Consciousness transcends its limitations, revealing the unity of essence and appearance in the journey toward absolute knowledge.
Table of Contents
- In the Wake of Thought
- The Path of Spirit
- The This and the Universal
- Perception and Deception
- The Supersensible Realm
Abstract:
This introduction explores the journey of consciousness as it moves toward its true existence and the realization of absolute knowing. The work begins by highlighting the common dilemma of philosophy: how cognition, as either a tool or a medium, seems to distort the truth it aims to apprehend. Through a rigorous examination, it becomes clear that the traditional distinction between the “in-itself” and the “for-consciousness” is not merely an abstract division but a dynamic, dialectical process. This process unfolds as consciousness encounters its own limitations, pushing beyond them toward a more complete understanding.
The key moment of this progression occurs when consciousness sheds the semblance of being burdened by external, foreign knowledge, allowing appearance and essence to coincide. The experience of truth no longer remains distant or separate from the subject but integrates with the very essence of consciousness itself. This marks a transition from mere knowledge to absolute knowing, where the subject and object, thought and reality, are no longer opposed but unified. The journey toward absolute knowledge thus involves both the dismantling of previous conceptions and the emergence of a new, unified understanding of reality.
Finally, the introduction underscores that this movement toward absolute knowing is not a passive acceptance of external truths but an active, self-generated process. The knowledge of truth becomes the very act of knowing, wherein consciousness engages deeply with its own concept and experience. This dynamics of exchange between knowing and being is the foundation of the science of spirit, which is revealed not as an external set of propositions but as an unfolding, immanent truth within consciousness itself. In this way, the journey toward absolute knowing is not only the culmination of consciousness’s development but its own self-realization.
It is a natural assumption that, in philosophy, when one seeks to approach the matter itself—namely, the true essence of knowledge and its underlying reality—one must first attain a clear understanding of cognition itself. This seems almost an obvious prerequisite, as we cannot hope to grasp truth unless we first comprehend the very means by which we come to know it. Cognition is typically regarded as either the instrument through which the philosopher grasps the Absolute, or as the medium that allows it to be perceived. This dual role of cognition is pivotal in philosophical inquiry, for it is not merely a passive process but the active means by which reality is both apprehended and understood. However, this assumption also invites careful scrutiny. In philosophy, as in science, there exists an inherent tension: how does one know that the process of knowing is itself aligned with the truth? The very faculty that seeks to uncover the essence of reality could, in its misapplication, obscure or distort the very truth it intends to reveal.
This concern, while seemingly justified, is born from an understanding that there are different forms or kinds of cognition, each possessing its own characteristics and limitations. Some forms of cognition may be more suited to certain purposes than others. In our pursuit of the Absolute or the most profound truth, choosing an inappropriate form of cognition may lead to misguided or even erroneous results. Just as a faulty tool can derail a work of craftsmanship, so too can a misused form of cognition prevent the seeker from reaching their goal. Moreover, even within the realm of seemingly appropriate faculties, a misstep in defining their scope or nature can lead one astray. Inadequately defining the nature and limits of cognition can result in the philosopher grasping only fragments of truth—misleading imitations or half-formed ideas—rather than the whole, undistorted reality of the Absolute. Just as one would expect a clear and precise map before embarking on a journey, so too does philosophical inquiry require a well-defined understanding of cognition in order to avoid wandering in the clouds of error, where one might mistake mere shadows for the actual light of truth.
This concern might even develop into the conviction that the entire endeavor to make what is in itself accessible to consciousness through cognition is inherently absurd. If cognition is the means by which we attempt to grasp the essence of the Absolute, one might argue that it is impossible to do so without altering or distorting it. An absolute boundary could, therefore, be assumed to exist between cognition and the Absolute, separating the knowing subject from the object of knowledge in a way that makes true comprehension of the Absolute seem impossible. The very act of knowing, by its nature, might be viewed as a process that changes the very thing it seeks to understand. If cognition functions as the tool through which we grasp the Absolute, it seems self-evident that any tool used on an object inevitably transforms that object, modifying it in the process. This alteration, then, poses a fundamental challenge: how can we know something as it is in itself if the very act of knowing entails a modification of that object? The tool, no matter how refined, cannot leave the object untouched, and so the essence of the Absolute might always remain beyond our reach, forever altered in the very act of cognition.
