1.13 Form and Matter

Section 1.13.10 (first updated 12.17.2020)

---

Matter, Abstraction, and the Limits of Materialist Ontology

Matter is a “general form”, meaning that it does not belong to anything in particular, but rather is shared among all recognizable objects. It is the common substratum that underlies all differentiated forms and conceptions. This means that whenever an observer picks out a group of seemingly unrelated objects, those objects nevertheless share a commonality of material composition—a material substratum. Everything in the universe, we say, is “material”; however, there is no single object that can be said to be more characteristic of matter than another.

For example, from a purely materialistic ontology, there are no degrees of materiality—an object is either material or non-material.¹ The non-material can thus be classified as that which is purely abstract, something that does not truly exist in the physical world but is only conjured up in the mind—in the brain—a product of thought, which is itself, first and foremost, material.

Even if this is true, it simply means that a physical phenomenon can produce a non-physical expression of itself. If the core claim of materialistic ontology is that matter is primary, and everything else follows from it, then it does not matter if the end result of matter is abstract thought. The idea remains that matter evolves—from the inorganic to the organic—and in that process, it gives rise to rational, conscious beings. If the end result of matter is the abstract, then it is also its primary beginning. Unless one does not believe that the end is related to the beginning, then the end must be considered accidental. But if form arises randomly, the fact of its present existence indicates that it is true rather than untrue—and its truth necessarily implies some kind of order grounding the world.

For the very definition of randomness is that it is inconceivable; and if it is conceivable, then it is rationality that underlies the possibility of conceiving both privation and form. But if only privation exists, then there can be no understanding of either privation or form—for understanding itself presupposes some degree of form.

The abstract poses a significant conceptual challenge to materialist ontology. This is because materialism must presuppose abstraction, yet abstraction does not conform to the nature of material substance. In other words, to assert that the entire universe is made of matter is already to make an abstract claim—a claim that exists in thought, not in material reality.² We do not have direct access to all the substances in the universe, and yet, whenever we conceive of a substance directly, it appears as material.

Thus, to assume that matter is the ultimate condition of the universe is itself an abstraction. Even if this assumption is true, it exists in thought—not in physical form. Physical existence is only ever present in a finite way; anything beyond immediate physical conception becomes an abstract conception. This is not merely because our point of view is limited, but because substance itself displays gradience relative to the observer.³

A useful analogy is the Doppler Effect, where the frequency of a wave becomes more concentrated and intense as the source approaches the observer, and becomes fainter as it moves away. Originally observed in the redshift and blueshift of starlight, the Doppler Effect reveals how the perception of energy and matter depends on relative motion.⁴

Starlight, one of the most fundamental forms of observable energy, illustrates how matter exhibits degrees of concreteness relative to levels of abstraction. Yet, scientific materialism struggles to affirm the existence of abstract substances, because abstraction does not conform to the empirical, sense-based model that materialism relies on.

The abstract is not “present” in the same way that matter is, yet it is as concrete as the physical substances that presuppose it. That is, the very idea of matter as a universal condition is itself an abstract concept that cannot be measured by the senses. It is only by thinking matter abstractly that materialism can define itself—hence showing that abstraction is more foundational than the very material it attempts to explain.

Footnotes

The Doppler Effect was first described by Christian Doppler in 1842. In astronomy, it explains the redshift/blueshift of stars as they move away from or toward Earth. See: Max Born, Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, for a discussion of how perception of movement affects measurements of time and space. ↩

See Aristotle, Metaphysics V.8, 1017b, where he distinguishes between actual and potential being, and also discusses the general nature of matter as receptive to form but not possessing it in itself. See also Hegel, The Science of Logic, on the distinction between the abstract and the concrete. ↩

Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A292/B348, where he argues that concepts such as substance, cause, and necessity are not derived from empirical experience but are conditions for the possibility of experience itself. ↩

See Husserl, Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology, where he emphasizes how objects appear in modes of givenness that are always relative to the observer’s intentional acts of consciousness. ↩

---

Aristotle recognizes that “matter” and “form” are distinct concepts, but he also establishes a connection between them by highlighting their similarity. Reason does not merely make abstractions about matter; rather, matter itself is an abstraction of reason. In other words, matter is an abstract concept, because there is no single, distinct object in the world that can be called “matter” in itself—yet all specific and distinct objects are considered generally material.

Being “material” is not merely a property but also an activity, state, or occurrence. The phrase “a matter at hand,” for instance, associates significance and value with a thing’s concrete existence. In this way, matter functions as a verb, implicitly referring to what is meaningful or substantial in reality.¹

The question of what constitutes the “concrete” refers either to:
a) something verifiable by sense experience, or
b) something fundamentally abstract, yet formative, that provides meaning for both observers and objects.

Both propositions lead to a shared conundrum in philosophy: Form has no distinct individuality, yet it is universally applicable to all individual things. Matter, by this understanding, is itself a form—it is a general rule or principlethat applies to all things in the world. At the same time, individual things relate to this general concept of matter in unique and specific ways.

The distinction between form and matter often leads to the misconception that they refer to different kinds of substances—that they are inherently opposed. This mischaracterization arises primarily because modern philosophytends to overlook the hierarchical relationship of concepts, failing to situate them in their proper order. In Aristotelian metaphysics, matter follows form as a particular description of form’s nature.

Matter describes the first instance of form in its concrete manifestation:

1. All material things can interact with one another.
2. Each object poses barriers to other objects in order to maintain its self-subsistence.
3. Matter is not any specific thing in itself, but rather a generality.

In this sense, matter is a rational abstraction, because it encompasses all things alike.²

All observable objects in the world are called “material,” but what about objects that can be conceived, yet not sensed? These are called “form” and constitute the abstract substance of the world.

For example, when an abstraction is derived from a continuous sequence, a part of that sequence is picked out as something specific. Yet any particular part is only meaningful as part of the whole sequence. If thought exhibits itself as a sequence, then any abstraction drawn from it is an object of it.

This leads to a more difficult but profound philosophical claim: the object is an abstraction of reason—or, stated differently, a material thing is truly an abstract form.

Footnotes

Hegel makes a similar point in The Science of Logic, where matter is treated as a general, indeterminate substrate until given determinate form through the activity of thought. ↩

See Aristotle, Metaphysics VII.1, 1028b–1029a, where matter is discussed not as a thing but as a potentiality that underlies form. ↩

---

Reason and Matter Are Separate in Each Other

The distinction between “reason” and “matter” is a distinction within the general concept of “substance,” which constitutes one of the most fundamental abstractions in both philosophy and science.¹ In the universe, there is no such thing as one property being purely “matter” and another being purely “form”; both necessarily involve each other for the perceiver.

They are, in fact, aspects of the same substance, involving mechanics that are characteristic of distinct determinations or opposing forces—such as passive and active processes. For the sake of understanding, we classify one as “material” and the other as “formal,” though this division is largely epistemological rather than ontological.

The Term “Formal”

The term “formal” often carries the implication of being an academic or intellectual methodology of apprehending the world, but not identical with the world itself. This implies that the world is somehow informal, and we “formalize” it into a system that we can understand and communicate.

However, if a formal system is to truly capture an accurate understanding of the world, it must depict the world truthfully. In other words, science must represent nature as it truly is. Therefore, the method—being a formal one, which means it involves system, structure, and rational order—must reflect the actual order and systematic nature of the world.² The systematic nature of our methods must be based on the inherent systematic nature of reality itself.

Form and Matter as a Necessary Abstraction

The distinction between “form” and “matter” is ultimately superfluous in the realm of nature itself, but it becomes a necessary abstraction for the sake of scientific inquiry and rational understanding. This distinction is necessary only if science succeeds in finding a synthesis—a true connection—between reason and matter.

If this connection is not made, science risks collapsing into a misguided ontology, where matter is conceived as lacking rationality, and rationality is viewed as lacking material substance. This false division leaves reason alienated from its power of actualization, and matter stripped of the very substance that grants it intelligibility and coherence.³

Footnotes

See Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A265/B321, where he critiques the separation of understanding from sensibility, arguing that “concepts without intuitions are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind.” ↩

Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book VII, 1028b–1030a, where substance (ousia) is discussed in terms of form and matter. ↩

See Hegel, The Science of Logic, where he argues that logical form must arise from and correspond to the structure of reality. ↩

Form and Matter: A Rational Distinction

The difference between ‘form’ and ‘matter’ arises when one is external to the other as two or more distinct objects. Objects that are separated in space exhibit different forms. Matter differs from form when it maintains a unity that enables different things to interact. Matter remains the same kind of thing in order to allow for the interaction of differences. This unity occurs when one conceives itself through the other—i.e., when both are forces acting as the same self with different personalities. However, this conception is not symmetrical: when reason conceives itself through matter, it actualizes its abstract forms into material components, each of which exhibits a possible variation.

This process reciprocally requires that matter conceive itself through some original source that is not itself—i.e., a nature different from itself¹. In order for matter to conceive itself through reason (or for a material object to be “rational”), it must submit itself as the quality that is devoid of any qualities. In doing so, it becomes a particular quality that is distinct from (a) itself as a quality devoid of qualities, and (b) all other qualities that are distinct from one another².

If matter is alien to Reason, it dissipates as something tangible and disappears from any faculty of conception. Matter becomes inconceivable when it ceases to be rational.

Importantly, the non-rational does not mean “irrational.” Something irrational exists after a rational entity is formed—i.e., first it is rational because it is discernible; then it becomes irrational because it becomes indiscernible. Life, for example, is rationally ordered into being, but when the physical structure degenerates or acts in a way opposite to its initial nature, it becomes non-functioning. If the initial nature is rational, then irrationality is what acts in opposition to that—i.e., irrationality opposes a rational course of action³.

