9.0 Section Nine: Universal vs. Particular

Section 6. (first updated. 12.10.2020)

Reason as the Distinction Between the Universal and the Individual

Defined in the understanding of the term “particular” is the implication of the Universal fact of it being shared. Hegel writes that Reason is “the [distinction between] the universal […] with that of the individual.”¹ In this context, the universal does not merely denote something shared by many, nor does it only imply an eternal or immutable truth in the commonsensical manner. Rather, the concept of the universal presupposes that which is shared, but what is shared is not necessarily a single quality or essence across all entities.

Indeed, a universal commonsensical presupposition often assumes that being shared implies a condition that is always or eternally true. However, this is a mischaracterization. The term universal does not only signify a quality held in common among many quantities. What is truly shared among all things is, paradoxically, that they are not the same—that is, they do not necessarily share the same set of traits.² This difference is not merely between quantities (individual instances), but rather between qualities. A quality gathers a group of quantities into a relational whole, rendering them similar in some respect. At the same time, a quality differentiates that group from another group, which shares a different function.³

All forms of differences inherently involve a point of their own indifference—a shared ground or domain which permits the differentiation itself. This commonality is what sustains the uniqueness of each entity. It is what allows things to be different from one another while remaining within the same relational field or structure. This indifference is the condition that maintains objects as each-other: distinct, yet united through the structure of their difference.⁴ It is this very feature that renders each object a unique kind of thing at a particular moment in time. The universal, then, is the condition that enables an object to occupy only one moment in time at one point in space. To be a point is to be the spatial representation of the temporal significance of a moment. Thus, a moment in time is expressed as a point in space.⁵

No two points can be identical, for they occupy different spatial positions. If one were in the exact place of the other, they would be indistinguishable—effectively the same—and hence, there would be no difference between them. If we assume that space is the measure of difference between any two points in time, then time must also be the measure of difference between objects in space.⁶ The existence or occurrence of any being—whether arising spontaneously or through rational creation—cannot be identical to another. Otherwise, they would be the same entity. Therefore, both the generation of a thing in time and the spatial position in which it exists must be different, and must exhibit indifference, between any two or more beings or objects of being.

When an entity occupies a particular moment in time, it is not isolated from other objects but is always part of an indivisible coordinate relation with other entities sharing the same moment or instance in time. While no two objects can occupy the exact same point in space, many can participate in the same moment in time. Still, no two objects can occur in the exact same way. Objects may share the same moment because that moment is always related to the conception of the observer who witnesses it. The moment exists as part of the observer’s structuring of experience. This shared ground allows multiple quantities to be grouped by differing qualities. This is why, when we perceive any single object, we can always deduce that it belongs to a family or class of similar objects. Moreover, the unit object, independently from other groups of objects, is composed of an innumerable set of internally differing elements that constitute it as a unified whole.⁷

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The idea that an object is constituted by internal multiplicity reflects Spinozist substance monism as well as Hegelian totality. ↩

G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibree (New York: Dover Publications, 1956), p. 53. ↩

This interpretation challenges the reduction of universality to mere abstraction and aligns with dialectical logic, where contradiction and negation are integral to identity. ↩

See Hegel’s Science of Logic, where quality and quantity mediate each other dialectically. ↩

Compare this with Deleuze’s concept of difference in itself, where identity arises from differentiation, not from pre-existing sameness. ↩

This insight resonates with Kant’s notion that time and space are a priori forms of intuition, as well as Hegel’s development of these categories in the Phenomenology of Spirit. ↩

This echoes Heidegger’s analysis in Being and Time, where temporality underlies spatial relations and being-there (Dasein). ↩

Content

Aristotle’s system

Relation, System, and the Development of Phenomenology from Aristotle to Hegel

In Science of Logic, Hegel writes: “Relation is the still−imperfect union of reflection−into−otherness and reflection−into−self; the perfect interpenetration of both.”¹ This dialectical unity is exemplified in cases such as memetic dependency, where self-reference and external reference interweave to produce relational meaning.

The science of metaphysics is first systematized by Aristotle. He is the first philosopher to treat thought as a unified, systematic whole, associating and connecting truths through derivation from an essential principle.² In Aristotle’s philosophy, we encounter what can be properly called a system—that is, each fact about a particular truth is derived from another that precedes it. Thus, his natural science follows from his metaphysics, and ethics follows from natural science. The difference between each domain of truth lies in the specific kind of fact it derives regarding the nature of Reason—which itself is the essential principle underlying all knowledge.

Hegel adopts this structural approach to knowledge, creating his own unified system of science, in which logic forms the foundational core, followed by phenomenology, and subsequently, the development of objective and absolute spirit.³

The Modern field of phenomenology can be understood as a continuation—and transformation—of what Aristotle had initiated in Ancient times. Aristotle’s method appropriates both deductive and inductive forms of logic in order to adequately interpret phenomena observed in nature. That is, when we receive information from the world, our understanding of that information is grounded in structured processes of logical interpretation, rooted in our capacity for reason and mediated through conceptual reflection.⁴

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For the continuity between Aristotelian logic and modern phenomenology, see Edmund Husserl, The Crisis of European Sciences, and the notion of intentionality as inherited from Aristotelian noetics. ↩

G.W.F. Hegel, Science of Logic, trans. George di Giovanni (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 69–70. See also §1039 in the original German editions. ↩

See Aristotle, Metaphysics, esp. Book I (Alpha), where the pursuit of first principles is emphasized as the foundation of philosophical inquiry. ↩

On Hegel’s system, see The Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences, where logic is followed by the philosophy of nature and then spirit. See also the Phenomenology of Spirit, which functions as a path to science. ↩

Entirety of eternity

Eternity, Abstraction, and the Nature of Temporal Change

An instance can be understood as an abstraction of an “indefinitely eternal state of time.” However, due to the enormous rate of abstraction, the transition from one moment to the next appears to take “forever.” This abstraction occurs so numerously that the same indefinite entity is captured repeatedly—without discernible end. The number of times it is captured as only one (i.e., once at a time) is equivalent to the amount of time it remains the same, undifferentiated principle.¹ In other words, an energy state that is happening so rapidly is indistinguishable from a solid state, or that our perception observers a rapidly occurring energy as a solid state. In the realm of time, an infinitely rapid rate of energy is indistinguishable from eternal period of time, i.e., a limitless duration. If events are occurring so quickly that not even a single moment can be isolated or “picked out,” it becomes indistinguishable from nothing happening at all. Conversely, if everything happens all at once, the result is similarly undifferentiated, and there is no measurable length of time that can be assigned to a duration with a beginning and an end. Thus, the very notions of beginning and end become conceptually unstable under such conditions.²

An entity may be conceived spatially as equivalent to entirety (wholeness), and temporally as eternity (limitless duration). This dual conception defines the boundary—or limit—that discloses the totality of all possible conceptions of all possible objects. All the possible ways a thing can potentially be, taken together, constitute its Being. However, any such being appears only at one point in time, always as the same thing, but differently each time, through the lens of otherness or difference.³

Different things occurring at different points in time can be said to occupy the same moment insofar as they share a common temporal structure or principle. Yet, each moment follows another, occupying a different point in time. This cycle of change continues indefinitely. However, the quality contained within these moments is of a different nature than mere numerical succession. Each moment brings forth a distinct qualitative configuration that transcends the pure quantitative sequence of temporal points.⁴

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See Whitehead’s Process and Reality, where time is constituted by “occasions of experience” that have qualitative character and not merely chronological order. ↩

This idea relates to Zeno’s paradoxes and the conception of time as a continuum in which indivisible instants are theoretically infinite in number but individually ungraspable. See Aristotle, Physics, Book VI. ↩

Compare with the thought experiments of time in Augustine’s Confessions (Book XI), where time’s beginning and end are tied to perception and divine creation, as well as with Bergson’s idea of la durée (real duration) as qualitatively experienced time. ↩

This resonates with Hegel’s dialectic in the Science of Logic, where identity is always mediated through difference. See also Heidegger’s account of Being as temporal unfolding in Being and Time. ↩

2.30 Being or non-being?

Scientific Morality, Reason, and the Process of Actualization

The distinction between being and non-being is foundational to what can be termed scientific morality. Ethics, in this sense, is scientific—not in the alienated manner in which science is often understood today, but in the genuine rational pursuit of the actualization of being, not merely of well-being. The latter is related to the former in that both together constitute the whole of human experience.¹

This form of scientific inquiry emphasizes a traditional moral value: that the dialectical process should not be applied to non-being as an end in itself, but to being, for being is the true reality of non-being. While this approach affirms the primacy of being, it tends to obscure how non-being contributes to the realization of being. Being and non-being are not separate; they emerge from one another. Being is reached through non-being. This idea is generally accepted in speculative philosophy, particularly in Hegel’s dialectics, where negation plays a constitutive role in the development of spirit.²

Being, Well-Being, and the Ethical Ideal of Science

Being in and of itself contains both bad and good. The moral aspect of science lies in moving beyond mere being toward well-being, where the latter condition is necessarily good and represents the ideal. The ethical dimension of science involves taking the ideal seriously—as a determining substance in the universe. That is, nature itself is moving toward an ideal.

However, in the course of this movement, there is a transition from bad to good. This transition may involve conditions that are not ideal, yet when taken together as part of a temporal sequence, they are necessarily developmental—oriented toward the ideal. Since the ideal is, by its very nature, an ethical necessity, it is itself necessarily good.