Alternatively, if cognition is not regarded as an instrument in our active pursuit of knowledge but instead as a passive medium through which the light of truth reaches us, the issue remains unresolved. In this case, even if truth flows into us through the medium of cognition, it still reaches us in a way that is shaped by that very medium. Whether active or passive, the relation between cognition and the Absolute involves a mediation, and this mediation inevitably influences the nature of the truth we receive. No matter how transparent or pure the medium may be, it still has a shaping influence. The Absolute, therefore, is never fully available to us in its pure, unmediated form, but only in the form that has been, to some degree, mediated by our cognitive faculties. Thus, the question remains: can we truly know the Absolute, or are we forever condemned to a distorted or incomplete understanding of it, filtered through the constraints of our cognitive faculties?
In both cases, we find ourselves employing a means that directly produces the opposite of its intended purpose. Whether cognition acts as an active tool or as a passive medium, its very involvement in the process of knowing seems to distort or modify the object of knowledge—the Absolute—in a way that defeats the original aim of apprehending it as it is in itself. The more we rely on cognition to grasp the truth, the more we seem to veer away from the purity of that truth. It may appear, however, that this dilemma could be alleviated by an understanding of the workings of the tool itself. If we come to know how the tool operates—how cognition shapes or alters the object—perhaps we can subtract from the resulting knowledge the influence of the tool and recover the truth in its original, untainted form. This solution seems plausible at first: by understanding the effect of the tool, we might reverse or negate its distortion, leaving us with the pure object, the Absolute, untouched by mediation.
Yet, this so-called improvement leads us right back to where we started. If we remove from the formed object what the tool has done to it—if we strip away all the marks, modifications, or shaping influence of cognition—we are left with the object itself, just as it was before any interaction with the tool. In this case, the effort to subtract the tool’s effect simply brings us back to the original state of the object, which was inaccessible in its pure form to begin with. The tool’s influence, in its very nature, cannot be excised without erasing the very process by which the object came to be known. Thus, the attempt to remove the distortions caused by the tool does not lead us closer to the truth but instead reinforces the initial paradox. The result of our labor—our effort to “purify” the truth—proves to be redundant and unnecessary, as it leaves us with nothing but the same unsolvable dilemma: can we truly know the Absolute, or are we forever trapped in a cycle of distortion, unable to pierce through the veil of mediation?
If the Absolute were somehow brought closer to us through the tool—without being altered or distorted, as though a bird were caught with a limed twig—it would surely mock this trickery, for such an approach would be a mere illusion of engagement. If cognition were able to grasp the Absolute in this way, without affecting or transforming it in any way, it would undermine its very purpose. The Absolute, in this case, would not be truly encountered or known; rather, it would merely be presented in a deceptive form, as if it had been drawn toward us by an artifice that simulates understanding. This trickery would only be successful if the Absolute had already intended to be with us, to be known in its essence, and thus had already preordained its connection to consciousness. In that case, cognition’s role would not be to reveal the Absolute but merely to present a simple, immediate connection, a connection that requires no effort or intellectual labor—essentially bypassing the depth of true engagement.
For cognition to succeed in its task, it cannot merely rely on the passive capture of truth through superficial means or external devices. It must engage with the concept and the essence of the Absolute, which cannot simply be caught or reduced to a simplistic, effortless connection. The image of the limed twig capturing the bird represents the emptiness of such an approach: it seems like a means of drawing the Absolute close, but in truth, it is nothing more than a shallow gesture that does not bring us closer to the true knowledge of the thing. If cognition were to achieve its goal by this means—by tricking us into thinking that it has grasped the Absolute—then the entire process of philosophical inquiry would be undermined, reducing it to an empty gesture that produces no real understanding. It would be a mockery of the very nature of knowledge, which requires struggle, depth, and engagement, rather than the easy, effortless appropriation of truth.
Or, if the examination of cognition as a medium teaches us the laws of its refraction, it is equally futile to attempt to subtract these from the result. The very nature of cognition, as a medium through which the truth touches us, is intricately tied to the way it refracts or shapes that truth. To understand cognition as a medium is to recognize that the laws governing its operation—its distortions, its tendencies, and its limitations—are not mere obstructions to knowledge but are constitutive of how knowledge reaches us. In attempting to subtract the refraction—the alteration introduced by cognition itself—we would be engaging in a futile exercise, for the refraction is not an extraneous addition but an essential part of how the ray of truth illuminates our understanding. It is not the refraction alone that matters, nor the distortion it may introduce, but the way the refraction shapes the path through which truth reaches us.