If something is irrational from the beginning, then rationality is still prior, because the process is aimed toward rationality. If rationality is the end goal, it also becomes the reason for the beginning. However, we cannot say that things start off irrational and remain irrational to the end, because that would imply a kind of order which would be either:

a) Indiscernible—and therefore not known to exist; or
b) Known in an unknown way—which still implies the existence of an observer who conceives it in some particular way⁴.

By “non-rational,” we mean something that cannot be conceived in any way whatsoever—a notion that is impossible. If something cannot be conceived in any way, then it would not matter, and it would not exist for anyone—including itself, since it would also lack the capacity to observe itself⁵.

Footnotes

The conclusion implies that total non-rationality is ontologically null; that is, it cannot be said to exist even hypothetically, since existence requires at least potential intelligibility. ↩

This echoes Platonic or Neoplatonic notions where matter, in order to become intelligible, must reflect or participate in a higher rational order (e.g., the Forms). ↩

This reflects Aristotelian metaphysics where matter must be informed to become a “this” or “that”—a specific thing distinguishable from others. ↩

The distinction between rationality and irrationality is not merely one of absence, but of contradiction or opposition, indicating a deviation from a prior rational state. ↩

This argument suggests that perception or conception is necessary for existence, reminiscent of idealist philosophies like those of Berkeley or certain readings of Kant. ↩

The notion of irrationality exists as a force that becomes the limit—always spatially external or temporally always yet to arrive—for the rational activity of thought¹.

Matter is alien to reason when it remains void of any quality. Yet, thought—being the very quality of matter—is filled with matter as its own inherent quality. Matter is the quality of thought that enables it to produce the object of its conception. In its default nature, matter resists adoption as a particular form exhibiting distinct quality. It must be labored into form, which, from the standpoint of matter, constitutes an infringement on its essential nature: the quality devoid of quality². Matter is thus initially resistant—not actively, but passively—in contrast to form.

In the science of entropy, material things tend toward increasing disorder over time. When left to their “own devices,” material objects naturally degenerate. We observe this, for example, in any living organism: it is born, it grows old, and eventually, it dies³.

Entropy implies that things become increasingly chaotic over time when they are left alone.

The reason a physical phenomenon tends toward disorder when left alone over time is that it drifts away from a rational source. This rational source, from which a physical object diverges, is the observer⁴. In the theory of quantum entanglement, the observer and the object are analogous to two entangled quarks: correlating in opposite yet homogeneous ways across vast stretches of space⁵. The observer is rational because it is the source of all possible form, while matter is inherently uninformed, chaotic, and undifferentiated—a blank substrate.

Reason, therefore, must find its place in the inversion of matter—in the quality that pertains to all qualities. Here, it returns to itself from “the other side” as a self-relation. Unlike matter, which lacks any inherent quality, reason is the potential for all qualities. Reason inverts the nature of matter and transforms it into itself. It is a force that changes matter into quality. Conversely, matter is the resisting force that maintains itself against form—as content that stands apart from all other forms.

Thought and object meet in this essential conflict—as the same substance, which we understand as consciousness of phenomenon⁶.

Matter becomes the efficient quality of reason because it is the universal substrate that is molded into the Idea⁷. But because matter resists reason fundamentally, reason is perpetually urged to reproduce itself. This is why matter is the reality of reason, and reason is the actuality of matter—it gives matter its quality⁸. This dialectical relationship between reason and matter reaches infinite degrees of insistence, where each insists its nature upon the other.

In the dimension we call time—the present—reason is both conceiving itself through matter, and matter is conceiving itself through reason. At the same time, reason resists being conceived by matter, and matter resists being conceived by reason. That is, forms are perfect in the abstract, but they become imperfect and finite when they are instantiated as physical objects. This imperfection is not necessarily moral in nature—though Platonic philosophy does suggest moral implications in the nature of the Forms—but rather structural. When a form becomes an object, it becomes a specific, limited thing. All of its limitations define what it is.

Nonetheless, the Forms remain more fundamental, because we can only identify the particularities of finite objects against universal principles and shared qualities that they hold in common with other similarly limited things⁹.

This contradiction exists simultaneously in the present—as both a self-destructive and a self-generative mechanism. More fundamentally, these diverging forces of the universe manifest as attraction and repulsion. Implicit in these forces is reason, which finds its quality in matter—the very substance that characterizes all other qualities that take on form. When reason becomes at home in itself, it begins the process of conceiving itself within its own mind. Reason continually actualizes itself.

Footnotes:

This echoes the Platonic view that particulars derive their intelligibility from universals. ↩

This echoes Hegelian dialectics, where reason moves toward its own self-realization through the negation of the irrational or the “Other.” ↩

This recalls Aristotelian hylomorphism—the view that matter is potentiality while form is actuality. ↩

A reference to the second law of thermodynamics, where entropy increases in isolated systems. ↩

In phenomenology and quantum physics alike, the “observer” plays a constitutive role in defining reality. ↩

Quantum entanglement implies a non-local relationship between particles, relevant here as an analogy for the unity of observer and object. ↩

A nod to Kantian “transcendental idealism,” where consciousness is the condition for the possibility of experience. ↩

Plato’s theory of Forms treats the ideal as the truest reality, with the material as its reflection or instantiation. ↩

In a Hegelian sense, actuality is the realization of potential within a rational structure. ↩

Coming About, Without Coming About in a Certain Way

Peirce explains that Aristotle’s notion of the final cause is:

“That mode of bringing facts about according to which a general description of result is made to come about, quite irrespective of any compulsion for it to come about in this or that particular way; although the means may be adapted to the end. The general result may be brought about at one time in one way, and at another time in another way. Final causation does not determine in what particular way it is to be brought about, but only that the result shall have a certain general character.”¹

The final cause in this sense simply means that a certain result bears a general character. It is a determination—not a determinism. In contrast, efficient causation is, as Peirce writes, “a compulsion determined by the particular condition of things, and is a compulsion acting to make that situation begin to change in a perfectly determinate way; and what the general character of the result may be in no way concerns the efficient causation.”²

Efficient cause is pure energy—it induces change without any intrinsic orientation toward what that change is for. It operates with mechanical determinacy, while final cause orients activity toward a general end or goal, though not by any fixed path.

Peirce further explains the relationship between efficient and final causation in the following way:

“Efficient causation is that kind of causation whereby the parts compose the whole; final causation is that kind of causation whereby the whole calls out its parts. Final causation without efficient causation is helpless; mere calling for parts is what a Hotspur, or any man, may do; but they will not come without efficient causation. Efficient causation without final causation, however, is worse than helpless, by far; it is mere chaos; and chaos is not even so much as chaos, without final causation; it is blank nothing.”³

Here, Peirce underscores a crucial metaphysical balance. Final causation provides a purposive orientation—a general end or pattern—while efficient causation actualizes the parts through specific, determinate mechanisms. Final cause, by itself, is impotent; efficient cause, alone, is directionless. Together, they constitute a meaningful and dynamic system of becoming.

Footnotes:

1. Charles Sanders Peirce, Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce, CP 1.211. Peirce reinterprets Aristotle’s “final cause” as a mode of general teleological explanation, distinct from mechanical determinism. ↩
2. Ibid., CP 1.212 (implied continuation of the discussion on efficient causation). ↩
3. Ibid., CP 1.220. The mention of “Hotspur” references Shakespeare’s character in Henry IV, symbolizing impetuous action without efficacy—here used metaphorically by Peirce. ↩

Eidos is translated as “form” in Ancient Greek. The eidos refers to the character or essence of an object and is used to classify objects within the same group¹.

In Aristotle’s philosophy, the term eidos also denotes the “species,” which is understood in terms of “form.” Aristotle associates the nature of a species with the form it exhibits². In this sense, the soul refers to the essential form or character unique to a species.

Classifying Life

The various fundamental forms of reality, when conceived together, form a unified object—their unity constitutes their conception. These are different conceptions simultaneously coalescing into a single perception. A key principle in neuropsychology holds that all perceptual objects we experience are internally constructed within the brain³.

Genesis

The classification of life is intimately related to the concept of genesis. As Peirce explains:

“All natural classification is then essentially, we may almost say, an attempt to find out the true genesis of the objects classified. But by genesis must be understood not the efficient action which produces the whole by producing the parts, but the final action which produces the parts because they are needed to make the whole. Genesis is the production from ideas.”⁴

In On the Soul (Book I, Chapter 3), Aristotle similarly associates the form of a living being with the soul, which he sees as the first actuality of a natural body that has life potentially within it⁵.

The Theory of ‘Universals’

According to Aristotle, the genesis of life is derived from form. There are as many kinds of souls as there are species—that is, there are as many different forms as there are conceptions of life⁶.

The natural origin of an organism—how it comes to develop—involves the relationship between the universal and its particular expressions. The universal is general because it contains the common characteristics that apply to all individual members. Yet each individual expresses the universal in a specific way. Genesis is not explained by the mere sum of parts making up a whole, but rather by how each part expresses a conception of the whole.

This aligns with Peirce’s account of natural genesis as a teleological structure:

“The rule of natural genesis is how the ‘means may be adapted to the end,’ and not how the means make up the end.”⁷

Hegel on Plant Assimilation

Hegel illustrates this teleological principle through his discussion of plant life:

“The growth of the plant is an assimilation into itself of the other; but as a self-multiplication, this assimilation is also a going-forth-from-itself. It is not a coming-to-self as an individual, but a multiplication of the individuality: so that the one individuality is only the superficial unity of the many. The individuals remain a separated plurality, indifferent to each other. […] Schultz therefore says: ‘The growth of plants is a perpetual addition of new parts which did not exist previously.’”⁸

This process reaches a limit when there emerges an infinite variety of distinct forms that are, at the same time, homogeneous to the same idea. For instance, the species of the oak tree consists of countless individual oak trees that differ in size and shape, yet all drop acorns in the fall.