Nevertheless, a counter-position is sometimes asserted as a value: namely, that one should not place too much hope in the actualization of being via non-being. This is an objective moral position that applies to a particular aspect of the dialectical process. At the individual level, non-being and being are so intricately entangled that Being cannot be derived in the same linear or final way as at the universal level. This position neglects the fact that before ultimate Being is actualized, particular being must first be realized. And the particular level of being is complex—dialectically rich and filled with contradiction. However, complexity does not preclude resolution; in fact, resolution is embedded within the process itself.³

The final resolution of the process goes beyond the resolution at the level of the particular. At the particular level, the resolution is the process. But at the universal level, the resolution is the “Self”—the process as a whole coming into identity with itself. The complete process is the one particular that becomes the universal. It is already a part of the universal, but in becoming fully itself, it becomes the universal. At this level, distinctions dissolve: every particular is potentially the same universal meaning that their ultimate goal is universal. Within the infinite set of particulars, there is one that is the universal. But because it was always already the universal, it is, paradoxically, in the process of becoming itself.⁴

This is the essential nature of the process itself: to proceed in such a pattern is its very meaning. Without development, the process ceases to be a process. The process, by nature, is Reason—unfolding, sustaining itself, and remaining alive. Reason is the movement that enables the process to be what it is: the self-movement of reality. Time, light, and space are expressions of this Reason, directing the world and serving as the first principles of reality. They function as the particulars of the universal, and through them, further particulars arise.⁵

Inorganic to organic

This interplay is visible in the development from the inorganic to the organic. Organic life is a more developed and complex manifestation of inorganic matter—matter that becomes increasingly self-structured. The most complex particular emerging from organic life is self-conscious reason—namely, the human being. The term human being thus refers to a process: the most intricate and self-reflective movement within the larger process itself.⁶

This culminates in the actuality of the human being as both object and concept. Accepting this as a scientific truth is not a matter of “hope” but of realism. Hope, as a function of non-being, can be illusory. Hoping for something does not make it a fact. Hope often serves as a placebo against bad character, but this presupposes the existence of that bad character. Character is a factor, but not the determining factor. What truly determines is the realization that the ultimate actualization of reality is ultimate truth. A part of that truth is the realization that each person is part of the process of this actualization—and that, regardless of one’s stage within it, one will become a universally developed individual.⁷

Actualizing universal development is always true at the individual level, but the broader process is the universal actualization of reality itself. This universal process precedes and succeeds the individual’s process: it is both the ground and the telos. The process and the result are not separable; they are one and the same. There is no result without process and no process without result. One does not come before or after the other—they are mutually constitutive. For instance, the result is not merely “an apple”; it must also continue being an apple. The apple, as a result, assumes its own continuation. In this way, the result implies process, and process implies result, their reality is one of mutual implication.

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The idea that each individual reflects the universal echoes the Christian idea of the imago Dei, as well as the Stoic view that every rational being participates in the logos. ↩

Compare with Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, where eudaimonia (flourishing) is tied not only to well-being but to the fulfillment of rational activity in accordance with virtue. ↩

See G.W.F. Hegel, Science of Logic, trans. George di Giovanni (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), where the dialectic of being–nothing–becoming is foundational. See also Phenomenology of Spirit, esp. the section on “Self-Consciousness.” ↩

This resonates with Kierkegaard’s analysis of individual existence in The Sickness Unto Death, where the self is always in the process of becoming, and with Sartre’s emphasis on being-for-itself and nothingness. ↩

The identity of universal and particular in speculative logic is one of Hegel’s most important insights. See also Plotinus, Enneads, for earlier Neoplatonic formulations. ↩

This metaphysical triad recalls the Presocratic thinkers (e.g., Heraclitus) and their influence on Hegel, particularly in how he conceives of time, becoming, and logos. ↩

For more on the self-conscious development of spirit, see Hegel’s Philosophy of Mind and his discussion of the human being as the site where spirit comes to know itself. ↩

Spatial Point

Substance and Position Across Time

What is the substance at every different point in time?

A point in the spatial domain occupies position, and position can never occupy the same spot at the same time. If it did, then change would be impossible, or, more precisely, to change a point in time would contradict the natural motion of Being within a position. Even in a standing posture or an inertial state, change is presupposed to be occurring everywhere else except at the point of inertia. This implies that stillness is defined against a background of universal motion.¹

The idea of position is defined by location. However, the concept of location is not static—it is the area of space where objects and events take place. In the temporal domain, location means that events occur. Yet a “location” (i.e., an area of space) is always part of a moment in time. One cannot have location without events taking place. Even if nothing is actively happening, the mere existence of a location—constituted by chemical structures, atomic interactions, and physical boundaries—is itself an event.²

It is not the case that first there is a location, and then events occur within it. Rather, it is because things happen that they occupy a specific point in space and time. The entity within any component of reality is always occupying “somewhere else” relative to where it is situated now. That is, its being is extended beyond its immediate position due to its temporal and material structure.³

No object is ever fixed at a single spot at any given moment in time. Instead, objects are constantly in the process of occupying a place other than where they are now. A position is only “certain” in the context of a broader spatial reference frame—a general area that gives that specific position meaning. Thus, certainty of position is relational, not absolute.⁴

What all different objects share in common is the moment—a shared temporal structure within which their positions vary. Although each object may exist in a different position, they coexist within the same moment. Therefore, the moment is unified in time, while positions are differentiated in space. This shared temporal moment, filled with differing spatial positions and qualitative configurations, is what gives substance its continuous character across time.⁵

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See Hegel’s Science of Logic, where the unity of opposites—such as time and space, universal and particular—is explored through dialectical reasoning. ↩

Compare with Newton’s first law of motion, which presupposes a frame of reference in which inertia is defined. Also see Heraclitus, who claimed that “everything flows” (panta rhei), implying a background of constant change. ↩

This aligns with contemporary process philosophy, particularly the work of Alfred North Whitehead in Process and Reality, where events are the basic units of reality. ↩

This notion recalls Heidegger’s being-there (Dasein), where the self is always already situated in a world that extends beyond its immediate position. ↩

The relativity of position is a foundational idea in Einstein’s general theory of relativity, where space and time are interconnected and defined by frames of reference. ↩.

Identity of Difference

The Nature of the Particular and the Question of Objectivity

The Particular is subjective because, by definition, it is distinguished as something distinct, however this is the objective feature. First, it is a subject—that is, the topic or theme for some external observer. Second, irrespective of how a “thing” is conceived by observers outside of it, there is always a character and identity maintained throughout the difference that distinguishes it from others.¹

The idea of the Other in relation to the One illustrates the dynamic relationship between identity and difference. The “One” constitutes identity; the “Other”—or the “Many”—characterizes difference. This relation of the One to the Many has roots in ancient Greek philosophy, particularly in the Pre-Socratic tradition, where the Many was seen as constitutive of the diversity of appearances in nature.²

The Pre-Socratic conception of the “Many” forms the basis for understanding the principle of Particularity. Particularity reflects the objective reality of the Many, insofar as a group of things share a common yet unique nature, even if that nature is fleeting or in a continuous state of change. This understanding anticipates later metaphysical and phenomenological concerns about how we experience unity in difference.³

The principle of objectivity, or the “objective,” involves an attempt to explain the common nature a thing shares with itself—such that it appears to be the same, or approximately the same, to all observers external to it. Objectivity thus concerns not only what a thing is, but how it persists through differing acts of observation.⁴

This raises a fundamental question: Is there a static nature that explains what a thing is for any observer who conceives it? Or is the nature of the thing dependent on the nature of the observer? The importance of answering this question lies in its implications for communion—that is, the common ground or shared relation between any two different observers. What allows for mutual recognition, shared knowledge, or agreement about an object of perception, presumes some level of intersubjective coherence in how particulars are understood.⁵

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This relates to the phenomenological problem of intersubjectivity, notably in Husserl and later thinkers like Maurice Merleau-Ponty, who question how shared meaning arises between different subjectivities. ↩

See Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, especially the “Transcendental Deduction,” where the unity of apperception plays a role in constituting the identity of objects. ↩

See Parmenides and Heraclitus, who respectively emphasized the One and the Many; their tension anticipates later metaphysical discussions of unity and plurality. Also see Plato’s Parmenides and Sophist for dialectical developments of this theme. ↩

The notion of particularity in flux is further elaborated in Aristotle’s Categories and later in Hegel’s Science of Logic, where he explores the becoming of the universal through the mediation of particulars. ↩

Edmund Husserl discusses this in Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology, where objectivity is analyzed through intentional acts and their invariance across modes of givenness. ↩

Universal vs. Individual level

On the Ethical Preconditions of Scientific Inquiry

There are certain values that must be adopted prior to the application of scientific inquiry.¹

The actualization of this process at the individual level may not mirror the actualization of the dialectical process on the universal level. To be virtuous involves doing the best within a given situation. Yet, this “best” may not be the absolute best; it is relative to the circumstances. In this context, “better” may refer to the best possible within a situation that is itself inherently imperfect.²

Ethics and Morality

What is ethics? What is morality? At its base, it is the distinction between what is right and what is wrong. But this question also touches a deeper level: the distinction between what is true and what is untrue, what is being versus what is non-being.³ One must first conceive of non-being before one can truly understand being.

What is virtue? Virtue is the recognition of truth within a given situation. Virtue, by nature, is applied; it is the object that is the concept. Applied virtue distinguishes what is true from what is untrue in a given concrete situation.⁴ This distinction provides a basis for determining what is right from what is wrong. Therefore, there cannot be morality prior to science. Reason is the precondition for morality.⁵

In morality, what is true may encompass many truths. It is thus not as singular or explicit as scientific truth in its theoretical form. Yet truth remains what it is. In ethics, one must identify the best truth among many partial truths—or, put differently, the better among the worse. This task is the very essence of virtue.⁶

Science and Dialectic

The application of the scientific dialectical process requires an initial distinction between what is true and what is not. This we treat as a fundamental condition, a process prior to the process. The dialectical process has already been established as the concept. We again encounter the process for the concept that becomes the object. Morality becomes the object for the concept.⁷ This is the final phase—a return to the beginning, but now fully actualized.

Beyond this stage lies speculation. It becomes the speculative method beyond mere speculation, which is in fact its own actualization.⁸ Speculation precedes actualization, but actualization is speculation made manifest. In this way, connected to the beginning, the object has now been established for the next process: the process of self-conscious reason.⁹ This latter process is the true object in its fully actualized form. It is itself.

However, this process must not be assumed to apply universally to every particular. Here again arises the fundamental distinction between what is true and what is untrue, what is being and what is non-being.¹⁰

Footnotes

This final remark ties back to ontology—truth as being, and falsehood as non-being. This is a perennial philosophical problem that cannot be fully resolved at the level of universal abstraction. ↩

Scientific inquiry presupposes a normative framework: honesty, integrity, and a commitment to truth are required even before the method is applied. ↩

Aristotle distinguishes between the ideal good and the practical good; virtue ethics focuses on the latter, rooted in context. ↩

This recalls Parmenides’ metaphysical dichotomy between being (truth) and non-being (illusion). ↩

Virtue here aligns with phronesis (practical wisdom), the capacity to discern truth in action. ↩

This echoes Enlightenment rationalism, particularly Kant’s position that reason is foundational for moral law. ↩

Moral reasoning often involves navigating between competing values or partial truths, requiring a kind of ethical discernment beyond scientific abstraction. ↩

The Hegelian framework of concept-object unity is at play here; morality as the “concept for the concept” signifies reflexive self-determination. ↩

The speculative method in Hegelian dialectics seeks not mere hypotheses, but self-unfolding necessity. ↩

“Self-conscious reason” reflects the moment when reason becomes aware of itself as both subject and object of knowledge. ↩

“Truth is Subjective”

Is there a common knowledge we can agree on?

