a merely private point of view. Rather, being an individual involves having one’s particularity embedded in the objective phenomena of something larger. An individual is distinct from everything else from the standpoint of an observer, such that an observer can recognize and agree with another that they are both perceiving the “same” object, even though that object exhibits different aspects to each of them. While it is true that no one can “see” exactly what you are seeing from your unique point of view, it is also true that, if they were to occupy your exact position, at the exact time, with the exact faculties, they would see the exact same thing. Therefore, the position you are in is not special because of you; rather, you are special because of the position you occupy.

The problem, then, is this: every object we “agree” upon as being the “same” thing has infinite ways of being seen and is constantly changing. There are infinite angles, positions, distances, and arrangements from which it can be observed. Materialists take this for granted, viewing these subtle physical changes as natural motion—what happens when an object changes its position in space. At the same time, they tend to view the object as static in order to maintain the idea of a consistent, homogeneous form while in motion. In their view, it is only the observer who changes position, so that the object merely appears differently.

But this implies that the differences we notice in perception are mental products. If the differences were in the objects themselves, the materialist would have to admit that an object is simultaneously undergoing an infinite number of actions. This indeterminate set of possible actions—occurring outside the observer’s view—renders what we typically deem the most predictable and stable things (the objects of perception) the least definite and least reliable sources for deriving certainty. Yet, paradoxically, the same materialist may also grant certainty to the faculties of sensation, as though they capture precisely what an object is at a given moment.

While this may seem like common sense, it presupposes that anything in the mind that doesn’t directly correspond to what is seen in front of the eye is somehow illusory or less real. If there is one overarching theme in the history of philosophy, it is this: many of the greatest philosophers agree that matter is illusory—precisely because it appears in an infinite variety of forms while something indefinite and enduring remains beneath it all. This is the insight implicitly recognized in Descartes’ example of a stick appearing bent in water.

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Descartes proposed the “stick in water” example to illustrate his argument from illusion—the idea that when a stick is placed in water, it appears bent, though it is actually straight. He attributed this to an optical illusion. However, there is a deeper significance to this notion that Descartes did not explicitly mention: every object has an infinite number of ways of being observed. Moreover, every object can potentially be observed by an infinite number of distinct observers in an infinite number of ways. This means that every angle, perspective, or way in which an object is perceived by a different observer constitutes one possible moment of that object’s existence.

All of this is disclosed within the object itself, but it is picked out differently depending on the observer. Moreover, because there are an infinite number of possible observers—or rather, because the observer can exist in an infinite number of configurations—the object itself appears infinitely different. Yet, it still remains one and the same distinct thing, shared among all observers who directly perceive it. This fact about the nature of objects contradicts the very notion of matter as traditionally conceived. Materially, an object is thought to exist in only one unique and distinct way, and each object is considered to be definitively different from every other. However, in order for the above idea to make sense, matter must be understood in a more abstract way: as a kind of substance capable of configuring within itself opposing forms or figures.

We notice this complexity especially in motion. Naturally, when an object is in motion through space and time, it continues to align with its identity—but that identity is animate. It changes and acts out other forms or figures. And those forms themselves are also unique sets of distinct objects, capable of transforming into different versions of themselves.

It may be that the physical composition of the stick is such that, under ordinary circumstances—such as through touch—it appears firm, hard, and straight. Yet, when introduced to different conditions such as water, light, and sight, the stick appears more malleable. The nature and type of sensation engaged with the object demands a different level of physicality. For instance, sight depends on the reflection of light from the object, which exists on a different physical level than the solid texture detected by touch. Each sensation corresponds to a different manifestation of the object. In this sense, every object can be considered a vessel of infinity—just as there is an infinity of uniquely different objects, so too is there an infinity of different ways a single object can be experienced.

Descartes’ wax example furthers this point. When wax is heated, its physical structure changes: its shape, texture, color, smell, and size all transform. These changes are not illusions—they occur to the wax itself. The only properties that remain unchanged are extension, changeability, and movability. These characteristics, however, have no distinct sensory form and cannot be directly perceived. Rather, they are conceptual properties shared by all material things, regardless of their specific composition. Descartes concluded that such properties cannot be grasped by the senses or imagination, but only by pure reason.