The Infinite Multiplicity of Life

In the vegetative stage, when life forms assimilate, they are integrating every possible outcome of the general idea to which they belong. This is why each individual plant is symmetrically unique: every plant is a potential expression of the species’ general form.

Each individual represents a unique realization of a universal idea. Consequently, every general idea—every species—comprises an infinite multiplicity of particular members.

Footnotes

G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of Nature, §304. Hegel emphasizes teleological development in natural life, where the organism is self-organizing and outward-expanding. ↩

The term eidos (εἶδος) appears in Plato’s and Aristotle’s works to denote both the outward form and the intelligible essence of a thing. ↩

See Aristotle, Metaphysics Z.4–Z.6, where he discusses form as the essence of being. ↩

This reflects theories in cognitive neuroscience where perception is understood as brain-constructed representations (cf. Kantian and neuroconstructivist perspectives). ↩

Charles Sanders Peirce, Collected Papers, CP 1.227. ↩

Aristotle, De Anima (On the Soul), I.3, trans. J.A. Smith. Aristotle sees the soul (psyche) as the form of a living body. ↩

This is consistent with Aristotle’s biological works, especially Parts of Animals, where each soul/form corresponds to a type of living being. ↩

Peirce, CP 1.211. This illustrates final causation—where an end or purpose organizes the means, rather than being produced by them. ↩

The Soul and the Indeterminacy of Form

The statement that the soul “can be in any body” simply points to the uncertainty of events corresponding to particular moments in reality. Which event will occur at which moment? In other words, there is a decoherence in thought—thought is not coherent in determining events as fixed in time. We generally perceive time as a continuous duration—a single flowing moment—referred to as the “present.” To be present is to be aware of the “there” of reality.

Within this continuity, events seem to occur randomly, albeit with occasional relevant patterns. However, every human being knows, deep in their subconscious, that there is no true randomness in the world—that everything happens for a reason, determined in some way toward a purpose¹.

According to Plato, the soul is separate from the body². Aristotle, however, critiques this view, arguing that such a separation does not clarify the nature of the soul. To claim that a soul can simply be “placed” into any body fails to provide a scientific or philosophical account of how entities in nature are characterized³. For Aristotle, the soul requires a particular kind of body. The body is a substratum, and its nature is not particular in itself. Rather, the soul is the particular kind of substance that produces the form appropriate to the body.

In our everyday thinking, we consider the body to have its own particular nature. Religious thinking, by contrast—especially in popular or dualistic frameworks—tends to treat the soul as having a universal character: able to partake of any form or inhabit any material body. But for Aristotle, the “soul” is the kind of nature, the character, that matter assumes. The soul is the essence of matter⁴.

The concept of soul, for Aristotle, characterizes the nature of thought. Thought is not identical with the act of thinking; rather, it is the universal substance of the cosmos. Thought is the actuality of the universe—it is the very form of thought itself. And such forms define matter⁵.

Quarks Are Cracks

Aristotle brought Reason to bear on this uncertainty by identifying it with the indifferent nature of matter—matter that has not yet taken on any form. This means that no form is yet known to be associated with it⁶.

In contemporary physics, string theory attempts to look “beyond” the atom and the quarks. When magnifying into these deeper dimensions, it is found that what appear to be quarks are in fact tiny vibrating loops of energy⁷. Quarks, then, can be understood metaphorically as cracks in the fabric of spacetime—points of rupture through which energy expresses itself.

Cracks are defined as lines along the surface of an object that have split without breaking into separate parts. In this sense, spacetime is fractured into cracks—rifts on its surface that radiate energy. Within this framework, matter becomes undifferentiated—a flux of raw qualities that are not yet organized. This observation offers physical, empirical support for Aristotle’s idea of “bare” matter—that is, matter without form⁸.

This block of formless matter exists as an uncertainty principle within the consciousness of the observer. Consciousness encounters its limits in the resistance of matter, but what it discovers on the other side of that resistance is itself. In other words, consciousness finds itself beyond matter—it encounters its own form reflected in the undifferentiated substrate.

The Makeup of a ‘Thing‘

What constitutes a thing? Matter is the material substrate—the “stuff” out of which something is made. Form is the organization of that matter that gives it definite structure. However, form is not identical with the specific object. Rather, it is universal, and the individual object partakes in that universality as a particular instantiation of an idea⁹.

Footnotes

This is a synthesis of Platonic and Aristotelian ideas: the form as a universal, and the particular as its instantiation. It also echoes the scholastic notion of universalia in re (universals in things). ↩

This belief aligns with teleological reasoning—especially as found in Aristotle’s concept of final causation, where things occur for the sake of an end or purpose. ↩

Plato discusses the separability and immortality of the soul in dialogues such as Phaedo and Republic (Book X). ↩

Aristotle critiques Plato’s view in De Anima (On the Soul), arguing that the soul must be understood in relation to the body as its form, not as an independent entity. ↩

See Aristotle, De Anima, II.1, where he defines the soul as “the form of a natural body having life potentially in it.” ↩

This follows Aristotle’s notion of nous (intellect or thought) in De Anima III.4–5, where thought is both the capacity for knowledge and the actuality of the intelligible. ↩

Aristotle refers to prime matter as that which underlies all form but has no form of its own—pure potentiality. ↩

In string theory, elementary particles are modeled not as points, but as one-dimensional strings whose vibrations correspond to particle types. See: Brian Greene, The Elegant Universe. ↩

This parallels Aristotle’s “hylomorphism”—the theory that everything is composed of matter (hyle) and form (morphe). ↩

Reason, Actualization, and the Becoming of Being

Hegel asserts that “reason is the conscious certainty of being all reality”.¹ Self-consciousness, in Hegel’s system, is the employment of consciousness to test itself through its own dialectical unfolding. The dialectical expression of consciousness appears in the object—a reflection of consciousness itself. In The Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel explains how consciousness reveals “meaning” in the object: in observing the world, consciousness is simultaneously implicating itself in the very structure it observes.²

Its very seeking is, at the same time, also its producing—this mutual implication is the process of Reason.

Potentiality and Actualization

Take, for example, the abstract condition of the universe prior to its emergence—the moment (or non-moment) before the so-called Big Bang. The universe, at this stage, exists only as potential: it is not yet actualized. In this state, it is not a physical object but a wholly conceptual substance. It must, therefore, exist within some kind of mind or rational structure.

To ask whether the universe is in the mind of a being—and then ask where that being exists—creates a regress. This assumes a being “within” an object, and then attributes conceptual origin to that object itself. But such assumptions miss the point. Being, in its purest sense, does not need to exist in any particular form. This is what we mean by a purely abstract or conceptual framework: the foundational metaphysical source that gives rise to any object.

The process of actualization involves the transformation from potential to real, both of which are temporal points or moments. This transition—from nothing into Being—marks the metaphysical threshold where non-being gives way to actuality.

Yet, we cannot meaningfully talk about “nothing,” because to do so is to affirm it as a concept, which is a contradiction. Inherent to logic is the principle that conceptualizing nothing already grants it a form of being. The very act of conceiving nothing is sufficient to render it into Being.

The Becoming of Being

The moment when substance transforms into Being is the shift from potentiality into actuality. To understand this “abrupt” transition in reality, one must examine what it means philosophically for something to exist in a potential state versus an actual one.

How is potentiality itself a form of actuality?

Hegel identifies the beginning of Reason in the paradoxical unity of Being and Nothing. He asserts that Being and Nothing are “the same difference”: Nothing-in-itself is Being. Therefore, nothing is not absolute non-being but is instead the negation of Being, and thus still something.³

This fundamental contradiction initiates the process of Becoming—the dialectical movement that pushes potentiality into existence. Becoming is the engine of change; the transformation that nudges non-being “just enough” to budge it into presence.

Why does something come into being, rather than remain as nothing? It does not occur randomly or without purpose. The absence of knowledge about the reason is not evidence of a lack of reason. There is always a ground for actualization—even if it is unknown.

Why Do Things Happen?

Reason is the compulsion of events into Being from Nothing. Events emerge not arbitrarily, but in order to perform a purpose: to conceive a certain reality and project it as an other—a reflection of itself—for observation.

The observer, in projecting reality outward, generates an externalized version of his own self. At the same time, this reality is received and mirrored by another observer doing the same thing. These outward projections of separate but internally coherent realities meet in shared events, disclosing not only the world but also the distinct observers who construct it.

In this way, the external world is the site where different iterations of reason—different observers—reveal themselves to one another. And the reality they co-constitute becomes the mutual product of this projection and reflection.

Footnotes

G.W.F. Hegel, Science of Logic, Book I (The Doctrine of Being), “Being–Nothing–Becoming.” Hegel famously begins his logic with pure Being and pure Nothing, which immediately collapse into Becoming, the true first concept of the logic. ↩

G.W.F. Hegel, The Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. A.V. Miller, §232, p. 82. In this passage, Hegel describes Reason as the self-certainty that it is “all reality”—a pivotal point where consciousness no longer confronts an alien world but recognizes itself in the world it perceives. ↩

Ibid., §238, p. 85. Here, Hegel examines how observation itself implies a structure of meaning that consciousness imposes upon and finds within its object. ↩

Becoming, the Complex, and the Repression of Meaning

Becoming is a progressive process—a movement that proceeds through the accumulation of itself. The term accumulation refers to a developmental build-up that ultimately results in a culmination—in logic, a convergence of contradictions stemming from an initial contradiction. A universal complex may be defined as the cataloguing of every moment, every step taken from a foundational beginning, culminating in the presentation of multiple possible outcomes. These outcomes exist simultaneously, even as one version appears to actualize instantaneously over another.