To subtract the refraction, then, would mean removing the very process by which truth is conveyed. If we take away the refracting medium, what we are left with is not a purer or more direct form of truth, but an empty, undifferentiated direction—a vague pointer towards truth without the substance that gives it shape. The refraction is what makes the truth tangible to us, what allows us to grasp it through the medium of cognition. Without this process, we are left only with an abstract direction, pointing to something that remains ungraspable, an empty space marked by a mere indication but devoid of content. This highlights the paradox at the heart of philosophical cognition: in seeking to purify and remove the distortions of the medium, we risk losing the very medium through which truth comes to us, leaving us with nothing more than a void of direction, a concept without form.
Meanwhile, when concern degenerates into error, establishing a distrust in science—which proceeds to work itself without such reservations and truly recognizes—this skepticism threatens to obscure the very means by which we understand the world. The distrust in science, when taken too far, creates a barrier between knowledge and truth, as it assumes that all scientific endeavors are inherently flawed or unreliable. In this situation, the act of recognizing truth through scientific means becomes suspect. However, if we allow this distrust to guide our thinking, it is not difficult to foresee that a counteracting distrust in this very skepticism should emerge. It becomes clear that, rather than simply rejecting the scientific method and its principles, we must reexamine the basis of this rejection itself. After all, to reject the validity of science outright is itself an assertion that must be scrutinized.
Moreover, it should be feared that this pervasive fear of being wrong—of admitting that we could be mistaken—is itself the error. This fear presupposes certain beliefs as truths, which underpin the very concerns and conclusions drawn from it. Such a fear does not arise out of a genuine concern for error but from an unexamined adherence to assumptions that remain unquestioned. The fear of error, in this case, is nothing more than the fear of confronting a truth that challenges our current understanding. Specifically, this fear hinges on presuppositions about cognition as a mere tool or medium, separate from the Absolute, and about the distinction between ourselves as thinkers and the objects of our thought. This assumption places the Absolute on one side, as an inaccessible, external reality, and cognition on the other, as something real in itself but separate from the truth it seeks to know.
In this view, cognition is treated as though it can grasp the truth despite being apart from it. It is presumed that, even while cognition is distanced from the Absolute and potentially disconnected from truth, it can still be deemed true in its own right. This is a fundamental misapprehension: the fear of error does not merely guard against mistakes; it disguises itself as a defense of a truth that has not yet been critically examined. The error, then, lies not in the pursuit of knowledge itself but in the presumption that cognition, by virtue of its distance from the Absolute, can nonetheless claim truth. In this way, what is called a “fear of error” is, in reality, a fear of recognizing the truth—of acknowledging the limits and the transformative potential of cognition in the pursuit of genuine understanding.
This conclusion stems from the assertion that the Absolute alone is true, or that truth, in its fullest sense, is inseparable from the Absolute. However, this view is often met with resistance, leading to the counter-argument that cognition, even if it does not apprehend the Absolute in the way that science or philosophy demands, can still be considered true. This response suggests that cognition, while not fully grasping the Absolute, may still be capable of understanding truths of a different nature, or of a lesser kind. This line of reasoning, however, gradually reveals its limitations. The distinction between an “absolute truth” and some “other kind of truth” remains vague and unsubstantiated. Such reasoning risks dividing truth into arbitrary categories, without any clear foundation or resolution, leading to an unclear and unproductive debate about the nature of truth itself.
Moreover, terms like “the Absolute,” “cognition,” and others, though seemingly self-explanatory, inherently presuppose meaning—meaning that is often taken for granted but must, in fact, be established through effort. To speak of the Absolute is to invoke a concept that carries with it a rich philosophical history, but its true meaning is not something we can assume without examination. Likewise, the concept of cognition cannot be casually dismissed as an unproblematic tool for knowledge; it requires a deep, systematic inquiry into its nature, scope, and limitations. Until these terms are critically defined and their underlying assumptions fully explored, any attempt to distinguish between different kinds of truth remains superficial and arbitrary. Only through rigorous philosophical work can we arrive at a clearer understanding of what we mean by “truth,” “the Absolute,” and “cognition,” and only then can we assess whether such distinctions are meaningful or whether they ultimately lead us away from a deeper grasp of the true nature of knowledge.