He also raised the famous point about dreaming: that while ‘dreaming’, one cannot distinguish the dream from reality—it is only upon waking that one recognizes it as a dream. This skepticism about the reliability of the senses is later developed by Kant, and especially by Hegel, who asserted that “pure Reason” is not external to the physical world but is actually embedded within it. What we regard as the unchanging substratum behind the infinite appearances of an object is, in fact, reason itself made manifest.

This idea echoes Aristotle’s concept of form—the essence of a thing. Like Plato’s Forms, Aristotle considered the form to be unchanging and fundamental. However, while Plato believed Forms existed in a separate realm, Aristotle saw them as immanent: the form of a thing exists within the thing itself. Hegel later transformed this idea into what he called the “concept” of the thing—the non-physical essence that defines what the object is. When the mind apprehends an object, it does so by grasping this concept, which acts as the blueprint or logical structure into which matter is shaped.

Since forms are infinite—or, as Plato said, “numerous”—Aristotle believed that every possible action, transformation, or state has its corresponding form. These forms are not what is immediately present in time but are instead ever-present, generating the appearances we perceive through an infinite flux of perspectives and possibilities. It is as if the object is a multidimensional cube, constantly transforming through time. Like a comet passing through space, its tail is a series of definite moments, the real appearances we perceive—while the head, or source, remains an unfolding of infinite potential.

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But again, being-for-itself must be interpreted, in general, as ideality, just as, in contrast, being-there (or Dasein) was earlier designated as reality¹. Reality and ideality are often considered a pair of determinations that stand in opposition, confronting each other with equal independence. As a result, people commonly say that, apart from reality, there is “also” an ideality.

However, ideality is not something that exists outside or apart from reality. On the contrary, the concept of ideality consists precisely in this: it is the truth of reality. In other words, reality, when it is posited as what it is in itself, reveals itself to be ideality². Therefore, we must not think we have done justice to ideality merely by allowing that reality is not everything, and that we must also recognize an ideality “beside” or “above” it. An ideality conceived in this way—as separate from or superior to reality—would be nothing more than an empty name. Ideality has content only because it is the ideality of something—and this “something” is not just an indeterminate “this or that,” but rather being-there, characterized as reality. When reality is maintained in isolation, without ideality, no truth pertains to it.

On the distinction between nature and mind:

The distinction between nature and mind has been correctly interpreted to mean that we must trace nature back to reality as its fundamental determination, and mind to ideality. But nature is not something fixed or complete in and of itself, as though it could exist independently of mind. Rather, nature only reaches its goal and its truth in mind³. Likewise, mind is not some abstract realm detached from nature. On the contrary, it is truly mind only to the extent that it contains nature—sublated—within itself⁴.

On objectivity and subjectivity:

Today, we claim to have gone beyond Kantian philosophy, and everyone seeks to go further. But there are two ways to go further: one can move forward—or backward⁵.

Footnotes

1. Being-for-itself and being-there (or Dasein) are distinctions found in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit and Science of Logic, where “being-there” refers to determinate existence, while “being-for-itself” refers to self-related, ideal or subjective being. Heidegger later re-appropriated Dasein in a distinct ontological sense. ↩
2. In Hegelian terms, ideality is not opposed to reality but is its truth—meaning that reality achieves full self-understanding when grasped conceptually. See G.W.F. Hegel, Science of Logic, where he argues that being and essence (and ultimately the Idea) are not separate realms but part of the dialectical unfolding of truth. ↩
3. This idea reflects Hegel’s view that nature is the other of spirit or mind, and that mind is the truth of nature. In The Encyclopaedia of the Philosophical Sciences, Hegel presents nature as a necessary stage that mind must sublate (i.e., both negate and preserve) in the course of realizing itself. ↩
4. The term sublated (German: aufgehoben) is a key Hegelian concept meaning something is both canceled and preserved within a higher unity. Nature, when sublated into spirit, is not destroyed but incorporated as part of spirit’s development. ↩
5. This is a paraphrase of Hegel’s remark in the Preface to the Phenomenology of Spirit, where he critiques superficial attempts to “go beyond” earlier philosophies without developing their insights dialectically. Progress in thought is not linear escape but dialectical movement. ↩

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Antinomy: Contradictions That Create the Same Appearance

Reason’s attempt to be cognizant of the unconditioned aspect of the second object (i.e., the world)¹ results in its entanglement with antinomies—that is, with the assertion of two opposing propositions about the same object. Moreover, it finds that each proposition must be affirmed with equal necessity.²

Contradiction, then, is not a failure of thinking, but a property of it.