Psychoanalysis and the Nature of the Complex

In psychoanalysis, a complex refers to a cluster of associated ideas and emotions that exist in conflict within an individual’s psyche¹. These inner conflicts may express themselves in abnormal behaviours, often manifesting through repetitive patterns of thought and emotion. Such manifestations are not necessarily caused by singular thoughts, but rather by the repetition of unresolved mental content. This repetition arises from the individual’s failure—or inability—to confront these latent thoughts.

More deeply, these complexes arise from fundamental existential problems—such as the individual’s incapacity to fully confront death, or the inevitable decline brought about by decay, aging, and the corruption of regenerative processes. These natural phenomena of deterioration present a profoundly complex phenomenological challenge to the mind. While the mind must engage with and manage these realities, it does not necessarily manage them well.

To say that such complexes are merely “shortcomings” of the personality is not entirely accurate, because they also appear in individuals considered psychologically “healthy” or “normal.” In truth, all individuals, including those deemed most well-adjusted, harbor underlying mental complexes. These arise naturally by virtue of being self-conscious and rational beings, even if only to a partial or fragmented degree. Unaddressed, such complexes may evolve into pathological behaviours, as seen in disorders like Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Pathology, in this context, is not the result of isolated mental content but the failure to integrate or resolve that content consciously.

Anxiety, OCD, PTSD etc.

However, so-called pathological disorders such as OCD, anxiety, and others are not truly “disorders” in the strict medical sense of the term—that is, a functional abnormality in which the natural function of an organ or system is impaired. Rather, these psychological phenomena can be understood as natural, evolved defence mechanisms that have developed to help the human organism cope with the complex existential challenges it faces as a rational, self-conscious being.

What we often label as psychological “problems” may not be pathological simply because they deviate from a norm, but because they persist or intensify in ways that disrupt functional equilibrium. These responses—anxiety, compulsive behaviors, obsessive thoughts—are not inherently unnatural; in fact, they may originate as adaptive strategies. The problem arises when these once-useful mechanisms become dysregulated or excessive, no longer serving their original purpose and instead contributing to suffering or dysfunction. Take PTSD, for example, where the patient experiences continuous, unregulated stress long after a traumatic event has occurred. After a stressful event—such as a near-death experience—the mind may try to ignore or suppress the memory. However, the body continues to experience stress as if the mind is still fixated on the event.

In this light, psychological disorders are less about a breakdown in natural function and more about a misfiring or overextension of otherwise functional processes. They are the consequence of evolved systems encountering modern contexts or internal imbalances that render them maladaptive. Thus, the true disorder lies not in the existence of these responses, but in the point at which they begin to interfere with an individual’s ability to live a balanced and meaningful life.

Modern Psychology and Evolutionary Oversight

Modern psychology often classifies behaviours like anxiety, depression, and obsessive-compulsive tendencies as disorders, yet it frequently fails to contextualize these traits from an evolutionary perspective. For example:

• Anxious individuals may possess heightened alertness—beneficial in predator-prey dynamics².
• Compulsive behaviors might reinforce reliable routines, fostering survival in uncertain environments³.
• Depression can offer a realistic outlook and a withdrawal necessary for reassessment or healing⁴.

From this perspective, these so-called disorders are adaptive responses that serve a function. They are labeled “negative” only because:

a) They produce more chaos than order from the point of view of the individual or observer,
b) Our cultural ideals often idealize happiness, love, and beauty, whereas our lived experience is marked by fleeting or imperfect examples of these ideals.

We experience only shadows of the absolute values we carry within us. And yet, these ideals govern much of our psychological reality.

The Role of Awareness and Repression

A complex can be resolved only when the individual becomes aware of unconscious content. The emotional intensityof the complex is often what makes it so powerful: the complex moves from being a hidden idea to becoming a real-world action, affecting both the individual and others. Psychotherapy, especially in the Freudian tradition, aims to “bring to light” these repressed contents through techniques such as free association, dream analysis, and talk therapy⁵.

Pharmaceutical vs. Psychoanalytic Treatment

By contrast, the pharmaceutical model of modern psychiatry often bypasses the work of conscious integration. Instead of helping patients address repressed emotions, pharmaceutical interventions aim to suppress the symptoms of psychic conflict through chemical means. In doing so, they risk concealing the truth rather than revealing it.

In effect, drugs may “trick” the brain into coping, but this coping comes at the cost of numbing the individual’s consciousness. When psychoanalysis becomes subordinated to the pharmaceutical industry, its fundamental goal—to reveal the truth of the psyche—is betrayed. Patients are rendered dependent on drugs to manage symptoms, rather than encouraged to understand the meaning of their recurring thoughts.

Complexes and the Function of Repetition

Complexes do not arise randomly—they serve a purpose. Thoughts that repeat themselves in the mind are signals, indicating a message that seeks attention. The repetitive nature of these thoughts is not a glitch but a design: the brain is attempting to prepare the individual for future challenges.

If these signals are ignored, essential information and insights for survival may be lost. The brain has evolved not simply to process reality but to anticipate potential problems. The repression of thought—especially unconscious or emotionally charged thought—is therefore not only a psychological problem but a loss of access to essential intelligence.

Footnotes

Freud, S. (1917). Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis. Freud describes the importance of “working through” repressed material to resolve neuroses. ↩

Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud both developed theories of the complex. Jung emphasized the emotional tone attached to complexes, while Freud focused on their unconscious origin in repressed drives. See Jung, Psychological Types, and Freud, Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis. ↩

Nesse, R. M., & Williams, G. C. (1994). Why We Get Sick: The New Science of Darwinian Medicine. Anxiety as a trait is often interpreted as an evolutionary defense mechanism. ↩

Szechtman, H., & Woody, E. (2004). Obsessive-compulsive disorder as a disturbance of security motivation. Psychological Review, 111(1), 111–127. ↩

Hagen, E. H. (2003). The functions of postpartum depression. Evolution and Human Behavior, 24(5), 350–368. Depression may have evolved to promote adaptive withdrawal and social negotiation. ↩

Nature is complex, much like the mind, and we can perceive this complexity through the chemistry of the universe. For example, the chemical makeup of the universe begins with fundamental elements—elements that all others are, in a sense, collapsed versions of. These fundamental elements become increasingly qualitative and concentrative. In the periodic table, we refer to some elements as more “fundamental” than others, a distinction denoted by the magnitude of their atomic (or periodic) number.

The term “periodic” can be understood in two ways:

1. As a number with an infinitely repeating or recurring decimal, which is a portion of a number, and
2. As a repetition that is non-zero—meaning the repeated part is a definite value.

If something is infinitely repeating, then what is undergoing repetition must be a definite entity—a Being. Nothingness cannot repeat infinitely; only something that is can do so, either in the same form or in variations of itself.

What determines whether an element is “basic” or “advanced” is the degree of variability it contains as a compound. For instance, oxygen demonstrates greater variability and can combine in more complex ways than hydrogen. Hydrogen, by contrast, does not include any variability of other chemicals—it is composed solely of itself. As the purest element, hydrogen is also the most abundant, because every subsequent, less fundamental element on the periodic table includes it as a constituent part of its composition.

According to Aristotle, the notion of Thought indicates the very necessity of the universe. Hegel suggests that the structure of thought—or rather, its form—is what he describes as having a “dialectic with itself.” Human history characterizes world history because it is the universal dialogue of consciousness working itself out¹. The ontological notion that Reason characterizes the world is rooted in what Plato aimed to identify as Truth, or in other terms, “the Good,” which we know as the Forms. The Forms are the content of Thought; they are the very Ideas, or structures, of Reason².

What Aristotle identifies as Substance is the actualization process of Reason transforming potentiality into actuality. This process entails the form of something—its function—coming together with its matter to constitute a real object we can perceive and feel. However, the object we perceive is only the surface of a more fundamental and abstract realm. This deeper realm is embedded within the thing itself, yet it is not merely that thing as it appears. Hegel coins the term Consciousness to mean the life-energy, or the active process of Reason engaging with itself. It does so by having itself as a particular kind of thing interacting with the universal—like man with God³.

Matter, as substratum, is the very acting of actuality “acting” on possibility, rather than keeping it a mere potential. This action is pragmatic and real, because it is part of a being making a determination. Plato’s Forms, on the other hand, represent actuality without acting, in the sense that they are static ideals—pure being without movement. They exist outside of time and change, thus embodying actuality without the temporal unfolding we associate with action or becoming⁴.

Because the very nature of matter is constituted by actuality, it also possesses the nature of potentiality. Potentiality constitutes motion in the world—the coming-into-being of consciousness. But what is the essential nature of becoming? In order for something to become, it must already exist; it must already be as Being. How is this Being portrayed—from what it is potentially to what it is actually—in the world? What is the actuality of consciousness in the potentiality of matter? Aristotle understands this to be the human being, which is that which, when fully complete, represents the actualization of any concept⁵.