If one answers “no” to this question, that statement itself becomes an objective assertion that requires justification. And if the justification is sound, then it paradoxically proves the opposite of what it initially aimed to deny: that there is at least one form of common or objective knowledge—namely, the denial itself.¹

In the Modern era, the question of knowledge revolves around how information can be transmitted between observers such that they come to agree on the same experience they each witness within their own minds.² This is the foundational problem of epistemology: whether subjective experience can give rise to shared understanding or intersubjectivity.

When someone claims that “there is only subjectivity” or that “truth is purely subjective,” such a statement becomes an affirmative contradiction. It affirms objectivity in the very act of denying it. In other words, the claim that “truth is subjective” is itself an objective statement about the nature of truth.³

Any finite fact is objectively true by virtue of its finitude. That is, a phenomenon can be both finite and objective. Just because something is limited in time, space, or scope does not mean it lacks objectivity. Objectivity is not defined by infinitude, but by universal verifiability: it is the “fact” about something that holds true for all observers, regardless of their particular perspectives.⁴

As to the question of whether there is a part of the subject that cannot be accessed by anyone else, the answer is yes. “You” already occupy a specific location in space and a series of moments in time that no one else can directly experience except the particular observer that you are.⁵ This spatiotemporal uniqueness is fundamental to subjectivity.

The “you” itself cannot be accessed by anything outside its own self-characterization—that is, by anything that is not you. No one else can be you, for if they were, they would be themselves and not-you. The self is not only uniquely situated, but also logically self-identical: A = A, and not A = B.⁶ However, this logic actually provides an objective basis, contrary to what postmodernists often argue against—namely, the existence of universal truth. The objective fact is that they are themselves, and you are you. Everyone possesses this same fundamental feature: the self is itself and not another. This is a universal reality of selfhood. Each self is uniquely itself and not someone else, while every “other” is also itself and not another. And so this pattern continues—each subject is distinct, yet equally grounded in the same structure of being: self-identity.

Footnotes

This is a reformulation of the principle of identity in classical logic: each thing is identical to itself and different from other things. ↩

This is similar to the self-refuting nature of relativism: the assertion “all truths are relative” must itself be either absolutely true (and thus contradict itself) or only relatively true (and thus meaningless to others). ↩

See Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, where he discusses how the forms of intuition (space and time) and the categories of understanding make shared knowledge possible. ↩

This echoes the performative contradiction found in postmodern critiques of objectivity—where the denial of absolute truth is itself posited as an absolute truth. ↩

A scientific measurement, for example, is finite (in time, method, and precision), yet it can be reproduced and verified by any competent observer, thereby qualifying as objective. ↩

Phenomenology, especially in Husserl and Merleau-Ponty, addresses this first-person experience as the irreducible ground of consciousness. ↩

Personal

The Nature of the Subjective and Its Objective Ground

The term “subjective” is used to denote the following characterizations: it is personal, individualized, and internal.

The subjective is personal because that is the objective fact about the observer: a persona cannot be anyone else. If it were, then it would be that other and their self, not the original observer.¹ The subjective is also individualized, referring to the condition of accessing only a particular perspective—an angle on reality—that no one else can occupy at the same time and in the same space.² Finally, the subjective is internal because its processes occur invisibly, within each principle it characterizes, and no outside observer can directly perceive or fully access them.³

Yet, all of these factors—though associated with being inaccessible to others—are in fact universally shared by all subjects. Everyone has a personal, individualized, and internal point of view. Thus, the condition of being subjective is a universal characteristic of subjectivity itself.

Substance, understood as activity or process, is the initial relation that the Particular possesses within itself in order to be subjective.⁴ The particular becomes subjective not merely by existing, but by engaging in a self-related process that constitutes its being.

This initial relationship—which characterizes the particular as subjective—is itself objective, because it is universal that each particular is subjective.⁵ That is, the structure of selfhood is not arbitrary or private; it is inherently common across all individuals.

The Universal is understood as the necessity by which something relates to itself from what is not itself. In this sense, that each particular is subjective in-itself, and also in relation to an other, constitutes the objective relational structure of the many particulars to one another.⁶

The Universal is thus the shared relation among the differing expressions of the same substance—a substance that is internally differentiated, yet unified by the fact that it sustains these differences within itself.⁷

What one deems subjective is, in fact, objective from the standpoint of the other. The reason is that the other perceives the first subject as a phenomenon distinct from themselves. Therefore, something is subjective only insofar as it is objective for something else. The subjective, as such, is a phenomenon to the other, and thus objective. Moreover, from the perspective of the subject itself, its own inner processes are also phenomenal—they are experienced, observed, and known. In this way, the subject finds itself as a phenomenon to itself—it is both subjective and objective.⁸

Footnotes

This idea parallels the concept of reflexivity: that consciousness is both the experiencer and the experienced, both subject and object to itself. This self-relation is essential to self-awareness. ↩

This follows from the principle of identity and difference: a subject cannot be another without ceasing to be itself. This notion is central in both metaphysics and phenomenology. ↩

Inspired by phenomenological thinkers such as Husserl, who emphasized that each consciousness occupies a unique intentional relation to the world. ↩

The “hiddenness” of internal states refers to the irreducible first-person perspective that cannot be directly accessed by third-person observation—an idea central to theories of mind and consciousness. ↩

This formulation echoes Hegel’s idea that substance is not a static thing but a dynamic process—“substance is subject”, as he says in the Phenomenology of Spirit. ↩

This universal subjectivity becomes an objective condition—it is not contingent or accidental, but necessary and structurally inherent to human consciousness. ↩

In Hegelian logic, the Universal is not abstract generality, but the concrete unity of the particular and the other—it emerges through differentiation and relation. ↩

A reflection of dialectical unity: the universal does not eliminate difference but sustains it as part of its self-relation. ↩

Particular – Kath’kekasta

The Ancient Greek Concept of the Particular and the Principle of Subjectivity

The Ancient Greek term for “particular” is kath’hekaston (καθ’ ἕκαστον) or kath’hekasta (καθ’ ἕκαστα), meaning either an individual object or a definite nature.¹

The latter meaning—a definite nature—is not necessarily the same as an individual object. In fact, the two meanings are mutually exclusive in many contexts. Like many philosophical terms, kath’hekaston carries a double, and often contrary, meaning. This apparent contradiction is not an error but a feature of philosophical language: the same word can express opposing meanings that, when properly understood in their relation, supplement each other. Together, they form a complete idea of the concept, which includes all sides as part of a coherent and unified whole.² In this way, a definite meaning can contribute to the universal idea of particular things.

The principle of subjectivity, or what is typically meant by the term “subjective”, is derived from the point of viewassociated with what philosophy calls the Particular.³ In perception, we conceive the Particular as something specific, unique, and separate from all other things. However, when considered as a concept, a “particular thing” refers not merely to an isolated entity, but to a class of similar things—such as a species or type—that share a distinctive and recognizable feature. That is, a particular can also signify a group of individual objects united by a common essence.⁴

Footnotes

This reflects Aristotle’s treatment of particulars and universals in his Categories and Posterior Analytics, where particular things instantiate universal forms or essences. ↩

Kath’hekaston (καθ’ ἕκαστον) is used in Aristotelian texts to denote “each thing in particular” or something considered in its individuality. See Aristotle’s Metaphysics, Book VII. ↩

This tension reflects the dialectical method found in Plato and especially Hegel, where contradiction is not negation but the unfolding of a fuller truth through opposition. ↩

The Particular in philosophy, especially in metaphysics and logic, stands in contrast to the Universal. It refers to specific, determinate entities as opposed to general, abstract categories. ↩

Individuality

The Universal Structure of Particularity

In order for something to be particular, it must also in some sense be universal—because everything that is particular must share that same structure. That is, all particulars are particular in the same way.¹

“In order for something to be particular, that itself has to be universal—everything has to be that way.“
—Ethics. Glossary. 418. Irwin²

The very meaning of the term “particular” is self-contradictory in a productive way. For something to be a particular—or a “specific thing”—it must mean that it excludes others from being that exact thing which makes it distinct. Yet, in doing so, it also includes what it shares with others: the capacity to be distinct.³ One object may exclude others from being identical with itself, but it does not exclude them from having their own individuality, which also implies the power to exclude.

The universal feature of all particulars is that each one excludes others by placing them in a broader, undifferentiated category—grouping them together in their non-identity. That is, others are all the same insofar as they are not this particular. This allows us to distinguish the individuality of the object in question. But it is also true that individuality itself implies that there are innumerable others—each unique and different in their own way.⁴

The universal among particulars is not found in each individual instance alone, but in their grouping into categories. These categories are distinguished from each other, not necessarily by reference to the individual particulars that compose them, but by shared features—even if that shared feature is indifference, spatial proximity, or the conceptual framework that reveals them.⁵

If there were no category allowing a set of objects to share some common relation, no single “thing” could be discerned at all, because its identity would remain indeterminate. You must first identify the thing as somethingbefore you can speak of its difference in relation to other things. An object is indeterminate when it is undifferentiated from its surroundings—when it cannot be distinguished from anything else, it ceases to be a meaningful “thing” at all.⁶

Footnotes

This notion ties to the metaphysical concept of “determinate being”—to be something, an object must be differentiated from what it is not. Without that, it remains a formless potential. ↩

This reflects a core Hegelian insight: that the universal is immanent in the particular, and particularity itself is a universal structure. ↩

Irwin, Terence. Glossary to Aristotle’s Ethics, entry 418. Irwin often clarifies Aristotelian categories by noting how abstract terms have embedded logical tensions. ↩

This parallels the dialectical view of identity through difference: each thing is itself by not being others, but that very act of exclusion is a common structural feature. ↩

Philosophers such as Leibniz (in his Principle of the Identity of Indiscernibles) argued that no two entities can be completely identical; individuality necessarily implies multiplicity. ↩

Categories, as developed by Aristotle and later Kant, are the conceptual structures that group distinct particulars under common predicates or functions. ↩

Abstraction is Alteration

Abstraction, Substance, and the Nature of Change

In this way, the act of abstraction is a kind of negation. It manipulates indivisible substance by presenting it in altered forms—variations—for the sake of maintaining its essential unity. Abstraction allows us to distinguish elements within what is fundamentally whole, not by breaking it apart, but by temporarily isolating aspects of it.

Indivisibility takes two key forms:

Material Unity: The matter forming a single entity cannot be separated from it. Matter cannot be not-matter. It must either be identical with itself, or if not exactly the same, then the difference must still be understood as part of its own constitution.¹ The matter forming the same entity cannot be separated from it, i.e., matter cannot be not-matter, it has to either be the same with itself, of if it is not the same, then that difference is just simply part of itself.
Categorical Unity: When the same substance is differentiated into parts, those parts are still indivisible in another sense—because they share a common nature. They belong to the same category, which binds them as like objects. Difference, in this context, is best understood as change—not a breakdown of unity, but its dynamic expression.²

Why would you want to change something only to maintain it?