From the perspective of the observer, uncertainty is not merely a limitation upon conception, but a constitutive property of it.

In the tradition of older metaphysics, it was assumed that when cognition fell into contradiction, this was merely an accidental Aberration (departure from norm), resting on subjective error in inference or argument. For Kant, on the contrary, it lies in the very nature of thinking to lapse into contradiction—what he called “antinomies”—when it aims at cognition of the infinite.³

Our formal logic may be taken as the expression of the basic nature of the understanding. But the infinite is the most complex of all concepts, not only because it is difficult by its very nature, but because it is rationally indeterminate—it posits, for thought, a contradiction within itself. This contradiction operates not as a failure, but as the very function of thought: it is the principle of going “beyond” the object, so that thought is not fixated on the object as it is immediately presented.

Hegel Expands the Problem of Antinomy “a contradiction between two beliefs or conclusions that are in themselves reasonable; a paradox“

Definition of Antinomy is “a contradiction between two beliefs or conclusions that are in themselves reasonable; a paradox“, Hegel says:

“It is easy to see what is left, namely, what is completely abstract, or totally empty, and determined only as what is ‘beyond’; the negative of representation, of feeling, of determinate thinking, etc. But it is just as simple to reflect that this caput mortuum⁴ is itself only the product of thinking—and precisely of the thinking that has gone to the extreme of pure abstraction, the product of the empty ‘I’ that makes its own empty self-identity into its object. The negative determination that contains this abstract identity as its object is likewise entered among the Kantian categories, and, like that empty identity, it is something quite familiar. We must be quite surprised, therefore, to read so often that one does not know what the thing-in-itself is; for nothing is easier to know than this.”⁵

The infinite, as a product of thought, does not mean it is empty. On the contrary, by being abstract, it becomes the very power for action. Thought surpasses the object that is defiantly presented to it; it holds its own beyond the object, and it is precisely in this capacity that the object can first be present for thought.

By its nature, however, the infinite is a “simple” element because it is the power of determination. Imagine being in a pitch-dark room with the capacity to move in any direction. One cannot discern movement until an object imposes a determination—until contrast is perceived. The black plane becomes movement across a white one. The difference, the limit, implies another object. The infinite is not aimless; it contains the potential for differentiation.

Footnotes

`1. From Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit and Science of Logic, where he critiques Kant’s notion of the “thing-in-itself” as being not mysterious, but a necessary result of abstract thinking pushed to its limit. ↩

2. Kant distinguishes between the “conditioned” (phenomenal experience) and the “unconditioned” (the totality or ground of that experience), particularly in his Critique of Pure Reason, where the world as totality (the second object here) is beyond empirical cognition. ↩

3. This is a central point in Kant’s treatment of the “Antinomies of Pure Reason,” where both thesis and antithesis (e.g., the world has a beginning in time vs. the world has no beginning) can be logically affirmed. ↩

4. See Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A426/B454 ff., where he introduces the concept of antinomies as inevitable conflicts of reason when it tries to totalize or complete itself. ↩

5. Caput mortuum is Latin for “dead head,” used in alchemical and philosophical contexts to refer to a residue or remnant with no value—but here ironically inverted to mean the product of pure abstraction. ↩

The Infinite, Contradiction, and the Nature of Thought

The investigation of the infinite is difficult because the subject matter it concerns—namely, the nature of thought—is an elusive substance to comprehend. Just as Aristotle introduced substance to give content to the empty abstraction of Being, modern idealist philosophy introduces into the empty notion of the Infinite the substance of thought—namely, the power of contradiction or redundancy.¹ The very thought we use to understand and know the phenomenal world is the same thought employed to comprehend the nature of thought itself.

This self-reflexivity is unique: in attempting to provide evidence for the existence of thought, we can only assert that we know that thought exists because even the lack of knowing what it is constitutes a capacity we already know to be true. The absence of knowledge about thought is the self-evidence of its presence. This, arguably, is the foundational gesture of modern science, as initiated by Descartes’ cogito.² Yet, despite this self-certainty, we cannot provide a physical description of thought, only point toward it as an object of thought. Knowing that thought exists—without knowing what it is—constitutes the very space for the object.

But the place of the object—how it stands in the world—reaffirms a doubt regarding thought itself. Doubt, which is still a mode of thinking, expresses dissatisfaction with merely knowing that the object exists. True knowledge requires demonstration and explanation. The object in the environment is, to a certain degree, a demonstration of a thought known to exist: the object is a self-evident manifestation of thought. Nature, in this way, has already demonstratedthought; but because thought inherently surpasses itself, it must reaffirm this with a different form of demonstration.