The human being is the becoming of consciousness in matter. Yet it remains a becoming even though it is Being, since Being always presupposes Becoming, and Becoming presupposes Being. The human being is defined by what Hegel asserts as self-consciousness. Self-consciousness is the synthesis between matter and consciousness; it is Reason in the world. And just as Reason takes on the infinite form of itself in the universe through dialectic, so too does it take on the many forms of self-consciousness. Self-consciousness is defined by the particular, and consciousness generally by the universal; and their very contradiction constitutes Reason. In their contradiction, the end determines the means, with the rigidity of the law⁶.

Footnotes:

A paraphrase or reinterpretation of Hegelian dialectics, possibly drawing on Ted Winslow’s interpretive commentary (old professor). ↩

Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit. The dialectical unfolding of Spirit through history is central to Hegel’s system, where history is understood as the evolution of consciousness toward absolute knowing. ↩

Plato, Republic, Book VI–VII. The theory of Forms posits that non-material abstract forms (and not the material world) possess the highest and most fundamental kind of reality. ↩

Hegel, Science of Logic and Phenomenology of Spirit. The self-movement of the Concept (Begriff) is a recurring theme, where the absolute develops through self-relation. ↩

Aristotle critiques Plato’s Forms in Metaphysics, Book Z. While acknowledging the value of Forms, Aristotle argues they lack explanatory power in terms of causality and change. ↩

Aristotle, De Anima and Nicomachean Ethics. The concept of the fully realized human being as entelechy (the realization of potential) is foundational to his ethics and metaphysics. ↩

Matter is self-identity—the nature of light, for instance, indicates the most basic form of identity: it is self-identical. From this general notion of identity, Reason begins to identify further relations of itself. This marks the beginning of a process in which Reason, through dialectical unfolding, recognizes itself in the world.

Hegel defines Reason as the infinite form, power, and substance of the universe.¹ In this sense, Reason is not limited by any external condition; it is pure self-determination. Matter, by contrast, has gravity as its essence, while Reason has freedom as its essence. Gravity signifies determinism—it acts by necessity—whereas freedom is self-determination. This distinction mirrors the metaphysical contrast between necessity and determinacy: both are fundamental conditions in any system. One is the active force, the other the passive recipient.

Reason utilizes “freedom,” the unlimited and uninhibited force in the universe, to generate forms through conception. This creative aspect of Reason is what Alfred North Whitehead calls “Creativity”—the ultimate principle of becomin ².

The uninhibited freedom of Reason is marked by creativity, because it gives rise to novelty. Every conception that Reason produces—every object brought into form—is new in relation to what came before. Once Reason conceives an object, it cannot conceive it in the same way again. This aligns with the physical principle of irreversibility³: the arrow of time moves forward, and so does Reason’s knowledge. Once Reason has known a form, it cannot un-know it, and must instead generate a new conception. This leads to a continual process of differentiation, where each act of Reason must be novel, challenging what was previously known.

Reason can also be understood through Aristotle’s distinction between form and matter, which together constitute substance (ousia)⁴. For Aristotle, substance is both the material of a thing (hyle) and its essential form (eidos or logos). Neither can exist independently: material without form is unintelligible, as there would be no idea or definition of it; form without material is insubstantial, lacking the means for actual existence⁵.

Substance, then, is the “stuff” of reality—it is what something is. Form is actuality, the realized essence of a thing. Matter, as substratum, is potentiality, the capacity to receive form. The two exist in a necessary relationship: form actualizes matter, and matter is the ground in which form becomes real.

Footnotes:

Aristotle, Physics and Metaphysics. See especially the discussion of hylemorphism, where form and matter are interdependent in actual substances. ↩

Hegel, Philosophy of History, Introduction. Reason is described as the “substance of the universe” and its “infinite power.” It unfolds in history through self-realization and freedom. ↩

Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality. Creativity is the principle of novelty and becoming—the ultimate metaphysical category from which all other entities arise. ↩

This reflects the Second Law of Thermodynamics in physics, which establishes the irreversibility of certain physical processes (e.g., entropy increases over time). In philosophical terms, it aligns with the idea that knowing is historically and temporally bound. ↩

Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book Z (VII). Substance (ousia) is defined as the combination of form and matter. Neither by itself can be a complete being. ↩

A determinism—or what has been determined—was, at some point, a determination. The question is: when did a determination become a determinism? When did I determine my circumstances such that they later became determined for me? When was the last moment I made a determination that turned out to be a potential future moment? Did I determine my future while sitting somewhere in the present? Am I continuously determining the trajectory of my life in real time? Or has my life already been determined in its entirety, long ago?

Humans are less “determined” than other animals, but this does not imply that they are absolutely free. Both humans and animals share the same environment; however, the determinism they are subject to differs due to the disparity in consciousness. Animals are limited to a finite and immediate set of instincts, whereas human beings process higher-order abstractions and meaning. Reality presents itself as a rudimentary system that adapts to the level of the observer’s consciousness. The more “data” an organism can process, the more complex its experienced world becomes¹.

This implies that the number of possible events in an animal’s life is more defined and predictable than in a human life. Humans know they are determined—and that is precisely why they are less determined. A creature that evolves to recognize its determinism gains the capacity to alter the trajectory of events. This knowledge introduces new degrees of freedom. The human ability to anticipate death is one such recognition. Humans are uniquely obsessed with death because they understand that life is temporally bounded. This awareness—knowing one may live, at best, 80 to 100 years—opens the door to existential contemplation: whether to live with purpose or to “burn out” before reaching one’s full potential².

Everything is already determined as a determination. First, either the action possesses a set of rules or possibilities, and its actualization becomes the act of determination; or second, the action, in the process of unfolding or merely existing, simultaneously creates the very rules and possibilities to which it becomes subject. Freedom, then, is not the absence of constraints but the actualization of what has already been set. This, for Hegel, is true freedom: “it must know what it is, and that it is”³.

The claim, “Your whole life is determined”, is reflected in the body you inhabit. You “chose” that—though not necessarily in the way modern free will is usually understood. This notion of “choosing” stems from a broader definition of free will—beyond the mere conscious selection of alternatives in real time. The true “self” spans not just the present identity but also the total duration of one’s life. Who you are now may not be who you were or who you will become. The self is a temporal continuum—a malleable being shaped by all possible and actual events over a lifetime⁴.

The idea of freedom is to grasp your meaning and actualize it. Man alone has the capacity to find irrationality in what appears rational—and, conversely, to discover rationality in what appears chaotic. This capacity is the key to production—to generating meaning and value. As Hegel says (paraphrased): when one views the world rationally, it reveals its rational element⁵. Marx builds on this by stating that “reason has always existed, but not always in a rational form”⁶. One can view the world irrationally and it will respond in kind. The latter means that rationality is not merely given, but is acquired through a developmental process. There is a difference between the rationality in the world—as an ordered and structured environment for an organism—and the rationality of an organism that acts willingly, or with a degree of free agency, within what is already determined. In other words, there is a distinction between the rationality inherent in the structure of the world, and the rationality in the organism that perceives and understands the world as structured. Both forms of rationality meet in unity within reality, and together they constitute different aspects or angles of substance.

Good vs Bad Man

The ultimate distinction between a good and a bad man lies in what each does with his free time. The good man uses his free time purposefully, directing his actions toward meaning. He is satisfied with his work, which becomes a production of value for others. A bad man uses his free time destructively or wastefully—without purpose or direction. He is aimless, finding no meaning. The bad man is completely determined by external factors, whereas the good man is determined by his own determinations. He shapes what happens to him, rather than merely being shaped by it.

Determination creates a scope within which freedom can operate—and that scope, defined by determinism, is where action becomes possible.

Thought is fundamental being. Either it is or it is not. But if it is not, then that very “is-not” is. Therefore, “what is-not” cannot simply be the absence of “what is.” Rather, “what is-not” is something else relative to “what is.” Non-being is a determination from the perspective of being. It is a conceptual other, not absolute absence⁷.

Matter is self-identical other—meaning it becomes identical with whatever is external to it. If form is external to matter, then matter becomes identical with that form. Its self-identity is expressed as the capacity to take on any quality, becoming the vehicle for the realization of all others.

When thought achieves every possible geometric relation, it reaches the abstraction of every possible relationship to itself. This is the idea of logical infinity: all relations internally complete themselves. However, the limit of the infinite is the finite—for beyond infinity, there is only itself again. Thus, the infinite becomes a thing—and in that sense, finite. When every possible shape is conceived, the result is the emergence of an abundant quality. All geometric forms converge into a primordial substance.

This fundamental substance manifests as the first basic chemical compound. The hydrogen atom, composed of up and down quarks, is the manifestation of fundamental geometric relations. The “up” and “down” states reflect inverse energy relations—dynamic actualizations of form and matter⁸.

In motion, every body in the universe takes on a form that stands in relative relation to every other body. These relations—angles, positions, trajectories—represent the full spectrum of possible configurations.

Time is equal with itself. What is equal with itself is infinite. Time is the bare activity of thought as pure potential. Its endurance—its self-relation—makes it infinite. Space, by contrast, is self-externality. From the point of view of space, time can appear finite because it manifests in particular forms. Infinite time becomes particularized in space.

When a form, such as a biological lifeform, undergoes stages—childhood, adulthood, reproduction, and death—these stages are particular determinations of time. They are the finite manifestations of universal time in the life of a finite being. Thought is efficient in that it divides its infinite potential into successive, determinate ideas. Each idea builds upon the last, leading to the next capability of reason.

Consciousness is freedom, for it allows thought to operate as inversion—selecting one thing over another. Self-consciousness is freedom for the mind, as it enables Reason to reflect upon itself. For what else can mind be conscious of, except its own Reason? That is the very property of its freedom.