This paradox is resolved by recognizing that abstraction does not change the substance itself. Instead, abstraction captures a moment within an eternal process. By isolating a moment, abstraction gives the illusion of difference—change appears to occur between two abstractions of the same enduring substance.³

In this sense, the only real time on the scale of nature is eternity. All finite sequences of time are properties of the observer. Time, in this view, belongs to the observer as the capacity to abstract from the internal infinity of nature.⁴

When “change” occurs between abstractions for the observer, different moments are discerned—through memory, anticipation, or present consciousness. But this change is a variation, or an alteration in the physical domain—when an object changes shape, form, or texture. Change occurs, but an underlying substance always remains to endure that change.⁵

The substance remains the same; change merely passes through it. It is as if change rides on the platform of an indivisible, eternal substance, which acts as the unchanging ground of reality. A useful analogy is that of pixels on a TV screen: the images change, but the pixels remain static. Likewise, objects change through time as a sequence of moments, each shaping the object into different instances of itself.⁶

In this way, it is objective that the particular is subjective. Yet, what is subjective is only particular as some objective phenomenon.

Footnotes

This is simply to say: it is objectively true that a being has a subjective character, which means nothing more than saying a thing is itself to itself, and it is also itself to something other.⁷

This formulation brings together objectivity and subjectivity in a dialectical unity: subjectivity is an objective condition, both for oneself and in relation to others. ↩

This idea recalls Spinoza’s concept of substance: what exists in and through itself. Matter cannot be reduced to non-matter without violating its own nature. ↩

The notion that parts of a substance retain categorical identity reflects Aristotelian metaphysics: particularity exists in relation to form (universal nature), not in isolation. ↩

Hegel’s dialectic supports this view: the identity of substance persists through its transformations. Abstractions are not separate realities, but partial expressions of a unified whole. ↩

Kant and Husserl both emphasize time as a form of inner intuition—a structuring power of consciousness, not something embedded in the things-in-themselves. ↩

This is similar to Aristotle’s distinction between substance (ousia) and accidents: change affects attributes, but the underlying essence remains. ↩

The TV analogy echoes Plato’s metaphor of appearance and reality: change is a surface-level phenomenon; the real is that which underlies and endures through all appearances. ↩

Infinity is Definite

Contrary to the ordinary understanding of the “infinite,” the subjective constitutes infinity, whereas the objective is finite.

The finite does not merely mean “limited,” but rather determinate. In the physical sense, a finite object is disclosed within determinate boundaries. This implies that some Being (observer) has set the boundaries of a finite conception. In this way, “determinate” carries the implication of intentionality rather than randomness. For example, objects may fall and occupy random or accidental positions, yet the objects themselves possess rational and definite shape and form.

What is disclosed within finite boundaries may nevertheless be infinite. The science of Aleph numbers explores finite infinities, or infinities occurring within finite rules. The cardinality of any infinite ordinal number is an aleph number, because any set whose cardinality is an aleph is equinumerous with an ordinal and thus well-orderable¹.

The setting of rules and regulations—like the rules of a game—are the finite laws that govern an infinite set of potential relations in which those laws can operate.

For this conception to work, the infinite cannot be understood in the traditional sense—as an innumerable collection of objects radiating in separate directions for all eternity. This modern, materialistic ontology encourages the belief that the universe is random and expanding into its own nullity.

Materialists argue that things have no unifying substance governing them, either at the beginning or at the end. This is used to suggest that the universe is not rational—that is, reason or purpose is not a central principle. They propose that the beginning and the end do not necessarily presuppose one another and may, in fact, be mutually exclusive.

However, more recent developments, such as the quantum concept of the infinitesimal, offer a more practical and grounded approach to the abstract idea of the infinite. American pragmatist philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce described infinity in terms of measurable, finite units—aleph numbers, with aleph-null (ℵ₀) being the smallest infinite cardinal².

Accordingly, the universe is infinitely inward—it extends endlessly within any finite object. Every object contains an infinitesimal point through which the entire universe might be conceptually admitted, without end. Objects, in this view, become portals through which infinite duration enters. Yet this infinite portal is what links and maintains the distinction between objects: separated by space but united through time.

The “objective” is often assumed to be unlimited because it is universally true. Yet if it is limited, this limitation would reflect a deficiency—a lack of itself. An objective fact, therefore, cannot be “lacking,” for if it were, it would fall into the category of something subjective, which is inherently limited, incomplete, and partial. These common-sense assumptions about scientific concepts often fail to properly organize truth in a logically coherent manner.

The “objective” is limited only if it denotes a precise and exact explanation of phenomena—both in themselves and as observed.

Footnotes

Charles S. Peirce, in his writings on mathematics and logic, acknowledged different magnitudes of infinity and incorporated the idea of transfinite numbers, closely paralleling the concept of aleph numbers introduced by Cantor. ↩

Georg Cantor developed the concept of aleph numbers to describe the cardinality of infinite sets. The first such cardinal is aleph-null (ℵ₀), representing the cardinality of the natural numbers. These sets are well-orderable and equinumerous with certain ordinals. ↩

Finite Objective

The objective is finite because it is definite—and therefore represents the first clear and specific ascertainment of a fact. What we refer to as “unlimited,” although it may contain the potential for all possible content to be derived from it, can at the same time be convoluted, muddled, and indiscernible. Nothing specific can be picked out from the infinite, other than the abstract possibility of every single “thing.”

Facilitating the transition from an undetermined infinity to a definite, finite conception of truth is, in fact, the process by which a fact becomes objective.

The particular is a feature of infinity because something specific can be limited in an infinite number of ways.

An object is limited in infinitely many ways by not being everything else it could be. In other words, an object can move in any possible direction it is not currently moving toward, or be configured in an infinite number of ways it is not currently configured. The present moment is finite because an object occupies space in one of two ways:

Through locomotion—it moves from one place to another.
Through alteration or generation—it changes its form, and its body’s outline, from beginning to end, takes on a unique form in spacetime¹.

The second—generation—is more infinite than the first because the origin of generation has no clearly discernible source. We cannot definitively identify where or why life originates, other than to observe that life arises spontaneously and without an obvious cause. This does not imply that there is no rational source, but rather that we have no rational explanation we currently know of.

The objective becomes a feature of finitude because infinite possibilities are always discerned in a finite way. In other words: anything is objectively something. That is, anything is at least itself—regardless of whether it is known or unknown to anything else.

The finite, in this sense, is not independent and cannot be divorced from the infinite. While this statement is fundamentally true, it does not necessarily help us to see how this is so, since our perceptual framework makes it seem as if we are entirely cut off from infinity—everything appears finite.

The common understanding often sees the subjective as finite because it possesses limited knowledge, while infinity is associated with objectivity, since it encompasses all things. In this way, something general, which applies to a variety of things, is seen as objective, while something specific is treated as subjective, because it refers to only one particular thing. However, these characterizations, though partially correct, are not fundamentally accurate.

A general fact, though applicable to many things by grouping them under a shared trait, can also be vague—and in that way, offer only a shallow conceptualization. In contrast, something specific may describe all the details that constitute a thing, thereby offering a comprehensive explanation.

Footnotes

Aristotle distinguishes between different kinds of change—locomotion, alteration, growth, and generation—in Physics and Metaphysics. Generation, particularly, involves coming into being, which has no clear origin in contemporary scientific terms. ↩

Subjective is Objective

The “objective” side of truth is best defined by the concept of the universal, which differs from the concept of the general. A universal is not only applicable to all things—it is also eternal and always “there”; it is neither created nor destroyed¹.

The Forms introduced by Plato reflect this idea of universality. These eternal concepts are briefly expressed in the physical world by objects that participate in them. For example, if we say that the objective nature of the world is infinity—that is, all things happening at once and being present simultaneously—then the subjective side is one partial aspect of that infinity: one angle, one point of view of the whole.

A common expression says that “no one can experience the world exactly as you do.” This means the subject occupies a unique position in the world, offering a particular view. If another being occupied that same position, they would see the world in the same way. Infinity, then, consists of an indeterminate number of finite ways of being. Each finite way of being contributes to an objective fact about the world.

Thus, the subjective is itself objective.

This implies that the subjective side of a phenomenon is how that phenomenon uniquely expresses itself in the world. It is how it views itself, and thus how it exhibits itself for others to observe.

When you observe an object and state an objective fact about it—for example, that it is a certain way—that fact is based on how the object subjectively expresses itself to the world. Its particular and specific way of being constitutesits objective nature.

Therefore, an objective fact aims to outline the most specific and unique characteristics of a thing. And what could be more objective than describing the most specific and detailed conception of a thing in all its forms? In other words, to conceive of the same “thing” in an infinite number of ways.

Footnotes

Plato discusses the theory of Forms (or Ideas) in dialogues such as the Republic and Phaedo, where universals like Beauty, Justice, and Equality are said to exist eternally and independently of their physical manifestations. ↩

Confronted Reality

Reality appears to consist of a finite set of particular kinds of things, disclosed within a limited reference frame. This is why we often say we are “confronted by reality”—because reality is what is directly in front of us. In our sensible experience, everything seems confined to a set of particular things, occurring in a particular moment, for a particular kind of mind, with a limited capacity for conception.

In this sense, the infinite does not appear to arise in everyday experience or be discovered through daily perception. However, this is not entirely true, because there is a domain where we are imminently familiar with the infinite: the mental realm—the abstract, potential state that exists in the place where the moment is not right now. That is, the realm of possibility.

Within the mind, infinite potentials for thought, creation, or experience exist. Likewise, in the realm of potentiality, one is capable of producing anything—but not without the laws of Reason¹.

The principle of the finite does not merely represent the limitation of the infinite; rather, it is its result.

But what does it mean to limit something without already presupposing a process of limitation?

The very act of limitation presupposes a process by which a bound is imposed—and a result is thereby produced. The finite presupposes the infinite as its own condition. As such, it is a particular principle: the infinite is, paradoxically, finite to itself².

The infinite is constituted by a finite conception—namely, that it has no limitation, and that it is everything without being anything in particular. And that, in turn, is its limitation.

This conception reflects the order of the universe—a fundamental structure or intelligibility—contrary to what scientific materialism often describes as disorder, which is the basis of the modern concept of randomness³.