It is not sufficient to merely assert an intuition of thought, because intuition is always grounded in the properties and processes of experience. Insofar as pure thought is concerned, there appears a separation in understanding: between the phenomenal world of experience, and thought, which seems internally distinct and void of experience. Hegel explains this through the misapplication of thought to the world, where the world is derived from thought, yet thought is excluded from the world:

“It is not considered at all objectionable that the world as it appears shows contradictions to the [mind] that observes it; the way the world is for subjective spirit, for sensibility, and for the understanding, is the world as it appears. But when the essence of what is in the world is compared with the essence of [mind], it may surprise us to see how naively the humble affirmation has been advanced, and repeated, that what is inwardly contradictory is not the essence of the world, but belongs to reason, the thinking essence.”³

This mistaken separation between the contradictions of thought and the contradictions of the world is addressed by Kant in his analysis of the Paralogisms. These are essentially defective syllogisms in which the same term is used in multiple senses across premises, producing a false appearance of logical coherence.⁴

Our faculties of perception—intuition, sensation, etc.—are not opposed to thought, but are themselves modes of thought mediating between the environment and conscious understanding. If these faculties are internal operations of thought and if they exhibit the environment in the mind, then the environment is, in a sense, extended into the mind. Hegel elaborates:

“If the empirical were to authenticate our thought, then it would certainly be requisite that the thought can be precisely exhibited in our perceptions. In Kant’s critique of metaphysical psychology, the only reason that substantiality, simplicity, self-identity, and the independence that maintains itself in its community with the material world cannot be attributed to the soul is that the determinations which the consciousness of the soul lets us experience are not exactly those that are produced by thinking in the same context. But, according to our presentation here, Kant himself makes cognition in general, and even experience, consist in the fact that our perceptions are thought—that is, that the determinations which first belong to perception are transformed into thought-determinations. It must be counted as one good result of the Kantian critique, in any case, that philosophizing about the spirit has been freed from the old ‘soul-things’ and their categories—and hence from questions about whether the soul is simple or composite, whether it is material, and so on. Even for ordinary human understanding, after all, the genuine point of view about the inadmissibility of such forms is not the fact that they are thoughts, but rather that in and for themselves these thoughts do not contain the truth. If thought and appearance do not completely correspond with each other, we have a choice, initially, of which of them to regard as the deficient one. In Kant’s idealism, so far as it concerns the rational, the defect is shifted onto the thoughts; they are found to be unsatisfactory because they do not match up with what is perceived, or with a consciousness that restricts itself to the range of perception—so that these thoughts are not to be found in a consciousness of this sort. The content of the thought, on its own account, does not come under discussion here.”⁵

Cosmology, Evolution, and Thought

In light of the above, we might integrate these reflections into the cosmological principle. The Earth is not merely one body among others in the universe but represents, in a sense, the limit or culmination of the universe’s evolutionary unfolding. This does not suggest anthropocentrism, but rather that the operations of life on Earth culminate in the human being—a species of individuals that embodies the rationality latent in nature. Evolution, in this sense, is not only biological but ontological: a development of the world into self-consciousness through the individual subject.⁶

Footnotes

1. This reading aligns with Hegel’s notion that nature achieves its end in spirit, and with Schelling’s philosophy of nature as the unconscious becoming-conscious. Evolution is seen not only as a process of life but as a development of rationality. ↩

2. Aristotle’s Metaphysics begins with Being as an empty abstraction, but introduces substance (ousia) as what gives Being intelligibility. Likewise, German Idealism (particularly Hegel) reintroduces content into the infinite via contradiction. ↩

3. Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy, where the certainty of thought (“I think, therefore I am”) grounds all further knowledge. ↩

4. From G.W.F. Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, where he critiques the tendency to isolate contradiction to human thought rather than seeing it as embedded in the world itself. ↩

5. Kant’s “Paralogisms of Pure Reason” appear in the Critique of Pure Reason, A341/B399ff. The term refers to fallacious syllogisms concerning the nature of the self and soul, arising from ambiguous uses of terms. ↩

6. Paraphrased from Hegel’s Encyclopedia Logic and Philosophy of Spirit, particularly his discussion of Kant and the limitations of the empirical grounding of rational concepts. ↩