Footnotes

Basic atomic theory and quantum chromodynamics support that hydrogen (one proton, one electron) is composed of up and down quarks. Philosophically, hydrogen is often cited as the most elementary substance. ↩

See Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, where consciousness evolves dialectically through increasing levels of complexity in its self-awareness and environment. ↩

Heidegger, Being and Time, especially the discussion of “Being-toward-death” (Sein-zum-Tode), in which death provides the ultimate limit that structures human freedom and authenticity. ↩

Hegel, Philosophy of History, Introduction. Freedom, for Hegel, is the recognition of necessity—the realization of one’s place in the rational structure of reality. ↩

Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death, where the self is defined as a relation that relates itself to itself across time. ↩

Hegel, Preface to the Philosophy of Right: “What is rational is actual, and what is actual is rational.” ↩

Karl Marx, Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, and German Ideology. Marx inherits and reworks Hegel’s dialectical logic, applying it to material history. ↩

Parmenides and Hegel both engage the concept that “non-being” is not absolute absence but a dialectical negative within being. ↩`

Reason and Matter Are Separate in Each Other

What this phrase means is that, in their relationship, reason and matter are external to one another; their unity only arises when one conceives itself through the other. Reason and matter are not equal in their relation because when reason conceives itself through matter, it is actualizing abstract forms into material components—each of which embodies an idea. This process reciprocally requires that matter, too, conceive itself through or onto that platform. In other words, matter must become capable of forming itself into the idea of itself.

In order for matter to generate itself from a rational standpoint—meaning, to exist with function, purpose, and explanation—it must undergo a transformation. With these three qualities present, matter ceases to be a bland, undifferentiated substance. It becomes, instead, the expression of an idea—an expression capable of moving across different dimensions without being confined to any one in particular¹.

Matter, understood as that which is devoid of quality, becomes—paradoxically—a particular quality. It is thereby distinct (a) from itself as pure potentiality, and (b) from all other determinate qualities that are distinguishable from each other².

If matter is alien to reason—that is, if we do not attribute any conceptual quality to it—then it dissipates as a tangible object for any faculty of sensation or cognition. When matter escapes the grasp of reason’s conceptualization, it becomes one of two things:

1. Spatially, it becomes an abstract limit, always external to the self-contained unity of thought. It is perpetually “outside” the system.
2. Temporally, it becomes something yet to be realized—something not only spatially beyond, but also a future moment waiting to be arrived at.

Matter becomes alien to reason when it remains void of all quality; it becomes empty and unknowable. However, reason (or thought) is the force that fills matter with content, transforming it from mere potential into a thing—an actuality³.

Footnotes

Plato, Timaeus, where the receptacle or chôra functions as a formless substratum that receives the imprint of the Forms. Hegel continues this line by showing that matter is only intelligible through its conceptual content. ↩

Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book Z: Matter as potentiality can only become something when united with form. The unity of form and matter is what actualizes a thing into being. ↩

Hegel, Science of Logic, on the dialectical identity of identity and difference. Matter as “qualityless” becomes a determinacy once posited by reason—thus, its indeterminacy is itself a determinate. ↩

Modern philosophers following Descartes debated the nature of extension as the defining property of matter. Extension refers to the property of existing in more than one dimension. As the term implies, it is not confined to a single point or measure, but spreads outward, occupying length, breadth, and depth. Colloquially, to be extended is to take up space—to have volume. Extension, therefore, is not merely a spatial descriptor, but constitutes the very framework of dimension itself¹.

The primary characteristic of reason, on the other hand, is thought, which Descartes famously said “happens in us”². Thought serves as a corrective to sense-perception in cases of disagreement between the faculties. More fundamentally, if matter is the continuity of substance across dimensions, then thought is the division or differentiation of dimensions—it separates, analyzes, and relates them to one another.

Matter, in its default state, is filled with potential but lacks actual quality. It is resistant—not actively, but passively—to taking on any specific form. From the point of view of its own undifferentiated nature, the imposition of form is an infringement. As a substance devoid of qualities, matter initially resists actualization. In contradistinction, reason seeks to impose structure, form, and meaning. Therefore, reason must find its place through the inversion of matter. It must identify itself in that universal quality which pertains to all other qualities.

Reason ultimately finds and returns to itself as self-relation—not a void empty of quality (like matter), but a void filled with all qualities³. In this way, reason inverts the nature of matter and makes matter rational. Matter becomes the efficient ground of reason because it provides the universal substratum into which the idea can be molded. Yet, because matter persistently resists reason, the latter is perpetually urged to produce itself. Matter is the reality of reason because it gives reason externality; and reason is the actuality of matter because it gives matter quality.

This dialectical relationship—between reason and matter—is reason’s own struggle with itself. It infinitely oscillates between the poles of resistance and actualization, reaching ever higher levels of insistence, where one is compelled to assert its nature upon the other⁴.

In the dimension we call time, in the present moment, reason is both conceiving itself through matter, and matter is conceiving itself through reason. Yet at the same time, matter resists being conceived by reason, and reason resists conceiving itself purely through matter. This simultaneous contradiction exists in the present—a space of both self-destruction and self-generation.

These diverging forces in the universe manifest themselves in motion as attraction and repulsion—a metaphysical analogue of physical phenomena. Implicit in these opposing forces is reason, finding its quality through the matter that underlies all concrete reality. Once reason becomes at home in itself, it begins to conceive itself within its own thought. It continuously actualizes itself beyond physical productions—as moments of possibility, embedded in the objects it brings forth.

Footnotes

Schelling and Hegel both explore the dialectic of subject and object, where nature (matter) resists spirit (reason), yet provides the condition for its realization. See Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature and Schelling’s System of Transcendental Idealism. ↩

Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, and Principles of Philosophy, where he defines matter (res extensa) as that which is extended in space. ↩

Descartes, Meditation II. “Cogito, ergo sum” reveals thought as the first indubitable truth and the foundation of all subsequent knowledge. ↩

Hegel, Science of Logic and Phenomenology of Spirit, on the dialectic of being and nothing, where pure being becomes its opposite (nothing) and returns as becoming—containing all potential forms. ↩

The Distinction Between Reason and Matter: Substance, Consciousness, and Development

The distinction between reason and matter is, once again, a distinction internal to substance itself. In the universe, there is no such thing as one property being “matter” and another being purely abstract—i.e., “rational.” Both concepts pertain to the same substance, each involving the mechanics of passive and active determinations. For the sake of understanding, we classify these moments as Matter and Reason, respectively¹.

This distinction is ultimately superfluous in the realm of nature, yet it remains a necessary abstraction for the sake of science. However, it is only necessary insofar as science finds the synthesis—the unity—between reason and matter. If the two are left separated, science collapses into a misinformed ontology, where the conception bears no rationality, and the conception of rationality bears no matter. This dual failure leaves reason alienated from the efficiency of its actualization, and matter devoid of any substance for its reality².

When consciousness recognizes that it is the inverse relation of Being and non-Being, it takes that relation as the totality of its own being. In that moment, it becomes one with itself—but in being one, it simultaneously realizes that what it has at its disposal is only difference. It is, therefore, alone: the one [1] and the same being is capable of two [2] inverse determinations³.

The entire process of universal development, which constitutes the bulk of our discussion, consists of this rigidity by which consciousness comes into Being, becomes something, then must let go and become nothing, only to find itself again as something other than what it was before. Man must forsake his life and enter into death—become nothingonce more. This nothing becomes the difference, and even indifference, the very place where something different takes place. It is now different than what it was before, and thus becomes other than itself, and so on, indefinitely⁴.

This other, however, is always preceded by its self-identity—the element with which it is identical: nothing. This is the only thing it ultimately returns to. But because it finds not itself, or rather finds nothing when it returns to what is self-identical, it discovers instead that it is the other of this nothing, which now appears as something—a Being.

The question then becomes: Which Being? And why so many?

Footnotes

The logic of negation and becoming in Hegel, where Being passes into Nothing and becomes Becoming. See Science of Logic, “Quality” and Phenomenology of Spirit, chapter on “Self-Consciousness.” ↩

Hegel, Science of Logic, “Doctrine of Being” and “Doctrine of Essence,” where he shows that matter and form, passive and active, are moments of one self-developing substance. See also Spinoza’s Ethics, where substance has infinite attributes, including thought and extension. ↩

This recalls Hegel’s critique of the split between understanding (which fixes distinctions) and reason (which overcomes them dialectically). See Phenomenology of Spirit, “Preface” and “Introduction.” ↩

Cf. the dialectic of the One and the Many in Neoplatonism (Plotinus), and Hegel’s early logic, where the One divides itself into the Many by virtue of being absolutely self-related. ↩

Reason, Form, and Actualization: A Unified Metaphysical Framework

The term “Reason” itself denotes what seem to be two (2) unrelated meanings. First, reason refers to purpose or essence; second, it refers to rational structure or activity. In the former case, reason as a noun is the explanation or cause of an action, activity, or event—i.e., it is the reason why something happens. In the latter case, reason is a verb, denoting the process of thinking, logic, and human rationality—i.e., judgment and understanding¹. These two usages converge in language when we ask: “What is your reasoning behind your actions?”—that is, what is the explanation behind your intention? To act without an explanation is often deemed irrational.

These linguistic meanings of the term reason reflect exactly what Aristotle defines as the form of a material object. The form is both the structure and the activity, and the activity relates to the manifestation of function or purpose—denoting what a thing is, and providing its explanation².

Whitehead states that reason is not even the primal determination of Being. Prior to reason, there is the form of wanting to be rational—which, although itself a principle of reason, is not yet the actuality of reason. Being is first a potential, and is thus only potentially rational³. According to Whitehead, the actuality of reason is novelty or purpose—that is, the capacity to make itself new and new again. Reason continually renews itself in unique ways⁴.