Footnotes

Scientific materialism often describes natural events as governed by probabilistic randomness, especially in quantum theory and statistical mechanics. This stands in contrast to philosophical systems that emphasize rational order or determinism. ↩

This echoes the classical rationalist view (e.g., Descartes, Leibniz) that even in imagining all possibilities, reason imposes structure; nothing can be conceived outside of logical coherence. ↩

Hegel discusses this dialectic between the finite and infinite in his Science of Logic, where he argues that the infinite is not merely the “other” of the finite, but includes the finite within itself as a moment of its own development. ↩

Randomness

The very concept of randomness presupposes a preconceived idea of disorder as the underlying order—that the order of the universe is, paradoxically, disorder itself. This assumption leads to unpredictability in our observation of phenomena, as well as errors in our thinking about them.

The problem with the idea of randomness can be stated as follows: If disorder is considered the fundamental notion of order, then it represents a distortion of an already presumed order. There must have been something opposite to disorder which it negates or disrupts—thus, disorder can only be conceived in relation to what it is not.

If the initial condition is disorder, then it too presupposes that its final condition is order, as disorder tends to move toward order. If the final aim is still disorder—understood as a return from order back to disorder—then this presupposes a fluctuation or mediation between these opposing concepts. However, if disorder is the only condition—serving as the beginning, transition, and end—and presupposes absolutely no order, then any discussion about it becomes impossible. This is pragmatically false, since logical principles operate within a binary structure. Disorder, to be intelligible, must stand in relation to order.

Therefore, the conception of disorder must implicitly serve as the initial order. That is, for disorder to exist as a fundamental state, it must be the first condition of the universe. Yet this leads to a paradox: If disorder is the first condition, then it cannot truly be first, because its very definition implies a departure or distortion from something else—namely, order. Inherent in the term disorder is a logical structure: it is defined in contrast to order, and therefore assumes that order is logically and ontologically prior¹.

Thus, the conception of disorder is only meaningful as a distortion of order. The fact that a process contains disorder does not exclude the possibility of a more primary order. In fact, for anything to exist in any specific or coherent way, it must be ordered in at least some exact manner². So we must ask: What does it mean to say that order contains disorder, without first presupposing some kind of order? The notion that disorder can exist independently of order dissolves upon closer inspection. Even chaos must appear within some intelligible frame, however loose or shifting it may be.

Footnote

This idea aligns with classical metaphysics, especially in Aristotle and later in Hegel, where every “negation” or privation points back to a more fundamental “form” or principle of intelligibility. ↩

The etymology of disorder derives from the Latin dis- (apart, away) + ordo (order), implying a deviation from an original structure or system. Philosophically, this logic reflects the principle that negation presupposes affirmation. ↩

Chronological Order

There is no chronological order to the existence of ontological principles. These principles presuppose each other not in a temporal or sequential sense, but within a rational or logical order.

Take, for example, the physical concept of matter and all the objects it comprises—which is assumed to be everything. When you observe the natural order of things, whether organic or inorganic, material objects do not exhibit a strict chronological sequence. Instead, objects exist, move, and are organized into classes, often referred to as species.

When a species is categorized into a class, it is defined as a set or a group of “things” sharing a commonality that distinguishes them from other groups. This commonality can be spatial, which interestingly satisfies both sides of the definition: space groups objects together and simultaneously separates them as distinct individuals.

Consider the animal kingdom: biological classes are distributed into species—specific groups of living forms that move and exist together within the same area (i.e., space) in nature. However, this observation does not answer the deeper ontological question: how did those parts come to share a similarity in the first place? Simply noting that space separates individuals does not explain how those individuals arose into existence.

Members of a species also reproduce and persist through time. The chronological ordering of classes and species, then, is often derived from a hierarchical understanding of what is otherwise a seemingly entropic process—one lacking a specific temporal sequence but instead displaying a universal logic.

The principle that “matter can only be altered, not created nor destroyed” (a paraphrase of the law of conservation of mass-energy)¹ can be restated inversely without changing its meaning:

“Matter cannot be created or destroyed, only altered.”

This mutual transformation points to a deeper ontological symmetry between the finite and the infinite.

The finite does not precede the infinite, nor does the infinite strictly precede the finite. Different ontologies offer different structures to this relationship. For instance, in theistic ontologies, the infinite precedes the finite: there is God, and then there is creation, e.g., man is created after God². In materialist ontologies, the finite comes first, and infinity is extrapolated or abstracted from finite phenomena.

They exist as each other and, through this mutual implication, constitute existence.

The particular is subjectively infinite in so far as it is objectively finite. Conversely, the subjectively finite is objectively infinite when viewed through a different conceptual lens. These paradoxes reflect the relational structure of being.

The reason chronological order is often imposed on ontological principles is because the Understanding requires a kind of logical scaffolding—a necessary system for apprehending Reason in the world³.

Footnote

Immanuel Kant makes a similar point in the Critique of Pure Reason, where he distinguishes between the faculties of Understanding (which structures experience via categories) and Reason (which seeks unconditioned totalities, such as God or the soul). ↩

This is a paraphrasing of the law of conservation of matter and energy, formalized in modern physics. See Lavoisier’s early formulations in chemistry and the equivalence principle in Einstein’s theory of relativity. ↩

See theological ontologies such as those in Genesis or in the metaphysical writings of Thomas Aquinas, where God as pure act (actus purus) precedes all contingent being. ↩

Abstract Notion

The abstract notion is the systematic condition that enables the Understanding to grasp Reason; however, it differs from the system of Reason which constitutes concrete reality. Understanding and Reason differ because their systematic predispositions are inversions of one another. The former (Understanding) requires a chronological order or sequence in logic to comprehend Reason as a systematic structure in the world—this is what we recognize as formal logic. The latter (Reason), by contrast, is the pre-constructed order—a unity already present—which must be conceived as a systematic disposition of the abstract notion., i.e, informal logic.

They operate inversely to meet at the same point: operate inversely from each other to meet each other.

Formal logic sees contradiction as a barrier—as something absolute in the sense that it negates all possible resolutions. It assumes that the resolution must come from outside the contradiction in order to resolve it. However, formal logic misses the crucial insight that implied within the contradiction itself lies the resolution.

If we understand that the contradiction is itself the resolution, then we are faced with two options:

We can view the contradiction as an absolute dead end, and the resolution must be something external that brings it to an end; or
We can recognize that within the contradiction exist the ingredients for its resolution—that the contradiction already contains the potential for its own transformation.

In other words, the resolution is simply the reformation of the contradiction into the form that it ought to be for logic—that is, for thought to proceed coherently. The contradiction is not just a barrier that must be resolved—but also as the very path to resolution. In this structure, resolution is achieved through the discovery of contradiction—or, more precisely, when a contradiction is recognized and integrated¹. The logic underlying organic nature, or Reason in the world, always conceives contradiction as containing its own resolution. In nature, contradiction achieves resolution—whether the outcome is positive (constructive) or negative (destructive or dissolutive).

The kind of intellectual logic most attuned to the workings of Reason in the world is best described as informal logic, because it operates intuitively and outside any strictly predefined system. Its primary aim is to conceive the system itself, not merely operate within one. This is where the dialectical method comes in: it characterizes the form of informal logic that the Understanding seeks in its effort to grasp Reason. The formalization of logic is, in this light, the intellectual process through which the Dialectic is ascertained. Yet, the process of the Understanding grasping the Dialectic is inherently negative, marked by limitation and contradiction, while the Dialectic itself is positively given—the self-moving logic of reality².

Footnotes

In Hegelian philosophy, the Dialectic is not merely a tool but the actual logic of being—Reason’s immanent structure. Understanding, on the other hand, fragments and abstracts; it is only through dialectical development that the totality of Reason is comprehended. ↩

Hegel famously treats contradiction not as a failure of logic, but as a productive moment in the movement of thought. See Science of Logic, where contradiction is the engine of development within the dialectic. ↩

Quantity is the 1st Quality

Quantity is the square root of quality.

The concept of negativity—or what is meant by the term “negative” as opposed to “positive”—does not involve the ethical meaning that something is “less” morally than its positive counterpart. In philosophy, the negative is taken with the same scientific meaning as mathematics treats the concepts of “subtracting” or “multiplying” in arithmetic. Negativity in logic, however, differs from the subtracting concepts of arithmetic because it does not treat the “quantity” of the concept as equal to the quality but, rather, each concept presupposes the other in a determinate manner. In other words, the concept of quality describes something more fundamental than the concept of quantity, even though both are necessary to describe the full concept. One is a consequence of the other; they do not bear an equal relation but rather a necessary one. They do not exist in equal relation but in a necessary one: quality is the basis for quantity. Quantity is the first expression of quality.

Quantity can thus be described as the square root of quality—that is, if x is quality and y is quantity, then y × y = x, the result of multiplying the number by itself, or (y × y) = x. A single quality can only be one kind of thing; while there are many kinds of quality, a specific quality cannot be many different qualities and still be identified as itself. If it were, it would be a collection of distinct qualities, i.e., something else entirely.

However, in terms of quantity, the same quality can be divisible into many quantities of itself. For example, there are many individual knives, but they all share the same quality of being a knife. The quality of a knife, however, cannot also be the quality of a fork or a spoon; otherwise, it would not be a knife. Redundancy is a quantitative feature, not a qualitative one. In this sense, quantity is the negative of quality, while quality is the positive. Together, quantity and quality negate and determine each other to form the unity of a concept.

Although there is no chronological order to whether quality precedes quantity, some conception of quality must exist for quantitative form to emerge.

The concept of chemism illustrates how quality formulates quantity. In chemistry, elements serve as examples where quantitative form is determined by qualitative structure. For instance, water and air have specific quantities based on their chemical qualities. If one argues that air’s quality (e.g., being transparent) arises from its quantity, one must ask: why do some quantities form solids, others liquids, or gases? Such differences cannot be entirely explained by quantity, which, as a substratum, is uniform in itself. The difference in quantity stems from the kind of internal relations that express quality. For example, water has the qualitative structure of H₂O, which determines its measurable quantity¹.

Thus, quality is the reason in the object—it expresses its purpose or telos.

Informal logic is the very system that is not bound to any particular system, but rather reflects the system of systems. Hegel characterizes this framework as philosophy—the activity of thinking about thinking. The dialectic is the organic form of Reason, where Reason universalizes itself through particular expressions. It takes all that it can possibly be and forms it into something that cannot be anything else. For instance, if I am John, I am not Steve, Martha, or Billy—I am none of them. But if I am not John, I might be any of them. This paradox reflects the ontological foundation of epistemology—how being and knowing are intertwined.

The dualism between Understanding and Reason reflects the concrete difference between Mind and Nature—between what is conceived and what is conceiving. The distinction between Understanding and Reason is also their similarity: one is conceived by the other in the act of conception itself. For example, the psychoanalytic notion of self-consciousness involves the conscious realization of unconscious thoughts. This realization is a universalization of the particular, and in this act, Understanding and Reason become unified—this is the process of ultimate reality, mediating between matter and quantum.

Quantum physics reveals the laws of mind in nature—a kind of logical structure in matter prior to human self-consciousness. Modern physics shows that space, time, and matter are intrinsically linked through thermodynamics, electromagnetism, and dynamics. All forms of motion are subsets of these fundamental relations. According to special relativity, these are unified in the concept of gravity, understood through general relativity². These modern insights reflect an ontological intuition: the universe is structured as a set of internal relations.

Thus, it becomes evident that the concept is not merely derived from the concrete; rather, the concept itself gives rise to the concrete. This reflects the ontological position that being is the end of itself—that existence is self-grounding. As Hegel writes in Philosophy of Nature:

“Nature is the Idea in the form of otherness, but this otherness is not foreign to it.”³

Footnotes

Would you like to further formalize this into an essay or structure it around key philosophical theses?

G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of Nature, §202 (2). Here, Hegel outlines how nature manifests the Idea (reason) in an externalized form, yet remains internally structured by its rational essence. ↩

This reflects the foundational logic of chemistry—where molecular structure (a qualitative relation) determines physical states and quantities. See Linus Pauling, The Nature of the Chemical Bond. ↩

Einstein’s theories of special and general relativity unite space, time, and mass-energy in an interdependent structure. Gravity is no longer seen as a force acting at a distance but as the curvature of spacetime caused by mass and energy. ↩

Similarities and Differences

The Essential Categories in Metaphysics: Universal and Particular

The essential categories in metaphysics are captured by two principles: the universal and the particular. Hegel explains that the universal and the particular bear a contradiction to each other that actually formulates their true unity¹. In other words, their relationship is fundamentally intact due to their difference, and this difference is how they supplement part of a full explanation of any question in philosophy.

To understand the relation between the universal and the particular, it is important to grasp their similarities in contrast to their differences.

The universal and the particular are similar because they are both instances of the first principles of philosophy. We can remain vague as to what the very first principles are, because the matter is only that there are such principles. To assume this is self-evident; the aim throughout philosophy is to uncover them. Given this common characteristic, they are not different in content, but rather in form.

“Content” here describes the composition of an object, whereas “form” describes the kind of activity that the thing presupposes in order to be animated and/or in motion. When I suppose something, it is almost as if it is external to me, and then I am recognizing it. However, this recognition is only possible because what is external is disclosed within my act of supposing it. How else would I identify an object in contrast to myself, if I did not have some knowledge of my own identity?

In the same way, the universal and the particular are the same in essence. They are disclosed through each other: the particular discloses the universal by being a specific manifestation of it, while the universal discloses the particular by bearing the commonality of the different versions of itself².

Footnotes

Hegel’s dialectical logic views the universal and the particular as internal contradictions that form a unity. This concept is central to his theory of the Notion, or Begriff. See: Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Science of Logic, trans. A.V. Miller (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1969), esp. Book III, “The Doctrine of the Notion.”
The idea of the “concrete universal” is essential to Hegelian metaphysics, where the universal is not separate from particulars but is actualized through them. See: G.W.F. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. A.V. Miller (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), §177.

Category of God

Form and content are further categories that are different instances of the same principle. They are both expressions of a shared foundation—the first principle. In the history of metaphysics, this first principle has been expressed as Reason. It is taken to be the first principle in nature. However, Reason itself becomes a category—albeit the most essential one.

Aristotle contends that Reason is the unity between thought and matter; in other words, these are qualifications of what it means to be “rational.” That which can be received by a rational faculty must possess a rational structure, which includes both form and matter.¹ But this still does not tell us the very substance that encompasses all of this.

There is a term with which we are all familiar: God. The term God serves merely to indicate the first principle as that which constitutes ultimate reality. Yet it still leaves open the question of what this ultimate reality actually is, even though God is absolutely assumed to be that ultimate reality—regardless of whether we know what it is or not.

What absolutely is seems to be what is indeterminately itself.

Christianity responded by claiming that the nature of God is characterized by the ideal of man. God serves as an ideal for man—an ideal he can never fully attain, but toward which he must ultimately strive. Only when man sacrifices what is given to him by nature—his crude behaviorism—does he transcend to a higher state of virtue, rising out of the vice to which he is a victim from birth.

Footnote

This is rooted in Aristotle’s hylomorphism—the doctrine that all substances are composed of both matter (hyle) and form (morphe), and that these are inseparable in any existing thing. The rational structure of an object lies in its form, while the matter is what underlies and individuates it. ↩

Unspecific

Here, we are concerned with the most basic science: metaphysics. This, however, involves a divergence into outlining the following categories and their assumptions. The particular is the category that assumes specialization, whereas the universal is an unspecific category. The latter does not mean that it can be any kind of thing without restrictions, but rather that it expresses a particular—and yet common—quality that can take on an indefinite range of variability.

What is meant by “unspecific” seems to contradict the notion of content, which must be presupposed by anything in order to be the kind of thing that it is. Content, by definition, is what is included as substance; it is therefore something contained. The universal is that which holds particulars in relation. The relation itself—being the shared characteristic, their universality—takes on different forms characteristic of each particular.

But if the universal is not different from the particular in its content, it must itself be the particular that is universal. Thus, the particular becomes the conception that expresses the universal as its form. The universal is the form present in the particular that produces difference within it—difference exhibited as outward distinction, as the other. The universal is the capacity of the particular to become infinite.¹

The universal is thereby the “unspecific”—predicated on the infinite form which the particular is able to set for itself. This universal form presents itself in the particular as its capacity to be “used” as the content of experience. Yet the universal takes on a distinct nature apart from the particular and thereby becomes something independent from it, though still related—because it remains the same expression of itself.

The particular does this in order to sustain the very activity of separating itself. This separation that occurs in the universal—from itself—is the very feature called the particular. In order to be itself, the particular must presuppose a separation of itself from all other things like it. Its own self-identity is this act of separation, and the continuity between particulars is the universality uniquely present in each expression.

Thus, what is meant by the particular as the specialization of the universal does not merely mean that it is individual, but rather that it specializes those individualities into distinct functions indispensable to their own self-identity. In doing so, it returns to the universal form from which it initially set forth. The form necessitates the determinacy of the particular into a separation that maintains its own identity.

Besides being this necessity, the universal also expresses the capability of the particular to take on infinite form. This is true because the universal is the category independent from the particular, yet it presses on the particular—because it is what is expressed by the particular itself and remains expressive in its expression.²

Footnotes

This reflects a dialectical view, especially in German Idealism, where the universal and particular are not external opposites but internal moments of a self-developing whole (cf. Hegel, Science of Logic). ↩

This notion resonates with Hegel’s understanding of the universal not as a static abstraction, but as that which realizes itself through the concrete particular. The particular is not a negation of the universal, but its expression and actualization. ↩

Category Contradiction

Thus far, however, we have still not indicated where the contradiction lies between the universal and the particular. The answer is that the contradiction is itself the result. It is the unity that captures the universal and the particular as the activity of the same first principle. The reality you perceive as impressed upon yourself is evidence of this: you yourself are this contradiction—something concrete, and not merely abstracted in the mind. Yet, you are also entirely abstract in the mind, insofar as it is unrelated to the body.

Abstraction is the understanding of the concrete, and this gives us the category of self-consciousness.

What, then, is the point of indicating the difference between the universal and the particular? The answer provides insight into the difference between consciousness as a universal category, and consciousness as a particular category. Religion is one expressive form of the contradiction between universal and particular consciousness. Science, ideally, is where both of these are synthesized in self-consciousness—but this is only the potential of science: to unify physical facts with the ultimate abstract, universal principle. At present, science has a grasp of the physical, but lacks the psychical dimension of the universe.

This is a question of efficiency: the individual produces form for itself—law—which then necessitates that the individual continue producing new forms. This tension between form and content, universal and particular, is the driving force behind this activity.

Universal Law

A common critique here is that law is not something universal, as laws differ between cultures and peoples. This argument assumes that, because the universal takes on particularized form, it cannot be truly universal. However, this forgets that the very nature of the universal is to be expressed in the particular. Thus, every expression of the particular carries a universal characteristic. This is why any fact about the universe can be examined and communicated across epochs and cultures.

It is important not to forget that the contradiction between the universal and the particular is one between the subjective and the objective—the objective being the outward manifestation of the subjective. There is no chronological order between metaphysical categories; one does not simply come before the other. Each category emerges from the other. The only science that accommodates this non-linear development is Metaphysics, which does not view order as temporal sequence, but as a structure of mutual presupposition. The very mention of one category invariably presupposes the other, which may even be more fundamental.

Peirce ‘Induction‘

Metaphysics sees all such categories as predicates of the first principle. The conclusion we reach here is derived through induction—the inference of general laws from particular instances, or conclusions derived from premises. Some might argue that this is ampliative, in the sense that the conclusion extends beyond the premises. However, this does not negate the validity of the conclusion, as ampliative arguments can be either valid or invalid depending on the structure and grounding of the inference.

Charles Sanders Peirce recognized that induction is the initial process of scientific inquiry. However, he did not fully articulate the significance of what it ultimately derives—namely, knowledge of objective truth—though his own system arguably reaches that result. Peirce incorporated mathematics into his method, suggesting that it is the domain where induction achieves objective knowledge.¹ In critiquing Hegel, Peirce argued that Hegel did not recognize mathematics as the instrument of such knowledge. While Peirce admired Hegel’s notion that mind is a phenomenon within nature, he extended this idea by arguing that mathematics embodies the practical consequence of mind.

Each theory interprets the general categories of metaphysics differently, using varying terminologies to describe the essential nature of the universe as governed by Reason. While metaphysical systems share many categories, their diverse methods of explanation often confuse those who naturally pose metaphysical questions without prior exposure to philosophical traditions. Yet, those who possess a natural inclination toward metaphysical thought are typically drawn to such literature.

Maxim of Pragmatism

This led to Peirce’s famous maxim of pragmatism, whereby an indicative statement is tested by considering its practical consequences under hypothetical conditions.² However, Hegel regarded logic as more fundamental than mathematics. Peirce’s critique is that Hegel was not sufficiently practical, as he did not apply his logic through mathematics. But in doing so, Peirce may have lost sight of what logic ultimately aims at—something Hegel arguably understood better: the pure phenomenology of self-consciousness.³

Peirce attempted to give the concept of “nothing” some form of Being—to dress it with content, so to speak—and mathematics served as its attire. Nothing has no form, yet it exists distinctly in relation to the something that does have form. This is analogous to phenomena in quantum mechanics. The Schrödinger’s cat and double-slit experiments suggest that the observer determines the result of the phenomenon. This highlights a core abstraction of nature: that the observer is integral to the determination of phenomena. However, what is often overlooked is that both observer and observed are disclosed by a dimension in which each is internal to the other.