Thus, the term reason carries two seemingly unrelated meanings. First, it refers to the purpose or meaning of something (e.g., “my reason for acting this way is…” or “what was the reason for this?”). Second, reason refers to the mental faculty capable of logical thought—a faculty that also recognizes the logic found in the structure of the world. To be rational or structured (i.e., ordered) also implies the presence of purpose—either because something was made to perform a function, or because it was created with function in mind. The need for purpose is itself a kind of purpose, but it is only the antecedent to purpose—it presupposes the process of actualization. This process defines the essence of reason as novelty: the function of reason is not merely to recognize structure but to generate the new⁵.

The need for purpose is encountered by a critical force: the question, what is the purpose? Reason is achieved in the form of actual purpose—”actual” because the need for purpose, combined with the inquiry into purpose, produces the process toward purpose. The process toward purpose is simultaneously the production of purpose—not just a single purpose, but a series. Purpose becomes a spectrum, where achieving one aim naturally leads to a subsequent aim. This urge toward the aim is what characterizes reason as novelty—the quality of being new and original. Reason, as the principle of originality, is the metaphysical basis of evolution, explaining why new life forms emerge⁶.

The reason why self-contradiction is also self-identical is that both contradictory elements share the relation of being different—which makes them self-identical in that sense. Their sameness is at the foundation that creates their difference. This difference is not something external, like two (2) separate objects in space acting independently. Rather, it is a feature of something identical with itself—one (1) thing generating many variations of opposites⁷. The ancient Pythagoreans used numbers to represent different variations of the same underlying form⁸.

Aristotle demonstrates this by showing how Forms are like numbers that do not exist separately from the perceptible substance. Mathematics cannot be a theory of separable numbers; it does not exclude the object—it merely conceivesof it in a special way. There cannot be “five trees” in abstraction, because the concept “five” presupposes the additionof the trees. Likewise, there cannot be “eleven ones” because this implies eleven multiplied by one. Numbers do not exist on their own, but are constituted by something other than themselves—the quality of what they are attributed to. One (1) thing is everything in the sense that it is the common identity through which variations arise⁹.

Self-contradiction does not mean everything is opposed to everything else in a purely separable way. The Forms cannot be separate from the sensible object, but are rather the nature in or of the object. But how can the first cause be in the object? It is ordinarily assumed that the first cause is outside the object and determines it. However, this is not true—for thought is itself the object. Thus, the object is the external, and thought is the internal¹⁰. This explains how the notioncannot move itself as a whole without its parts (see physics).

What, then, does it mean to say that form is in the object? Or rather, when form and matter become a unity, how does potentiality become actuality? The formal cause of the material is what characterizes its essence—that is, form is the essence of the object, and essence is the quality of quantity. Essence is the quality of the object.

The reason why thought is actuality is because it characterizes the unity of all these principles. Thought is what it means to say these principles. By being the first cause, it is also the final cause of all causes. Potentiality, then, as activity, is merely the return to itself—its self-contradiction is its self-realization. Thus, the final cause of thought is itself.

This does not mean that every object or motion is capable of thinking. Rather, objects are that which is thought—but without a notion of who is doing the thinking. Objects perceived without reason reflect the fallacy of thought without a thinker. Each thought collapses into itself as the object, which is in contradiction with another thought that also collapses as an object¹¹.

Footnotes

Compare with Plato’s Sophist, where the Stranger investigates the paradox of thought and non-being.

See Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A298/B355, for the dual role of reason in providing principles and forming judgments. ↩

Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book VII (Zeta), where he distinguishes between form (as actuality) and matter (as potentiality); also see Physics II.3. ↩

Whitehead, Process and Reality, especially Part III, where he argues that actuality is characterized by the realization of potentiality through novel concrescence. ↩

Whitehead’s definition of reason as the force of novelty can be contrasted with Hegel’s idea of reason as unfolding necessity (Phenomenology of Spirit, Preface). ↩

Compare this to the Aristotelian entelechy (actualized form), which also develops through potentiality. ↩

For a biological and metaphysical view of this principle, see Bergson’s Creative Evolution, where the force of life is characterized by novelty and innovation. ↩

Hegel, Science of Logic, “Doctrine of Essence,” on contradiction and the unity of opposites. ↩

See Guthrie, The Pythagoreans, for the idea of number as fundamental metaphysical structure, not just arithmetic quantity. ↩

Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book XIII (Mu), discusses how number is not separable from substance. ↩

This anticipates Hegel’s idea in the Encyclopedia Logic that the idea is both objective and subjective—thought and being unified. ↩

DNA is the memory of nature (see section).¹

Genetics is the physical memory of the idea. DNA is the information encrypted onto the material substrate of time, culminating in the actual nature of life form(s).²

Life exhibits Reason in the same two ways that the term “nature” denotes two meanings: the nature of something, and something in nature.³ The former is the subjective side of thought as the observer. This is the nature of thought whereby the idea is conceived and attributed with value; the latter is the objective side of reason, and it is the realm where the object of thought is portrayed and perceived.⁴ In life, the observer is NOT externally perceiving the object of thought, but rather the realm of nature belongs in thought. Reason perceives the object by being its nature, which then makes it into nature.⁵ Reason makes itself an observer of its own thought.

Reason begins with Life and Death as the two inverse modes of the organism.⁶ These two principles are essential ideas of reason, which constitute mind.⁷ Life is the simple notion of thinking.⁸ So that the very activity of thought, in its simple immediate nature, is life generally. According to the ancient Greeks, life is not reducible to biological life forms. Life, according to Plato and Aristotle, is the form of nature, which includes the cosmology of the universe.⁹ The atom, for example, is life because it exhibits generative force and performs specific functions—it has a determinate motion; the source of this motion is generated from itself and is not brought upon it externally from some other source.¹⁰

Death similarly is a mental process. Death (like space to time) is the place where the idea of thought ought to be.¹¹ So death is the necessary transition where one idea becomes another. This change of ideas does not mean that the previous is excluded by virtue of the subsequent. In fact, the nature of death in tension with life constitutes an infinitesimal spectrum of continuity of thought, where one idea builds on the previous.¹² This development in thought is dialectical. The so-called new idea is actually the sublation of the previous idea and its inverse contradiction.¹³ The new is the developed version of the old. Death is therefore not the endpoint of something but rather is the venue whereby it becomes the potential of itself. Reason is therefore immortal.¹⁴

Footnotes

1. The idea that DNA is nature’s memory aligns with a metaphysical reading of genetic information as a record of developmental history and potentiality.
2. In Hegelian terms, DNA can be seen as the “In-Itself” that becomes the “For-Itself” in the organism’s actualization.
3. Aristotle’s dual meaning of “nature” (physis) as both essence and process is evident here; see Physics, Book II.
4. The subjective and objective poles of reason relate to the distinction between nous (intellect) and logos (rational order).
5. This reflects Hegel’s view that nature is the externalization of the Idea (Encyclopaedia Logic, §247).
6. Life and death as dialectical principles are treated in Hegel’s Science of Logic, especially in the Doctrine of the Concept.
7. The notion that the mind arises from these polarities suggests a metaphysical unity in opposites.
8. Cf. Hegel, Science of Logic, “The Notion of Life”, where life is the immediate unity of the concept.
9. Plato, Timaeus; Aristotle, De Anima and Metaphysics, where form is the essence of both animate and inanimate being.
10. Aristotle’s concept of the unmoved mover is related here in microcosmic form to atomic self-motion.
11. The pairing of death with space echoes Plato’s contrast between the realm of becoming and the realm of being.
12. Continuity of thought across contradictions is central to dialectical logic.
13. Sublation (Aufhebung) means the negation and preservation of the earlier idea within its higher development.
14. Reason’s immortality is a core tenet of Hegelian absolute idealism, where thought is the eternal substance of reality.

Consciousness as Energy and Genetic Self-Realization

Consciousness is an energy state, and this can be understood through the laws of thermodynamics, particularly the Second Law, which implies that energy tends toward states of higher entropy unless organized. Consciousness, however, is an organizing force—it imposes structure and order, reducing entropy locally. This organizing tendency requires energy and reflects the system’s capacity to process information. In this way, consciousness is not a static thing but a dynamic energetic condition—an emergent state of high-level organization that can manipulate and renew itself.

Genetics provides empirical evidence of this energetic logic. DNA is the material memory of consciousness’s logical structure, embedded into time and capable of transmitting the ordering principle across generations. It is not simply a passive code but an active logic that allows life to operate upon itself, producing the object of its thinking within its own mind.

And so, this is consciousness becoming self-conscious. We are the paradigm of thinking in consciousness, and therefore we are both the object and the subject of its thought. We are the object because we are the idea in its mind; and we are the subject because we also participate in the operations of that idea. Because it is actuality, its mind is the most real, and so its thinking is at the same time its being.

In this inquiry, we run into a problematic dilemma when identifying Being that constitutes ultimate reality. Ultimate reality is difficult to identify because it is not identifiable in the same way as empirical objects in science. The difficulty lies in the use of ordinary language—to name Being is to define it, but to define it is to impose a limitation, which contradicts the very nature of substance. As Aristotle points out, substance is that which makes a thing what it is, and is not itself defined by what it makes¹.

Here we have a dilemma between:

(a) On the one hand, substance produces particular objects and therefore is at the same time those objects;
(b) On the other hand, substance cannot be reducible to any particular object because substance is more fundamental than the object it makes essential.