This is where quantum mechanics challenges classical mechanics. It proposes that when we alter the dimensional relationship between observer and phenomenon—e.g., by examining subatomic behavior—we see that the laws of nature themselves shift at different levels of observation. Classical mechanics posits that a macroscopic object can only be in one place at a time: if it is here, it is not there, and vice versa. But even this is an abstraction of the present moment. If we take two distinct moments, side by side, we see that the same person was here at one moment and there at another—illustrating that what is observed as distinct may only be so in time.

In contrast, quantum behavior shows that the same object can occupy two different places at the same time. It exists simultaneously in all places. Though we may not know how this looks, experiments confirm the effect. This implies that time at the subatomic level is more instantaneous and simultaneous. The distinction between moments is not separated by extended duration but is abrupt, such that two different moments occupy the same space. In other words, phenomena are in constant flux, and cannot be cleanly isolated as they can in the macro-scale.

In this chapter, I will aim to associate the general categories of metaphysics to formulate a clearer understanding of how they apply to this inquiry.

Footnotes

Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit traces the development of consciousness through various stages toward absolute knowing, emphasizing logic as the process by which self-consciousness comes to know itself in and through the world—not merely through empirical means or formal calculation. ↩

Peirce’s view of mathematics as the foundation of objective knowledge stems from his formalism and his triadic logic. He believed mathematical reasoning brings clarity to inductive inference and the scientific method. ↩

Peirce’s pragmatic maxim is often summarized as: “Consider what effects, that might conceivably have practical bearings, we conceive the object of our conception to have. Then, our conception of these effects is the whole of our conception of the object.” ↩

Order of Category

If the principles of philosophy are to be ordered in a chronological way, they ought to follow this sequence:

Universal → Particular → Actuality → Potentiality → Reason → Matter → Nature

The Universal comes first when it stands alone, independent from anything else. It serves as a category that discloses a set of similar objects, even when these objects are separate from one another. The objects do not even have to exist as particular things in order to share a universal nature. A universal nature is predicated of them—the mere idea of it constitutes its necessary existence. In other words, it is self-evidently true
The Particular is a universal principle because, for anything to be itself, it must be a particular kind of thing. Even the most general or infinite nature is still a particular kind of thing, since it can be picked out and identified under a stable conception. In other words, the particular is the universal nature found in all things—the nature of being distinct or unique, whether by occupying different positions in space-time or by being inherently distinct in essence.
Actuality follows in this foundational sequence because the process of particularity within universality is the actual and real condition of existence—what it is, and what it ought to be, in the sense of its becoming.
Potentiality is the “ought”—the possibility for any thing to fully actualize itself, or even to “be” itself. Potentiality constitutes actuality because it is the condition from which anything can emerge, whether to remain itself or become something other.
Reason is the fundamental substance of this entire process. It is specifically distinguished in this schema as the dialectic between a self-identical particularity and an objective, universal “other.”¹ Reason is the content of potentiality—that is, its actuality. The actuality, being the content itself, is individuated into potential versions of itself. All these possibilities are outlined as the rational form, in logic.
Matter is the concrete representation of Reason in the world—it “takes on” all forms of potentiality and constitutes the process of realization through form. Matter is the first true universal substance in the concrete sense. In other words, while Reason provides the form and the innumerable potentialities of logic, in Matter these forms take on a coordinated set of experiences for an observer. They translate into objects with bodies—having physical boundaries that separate them from one another—and offer a variety of quantitative measures. Matter is the first universal substance of concreteness.
Nature is the living manifestation of Reason in the world: a particular observer possessing a universal and unique, self-sustaining characteristic. Nature is the organic process by which matter emerges as the concrete potentialities of rational and abstract forms of universality. It is the mechanism through which these forms are generated into actuality, and the observer is the one who endures this process.

Sequence of Actuality and Potentiality:

Actuality is a “first” principle in the sense that everything exists in some form, in every possible way. However, this does not explain where all of this exists. Is all of existence condensed into one lump of space? Or is space the coordinated system of the relations between different lumps of matter, or potentials of actuality?

Potentiality answers this—it shows where actuality exists: in the realm of possibility, always preceding or following actuality. The particular is the individual unit of potentiality—it is the place where actuality can occur.

Actuality is universal—the activity of the particular. It is the becoming of potentiality through particularity.

Thus, we have the following correlation:

Actuality = Universal = Reason (mental substance)
Potentiality = Particular = Matter (material substance)²

In order for something to be actual, it must first have been potential—it had to be considered as a possibility, otherwise it would be impossible. This simply means that actuality and potentiality exist as a unity, rather than in strict temporal order. If one existed without the other, it would lack the necessary predicate to define itself.

Therefore, each presupposes the other, and thus, each is the other in a mediated form.

(1) uses (2), and vice versa.
Both are realized in actual entities.

Footnotes

Aristotle famously distinguished between potentiality (dynamis) and actuality (energeia or entelecheia) in his Metaphysics, particularly in Book Theta. He argued that matter embodies potentiality, while form—and ultimately reason (nous)—actualizes this potential into determinate being. ↩

This reflects the Hegelian understanding of dialectic, where Reason is not static but unfolds through contradiction and synthesis—particularly between universality (abstract) and particularity (concrete). ↩

Universal of Particulars

The infinite as a finite explains the universal determination, which denotes the first category of Being.

The universal is “indefinite,” and thus it is that which is everything—or more precisely, it is potentially everything. This is why we refer to something as “Universal” (with a capital “U”) when it is applicable in every instance. But how does the universal also denote its own indefinite nature?

An indefinite nature means uncertain, indiscernible, and without particular form. However, all three of these qualities describe the nature of the mind (or consciousness) essential to the observer. An indefinite nature is, first and foremost, a determinant nature, because even the act of lacking a discernible conception of infinity is still a form of determination.

Infinity, in classical terms, is that which exists as “the One that takes on the Many,” as described by the Ancient Greeks.

That the universal encompasses “everything” means it possesses the innate capacity to bring about every possibility—that is, to transform what is possible into what is actual. This essential principle will later be further clarified and understood as Reason.

Term “Particular”

The term “Particular” in philosophy follows this explanation:

The “particular” is the definite nature and exists as a specific entity. The particular presupposes a difference in “infinity”—particulars must have a definite kind of nature, separate from the same quality. The particular is “passive” because it is a variation of the universal. The infinite exists as a “blur” of all potentially specific things; all the content is readily available, but it is not clear. The particular becomes “active” when it sets the universal as a definite conception. The particularity of an object becomes a universality—a fact about it that differentiates it from all other facts about other particular things.

This understanding between the universal and the particular, as introduced by the Ancient Greeks, concerns the paradox of the One and the Many. This paradox addresses the relation between a single component and its diverse applications. While the paradox highlights a contradiction between the One and the Many—which is, in fact, their difference—it can also serve as a general rule of logic, helping us gain deeper insight into how consciousness assumes itself to be the object.

The difference between the One and the Many is one another; it is already self-evident and implied by the distinction between the terms. The One is not the Many because it is the unit contained in the whole of its distinct relations, while the Many is not the One because it is the relation between distinct units of measure, without being any one distinct measure in particular.

Consciousness does not make the object and look at it from a “bird’s-eye” perspective, like a bird looking at its prey. Language is a conceptualization that aims to grasp thought. But language is always an enemy of metaphysical thinking because it is so elusive—one proposition can set off many different and opposing ideas about the same statement at the same time. Consciousness actually experiences itself in the object, and so the manifestation of consciousness is internal (embedded) in the object. It looks outward from the object and has itself as the experience.

Experience is an activity of knowledge; this is the subject matter of phenomenology.

The right understanding of the relation between the universal and the particular is to understand how the particular is the universal, i.e., to view it as a positive determination. First, there is an infinite multiplicity of particulars. If anything is to be universal, it is the infinite number of particular variations that can possibly be. But this alone is not the universal, because we say it exhibits a common form. All forms still bundle together to exhibit one single figure of form. If they are universal and eternal, then each Form is a single characterization of a distinct nature for the observer. While in physical terms the Forms come together to exhibit one single unified form, in the abstract sense they are eternally distinct characterizations—iterations of pure concepts, the ingredients of thought and the content for the observer.

Formless

The universal is assumed to be formless because it cannot be determined into a form—otherwise, its determination into a form renders it finite. But this loose interpretation of the infinite makes it impossible to apprehend. It becomes a vague and lazy answer to the most nuanced and complicated question for the observer: the nature of the infinite side—i.e., the side within himself that is everything but himself, and that he is also within that Other, as an Other to himself.

On the same note, first, we must assume that the compilation of all objects together still exhibits a single form. Even if the form of the whole is unknown, we must not conflate what is unknown with the proclamation of having “no definite form because that form is unknown.”

Second, the infinite variation of particulars indicates an essential nature underlying each particular thing, i.e., that the universal relation between particulars is that each is a particular—first and foremost a single thing essentially. That is a given, without a response. Any response would only reaffirm the presupposition—you just identified something specific with your words. (Try not doing that.)

The essential nature of the particular is the universal fact that the particular is universal. At this stage of our understanding, the multiplicity of particulars is no longer relevant. What is relevant is that when each particular is understood separately from every other particular, we are left with the sum set of all particulars being itself particular. This particularity, now a feature among all things, is universal by virtue of that capacity alone—i.e., of being unique.

If the particular is universal, why is there such a wide variety of particulars? The answer lies in a deeper understanding of what is meant by the “universal.” If the sum set of particulars culminates in the particular as the universal principle, then the distinction between one thing and another is no longer relevant at this level. We are left with a single entity that is itself everything. This single entity is not numerical in the sense that it is indifferent to itself—i.e., identical with itself while taking on infinite differences, like numbers do.

True law of identity

Substance is, by definition, what is understood through the law of identity: (P if and only if P, or not-P). The law of identity is not merely to express that P, as the antecedent of any variable, indicates that the variable is itself and not anything else. For Aristotle, this law indicates that every variable expresses itself, or that the conception of it is identical with the object—e.g., what I see is identical with the object, whether I see it or not. P, Q, and R are all consequents of P as the necessary condition.

The law of identity also presupposes the necessary and sufficient conditions. In the necessary sense, the existence of substance is assumed—whether that be the lack or the affirmation of existence. In the sufficient sense, substance must have the power to actualize itself—either by coming into existence, or by maintaining the infinite number of possible ways it may or may not exist.

Law of non-contradiction presupposes excluded middle

Our thoughts share a nature with Thought as a universal. The law of non-contradiction is universal by virtue of separating itself from itself. In this separation, we have:

Thought as universal, and
That universal in the particular—i.e., thought within the individual.

The law of non-contradiction presupposes the law of excluded middle in order to produce itself—i.e., contradiction is excluded from non-contradiction. In the ontological sense, these laws are not separate, but rather each presupposes the other. They are only treated separately in logic for the sake of specialization, as in intuitionistic or dialetheic logic—each field emphasizes a different aspect of logical structure.

Logic, as a general science, is necessarily ontological, which means:
A) It is universal (always true and applicable in every situation), and
B) Logic is not relative between people, because it is more fundamental—it describes the nature of Being itself.

Dark Matter – Negative Force

Dark matter is the negative force. We only know of its existence indirectly through matter. We notice an unknown force acting against every fundamental physical component, no matter how small or large. There is always an “anti” force acting as the place whereby physical force can have a positive determination. In other words, there is a “template” for existence that allows for objects to interact and operate in relation to one another.

Dark matter plays an important role in the formation of stars and planets. Its slow-moving particles act as an attraction point to which ordinary matter attaches itself. Because dark matter does not interact much with itself or with light, it was pulled by ordinary matter and now serves as the framework encompassing it. The reason why galaxies appear in random configurations scattered across the cosmos is now understood to be due to their being enveloped by dark matter. This scientific evidence provides indirect observation for the physical existence of dark matter. It indicates that there is a form encompassing matter, but it does little to clarify what kind of form this is. This raises an important question concerning the relationship between dark matter and ordinary matter.

Does the gravitational pull of dark matter affect the kind of form taken by ordinary matter? Why does dark matter possess a gravitational quality that is attracted by ordinary matter? To understand how dark matter may be the reason why matter takes on the form it does, we must turn to the concept of Dark Energy.

About 68% of the universe is currently understood to be made up of dark energy. Dark energy is thought; it is pure potentiality. Dark matter is becoming, and ordinary matter is actuality. We are witnessing the becoming of thought as itself. The proportions of dark energy (68%), dark matter (27%), and ordinary matter (5%) provide a rough framework for understanding the ontological stages of the universe. These numbers serve as the abstract indication of becoming—its structure. But its concrete form appears quite differently.

Albert Einstein was an early modern proponent of the idea that empty space is not nothing.

The more particular, the less conscious. The more particular consciousness becomes, the less conscious it is. This is why we observe that the most particular of things—like a chair, which has only one function—are inanimate. Other life forms, such as microorganisms, insects, or fish, operate with a lower degree of consciousness, performing only a finite set of actions.

The course of development, then, is for a particular form of consciousness to achieve the most general set of capabilities. This means being able to do an infinite number of things. When a particular conception encompasses a greater totality of its object—say, its environment—it is able to “put itself in the place of the other” and thereby adopt a more universal scope. But if it occupies any one conception too fully, it becomes only that and nothing else. Time is the resolution of this: over time, it gradually begins to go outside of itself, expanding into interaction with its environment—and this is where development occurs.

The least conscious things are found at the outermost extremities of consciousness—the “corners” of consciousness—such as rocks, branches, sand, and so forth. These are governed by more aware, living levels of consciousness. For instance, the elements—air, water, fire—shape and move the inanimate: air throws around leaves and sand, water molds and hardens the soil. There is a concentration of consciousness, a condensation toward a point that governs most of these lesser levels—like man, who combines all elements purposively to meet his needs. Man is self-conscious; he is a more conscious form governing the least conscious levels of his environment.

Lower levels of consciousness sustain the higher ones, but ultimately the former yields to the latter. Only God knows who governs man for their own conscious purpose. One might say that man governs man to actualize his purpose—but perhaps some universal man governs man now, from a different point in time.

Contend with God, Not worship him

On the Nature of God and the Universal Principle

Asking whether God exists is akin to inquiring about the relationship between the universal and the particular. As Hegel articulates, “God is the unity of universal and individual.”¹ The question is not merely about whether God exists, but about how God exists. The mere fact that something is-not immediately apparent does not negate its existence. If we acknowledge the presence of anything universal, we must concede that God embodies the very definition of universality, representing the necessity of the absolute principle. We do not need to comprehend the essence of the absolute in order to conclude that it must necessarily be true.

The reason why it is traditionally considered a “sin” not to believe in God is because it is arrogant to think that nothing is greater than any finite thing. This is perhaps the most illogical of all opinions, yet it is the one most often expressed by nature itself. A significant misinterpretation arises in how religions respond to the existence of God. In most traditions, the universal nature of God means we must worship that force, fear it, and appease it in order to fulfill our desires. However, these attitudes are merely projections of human emotions onto the broader processes of nature. God—or the universal principle—does not possess emotions; it simply actualizes ends. It is the actualizing principle itself.

The individual is not meant to worship or beg God, as that merely reflects the individual’s own disposition toward the world—acting as a victim, wanting things resolved without making real effort. Rather, the individual is made to contend with God, to challenge, to curse, to battle—but only as a means of drawing out from the universal the aim, the goal, and the purpose of life. The individual must not deceive the universal, because such trickery only in-turn deceives the self. The individual must contend with the universal within themselves, and the universal contends with the individual by compelling them to fulfill their potential.

The particular performs the physical labor for the universal. It is the means by which the world is changed directly—molding, building, acting. This is what the universal requires from the individual: interaction and transformation of the world. What the individual requires from the universal, on the other hand, is the arrangement of the world—the placement, the timing, the structure of their context. The universal influences the individual indirectly: it alters the circumstances of life, it puts the individual in situations of illness, health, joy, or despair. The universal cannot physically push the individual, but it can create the conditions for those physical events to happen. The universal is time to the individual, while the individual is space to the universal.

In the Abrahamic stories, Abraham—the protagonist—does not merely worship God; he contends with God. God constantly tests the prophet’s faith. In this light, worship is just one aspect of contending with the divine. If we should “worship” anything, it is Reason—but even then, worship is not the right word; it is merely a metaphor for what we mean by engaging rationally with the world. Hegel writes, “When you look at the world rationally, the world exhibits a rational aspect. The relation is mutual.”² The principle of reason is the universal element in all actual things—it is the substance, energy, form, and content of Being. Reason, in the form of cultivated thought, differentiates the human being from all other animals. Humanity, then, is the culmination of all species, and as such, possesses a unique ethical capability.

This capability is not merely rational but self-conscious. For example, humans experience insecurity. The ability to be self-conscious is an ethical one: it means recognizing reason itself. When an individual becomes aware of the presence of Reason within their being, they also become conscious of the universal substance present in all things. Achieving knowledge of Reason is therefore an ethical task. It is not only about creating reasonability, since Reason already exists within the individual as their essential substance. It is about coming to terms with it, recognizing it, and reconciling it with one’s own individuality.

This reconciliation is difficult because individuality is what defines each person as distinct. Thus, the individual must balance the need to maintain selfhood with the recognition that the ‘self’ is ultimately one variable within the absolute whole. Religion attempts this balance but often fails by abandoning subjectivity. Conversely, modern moral relativism tends to abandon objectivity.

“Principle means beginning,” and “an idea” is the beginning of mind.³

Footnotes:

Hegel, G.W.F. Phenomenology of Spirit, cited in multiple interpretations of Hegel’s view of God as the unity of the universal and the individual.
Hegel, G.W.F. Lectures on the Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibree. (1837). Retrieved from https://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/hegel/works/hw/hwintro.htm
Spinoza, B. Ethics, Proposition 1:41 and associated scholium, where the notion of principle as beginning is foundational to understanding substance. This quote however comes from Hegel.

Happiness is the efficiency of thought

Happiness is the efficiency of thought.

Happiness is that which enables thought—it is, by definition, the activity of thought.¹ The feeling of being happy is merely one aspect of happiness as a concept.² Sometimes crying, although it may seem antithetical to happiness as a feeling, contributes to happiness overall. For example, a certain amount of crying can be mentally healthy.³ The prerequisite for happiness is mental health.⁴

Phenomenally, happiness is understood as a subjective experience.⁵ We are not saying that one must be happy in order to think, but rather that thought is synonymous with happiness—that thinking is happiness, and happiness is thinking—for they evoke the same response in the observer.⁶

According to the relationship between the universal and the particular, the subjective experience of the individual is, first, the internalization of what is external, and secondly, the understanding of that internalization.⁷ In the domain of logic, this involves the recognition of our reason as the internalization of Reason qua Reason.⁸ In fact, validity is the structural property of universal Reason.⁹ “Valid” is the force behind reason, and that force is its structure.¹⁰ These are not merely argumentative principles, but also forces of Being—something occurs in nature because it is valid.¹¹

Footnotes

This aligns with the metaphysical claim that Being is structured by necessity, such that only the valid can be actualized. ↩

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Book X — where contemplation (theoria) is described as the highest form of happiness, inseparable from the activity of the mind. ↩

The distinction between pathē (emotions) and energeia (activity) is important: feelings are mutable, but the activity of thought is constant in its essence. ↩

Modern psychology supports this through the concept of “emotional regulation,” where the expression of sadness can restore psychological balance. ↩

By “mental health,” we mean the capacity for rational self-regulation, not mere absence of pathology. ↩

Husserl’s phenomenology defines happiness here as Erlebnis—a lived experience—subjectively constituted in consciousness. ↩

In Hegelian terms, happiness and thinking are two expressions of the same Absolute activity: the unfolding of Spirit in self-reflection. ↩

This echoes Aristotle’s doctrine of form and matter: the external becomes “form” in the intellect through internalization. ↩

Reason qua Reason refers to the self-grounding principle of rationality, where reason reflects upon its own operations. ↩

In formal logic, validity is a structural property: if the premises are true, the conclusion must be true by necessity. ↩

This notion parallels Spinoza’s concept of causa sui—the force of reason is identical to its form. ↩

Aristotle’s system

Entirety of eternity

2.30 Being or non-being?

Inorganic to organic

Spatial Point

Identity of Difference

Universal vs. Individual level

“Truth is Subjective”

Personal

Particular – Kath’kekasta

Individuality

Abstraction is Alteration

Infinity is Definite

Finite Objective

Subjective is Objective

Confronted Reality

Randomness

Chronological Order

Abstract Notion

Quantity is the 1st Quality

Category

Similarities and Differences

Category of God

Unspecific

Category Contradiction

Universal Law

Peirce ‘Induction‘

Maxim of Pragmatism

Order of Category

Sequence of Actuality and Potentiality:

Universal of Particulars

Term “Particular”

Formless

True law of identity

Law of non-contradiction presupposes excluded middle

Dark Matter – Negative Force

Contend with God, Not worship him

Happiness is the efficiency of thought

Footnotes

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