This implies that the nature of substance is infinite and indefinite—in order to be essential to multiple different things, it must be simultaneously both, and also neither. The essence of a principle is its ability to encapsulate its consequences. The essential is fundamentally a predicate. But this prompts the question: how can the very substance that is a predicate to all objects be itself not any one of those particular objects?

One possible answer is that the sum total of all objects is itself a definite object, and that is what substance is. Yet, this answer is unsatisfying. Why? Because the essentiality of substance lies in its ability to move beyond any one object into another, while remaining essential to both. For this to be true, substance must not be a definite thing that can be postulated.

However, if substance is not a definite thing, then it cannot be fully explained—and so it would seem to be irrational, which is impossible, since it is the source of all rationality. The fault, then, must lie in the capacity of the observer to apprehend the substance essential to perceived objects.

This brings us back to the dilemma: the observer is the means of accessing knowledge, and yet cannot grasp the total truth of what they perceive. Yet, we do have a definite understanding of it—by the very act of identifying it.

The term that best captures an approximate understanding of Being is “Reason”, because reason denotes both operation and essence. The capacity to apprehend it is equal to what it is. But we are still left unsatisfied, asking what this Being is as an “It”. This might reflect a deficiency in the mode of our thinking, not in Being itself. Beyond this eager need for an answer lies the boundary of knowledge—where knowledge expects confirmation by sensory evidence, it is actually the intellect that gives meaning to the body’s experiences. Grasping the truth in the mind is greater than sensing it in the body—for the body is a means, not an end.

Looking around our surroundings, it is difficult to find Reason—in both senses of the term. Even language itself possesses a qualitative order, although that discussion is beyond this investigation. Reason, in the sense of purpose, is entirely defined by reason in the sense of rationality: the purpose of an object is found in its rational structure.

Returning to our mundane surroundings, we do not immediately see things as possessing reason. Take, for example, the sun casting a shadow on a tree. In what sense does the shadow contribute to the tree’s essential being? The light is clearly essential to the tree’s growth, but the shadow—perhaps not. We might say it is merely a residue of the sun’s reflection.

Yet even the shadow has purpose. It is the negation of light, and in that negation, its opposite is made visible. The shadow is the logical opposition that enables structure. This is not a trivial observation. The very contrast between light and dark is fundamental to the sun–earth relation. The seasonal cycles and weather patterns—which are essential for molecular and genetic activity—depend on this reflective opposition.

Even the development of the eye, as a response to light, is a product of this contrast. Consciousness achieves perception—its desire—through this organ. The eye is a genetic inheritance, and every organism has some variation of it. The eye, in its most basic sense, is simply a reaction to light. It is where consciousness meets matter. This is genetics: the logic of self-organization and inherited perception. It is the materialization of the desire of energy to know itself.

And so, we see that contrasting forces constitute all of nature. The synthesis of their opposition is the product of their relation. The logic of contradiction, of tension, of dialectic—this is what makes being alive.

Footnotes:

Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book Z: “Substance is not predicated of anything else; it is that which makes something what it is.” See also Physics II.3, on the four causes, especially the formal and final causes. ↩

It must be admitted that Reason in this sense is a wholly abstract concept. But who said that the abstract itself cannot exist as the concrete? In one ordinary sense, our own understanding tells us this: when we conceive something in the abstract—that is, in our thinking—it is not true that our idea automatically manifests into an object merely by thinking of it. But the word object itself is normally associated with sensible things, which do not constitute the total nature of what it means to be an object in general. There are, for example, scientific objects like the atom, mathematical objects like number, logical objects like axiom, philosophical objects like idea, etc.¹

This intuitive claim—that the abstract has no real being—is a misunderstanding of what it means to be an abstract idea in our minds. Because what is abstract in our mind is in fact made concrete by our bodies.²

The idea that the abstract has no concrete bearing is derived from none other than Descartes’ mind-body dualism; its influence is ingrained in our very unconscious ways of thinking.³ Take for example your subjective perspective, which makes abstract thinking appear to be at the mercy of your actions. For example, if you have an idea… that still maintains precisely that your thinking determines your acting. One might say: this is a stretch—how can this theory account for the fact that merely thinking something does not bring it into reality? For example, just because I am thinking about a donkey in my mind, it is not true that one pops into existence. That is surely a psychotic claim.

However, this objection confuses two things: (a) the abstract as a perceptive element in the understanding, which serves as a storage of information, with (b) the abstract as the constructive potentiality of the object.⁴ The latter sees the abstract as the creative element whereby the object becomes concrete. And so, the most realist account of the abstract is one that sees it as the only thing that can claim existence as necessary.

But this explanation alone is a clarification of the idea; it does not tell us more than making our way of thinking clearer. It is next important to point out: what is this abstract that is, in fact, concrete?

Desire is based on emotion, and intuition on reason. These are the ways emotion and reason operate in reality—how the organism operates in relation to the environment. This explains the ordinary understanding of genetics: heredity derived from ancestors based on their relation to the environment.

Aside from the relation between desire and intuition, there is a deeper relationship between emotion and Reason. Reason defines why logic exists—logic being the contradiction and its resolution, which is necessary for Reason. Emotion explains how this logic—meaning, how the logic actually conceives itself—takes on a particular form, and how that form comes to feel itself.⁵

Emotion in this sense is distinguished from Reason not by being its opposite, but by being its antithesis. Once Reason is real, emotion is its reality. Whether Reason comes to be content with its reality or not is its either positive or negativedetermination. Emotion is how Reason comes to life. This does not put greater importance on emotion—because coming to life is merely the primary stage. Being alive is the tension emotion places on Reason, and so in order to be life, Reason must resolve this difficulty placed on it by emotion. Reason sets emotion as an element within itself, so as to test itself—to see how its logic actually is in reality. Emotion accounts for how, in the development of logic, the object reacts to this development. And so, how ethical the object is to its development determines how aesthetic it becomes.⁶

This, however, is no straightforward process. It is of the utmost difficulty to monitor.

We see this difficulty especially in the human being. In our contemporary time, we have confused ourselves with the statement that beauty is subjective and convinced ourselves that there is no such thing as something objectively beautiful per se—or at least, that some things are more beautiful than others. Even though each of our judgments is entertained based on a conception of evaluation—the aesthetic value of everything.

Aesthetics assume a greater level of ethical appreciation of the object with its Reason. An object is aesthetic when it is ethical with its Reason. And so we see these differences manifested in genetics.

But there is, however, a further question—and, in fact, a paradox.

If the object is both the process and the result—how is it that the result is of a certain aesthetic, yet the process may be contrary to that? For one thing, the process must have been ethical to make an object that is aesthetic. But once this process achieves the aesthetic object, that object itself is also going through a new process. Just because it is achieved as a result, it does not mean that it is no longer going through process.

Take something trivial like shoes or any other item. It is made in one way—the result is the shoes—yet that product goes through a further process beyond its manufacturing, which is being worn and facing the mud, ground, etc. In this sense, something aesthetic must assume an ethical process prior, yet afterwards it may assume an unethical process.

This indicates the very nature of contradiction itself. And so, once again, we are faced with a contradiction that never leaves our logic. But it is what makes our resolution true.

The human being, for example, may exhibit individuals who are more aesthetic physically than others, yet they take on unethical processes. In fact, the genetic makeup associated with a certain race is developed from the kind of ethical relation that race had relative to their environment.⁷

Each culture, for example, is how each race sees that culture. And by race here we mean merely this difference in genetics between the human species. But this difference in genetics is shaped by how each human race saw their environment. The kind of consciousness of circumstances shaped the physiological nature.

Beyond this physical difference, there is also a difference in tools, art, and custom. Each of these is based on the metaphysics pertaining to each culture. But once this happened, we now have the situation where these differing genetics and this differing consciousness are interrelated into one environment. And from this point onward, we have the aesthetic possibly taking on an unethical process.

Subjectivism is often used to deflect moral judgment: “Who are you to say what is right?”—this common phrase denies the basis for truth so that speculation may stand in its place. The end result, however, is the same: to make a moral judgment—but to call it not absolute. This is where fallibility enters moral science. The problem with fallibility entering morality is that morality is concerned with action; it is not just theoretical like natural or metaphysical science. And so, if there is uncertainty in our moral claims, in what sense can we be certain of our actions?

Subjectivism does make absolutist claims—but grounded in the subjective rather than in facts outside of us.⁸

The ethical laws of energy exchange say: you can’t cheat reality. Within every action there is a reaction within the context of the universe. If you choose, you pay. If you leave it up to the universe, you might not like the outcome. This is the ethical exchange of consciousness.

The right way of thinking is simply to listen to Reason—and this listening is simply to think about thinking. This opens up your mind for “It” to give the Idea to you. Listening to thinking is identical with thinking itself.

Footnotes

1. This broader use of “object” aligns with categories in metaphysics and logic, not just empirical phenomena. See Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, A104–105.
2. This is similar to how Hegel views the actualization of the Idea through concrete reality in Science of Logic.
3. Descartes’ dualism fundamentally separates mind from body, a legacy still present in modern epistemology.
4. Cf. Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Book VII): the potential is made actual through form.
5. Compare with Spinoza’s conatus and Nietzsche’s “will to power,” where affect precedes conceptual structure.
6. Hegel discusses this ethical-aesthetic interplay in the Phenomenology of Spirit, esp. in the sections on “Art” and “Ethical Life.”
7. This line of reasoning parallels some themes from cultural evolution theory but requires great care to avoid deterministic or reductionist readings.
8. See Alasdair MacIntyre’s After Virtue for a critique of emotivism and the collapse of objective moral reasoning in modern ethical discourse.