Instead of engaging with these hollow and superficial conceptions—such as viewing cognition merely as a tool to grasp the Absolute, or as a passive medium through which we perceive the truth, and so on—relations that ultimately rest on the presumption of a fundamental separation between cognition and the Absolute, it would be far more fruitful to discard these arbitrary and contingent notions altogether. Such ideas only serve to perpetuate confusion, as they fail to address the deeper philosophical challenges of understanding cognition and its relationship to the Absolute. These conceptions are distractions, directing attention away from the real task at hand: to fully comprehend the nature of cognition and its connection to truth, without relying on convenient but ultimately misguided distinctions.
Similarly, the habitual use of terms such as “the Absolute,” “cognition,” “objectivity,” “subjectivity,” and countless others—terms whose meanings are often presumed to be universally understood—deserves careful scrutiny. In their typical application, these terms often disguise the absence of clarity, as they imply a common understanding that, upon closer examination, is absent or at best only partially realized. The pretense that these terms are either universally known or that one has already grasped their full meaning is a form of intellectual complacency. Such a presumption often masks the real philosophical work that is required to articulate their true concept. The task is not to simply accept these terms as self-evident but to critically engage with them, defining their meanings and exploring their connections in a rigorous and thoughtful manner. Only by undertaking this task can we avoid the trap of using deceptive shorthand that avoids the deeper, necessary work of philosophy: the articulation of concepts in their fullest, most precise form.
More justifiably, one could avoid even taking note of these notions and expressions that seek only to undermine the integrity of science, for they amount to nothing more than a hollow semblance of knowledge—ideas that vanish as soon as they are confronted with the rigor and depth of genuine scientific inquiry. These notions, which may superficially seem to hold some weight, quickly dissolve when placed against the solid foundation of true science. However, despite their vacuity, they often persist in the discourse, misleading those who are not fully immersed in the process of scientific reasoning. It is important, then, to recognize them for what they are—merely distractions from the true work of science—and to focus instead on the movement of thought that leads to actual knowledge.
In the early stages of its development, science itself may appear as a phenomenon—an initial, seemingly incomplete form that nonetheless holds the potential for further elaboration and realization. This appearance is not, however, the full realization of science in its truth. It is merely the first flicker, the emerging possibility of science, not yet fully unfolded or fully actualized. The significance of this appearance lies in its potential to evolve into something greater, but this potential is often obscured by those who mistakenly take the initial form as the final truth. Whether one conceives this appearance as emerging alongside other forms of knowledge, or whether one considers these other forms of false knowledge as merely the superficial aspect of true science, the issue remains the same: the true nature of science must be distinguished from these preliminary, incomplete expressions of knowledge. It is the unfolding process, not the superficial appearance, that holds the key to the true scientific method and its ultimate realization.
Nonetheless, science must free itself from this hollow semblance, and it can only do so by directly confronting and opposing it. Science cannot afford to dismiss untrue knowledge as merely a common or superficial view of things, nor can it simply assert that it operates on a different, higher level of cognition, thereby relegating false knowledge to irrelevance. This dismissal would be insufficient and would fail to address the deeper issue at hand. Science cannot claim to be unaffected by these false notions, as if they were irrelevant or beneath its concern. To do so would be to ignore the fundamental process of overcoming these distortions and to treat them as if they hold no power over genuine knowledge. Science must not indulge in the fallacy that, by merely placing itself above false knowledge, it can sidestep the necessary work of confronting and dismantling these misapprehensions.
Equally problematic would be any appeal to the vague anticipation of a better understanding that exists within the framework of false knowledge itself. If science were to take this path, it would remain bound to the very structures it seeks to transcend, still relying on something that is not truly knowledge, but merely a distorted or incomplete form of existence. In doing so, it would be grounding its efforts in a mere appearance of truth, rather than the essential, actual nature of the knowledge it strives to uncover. The danger of such a path is that it would reinforce the illusion of knowledge without ever engaging with its true, transformative essence. For this reason, the task at hand must be to present a systematic account of what might appear to be knowledge but is, in fact, the semblance of knowledge. This requires a careful and critical examination of the very structures and appearances that pass for knowledge, in order to expose their limits and open the way for a deeper, more rigorous understanding of the truth.
Since this exposition takes appearing knowledge as its object, it might at first seem to fall short of being the free and self-moving science in its full, true form. Instead, from this vantage point, it can be interpreted as a path—a progression of natural consciousness moving toward genuine knowledge. It can be seen as the journey of the soul, which begins in ignorance or confusion, yet steadily advances toward self-realization. Along this journey, the soul encounters a series of stages, each representing a configuration or moment in its development. These stages are not arbitrary; they are set by the very nature of the soul itself, as necessary steps in its unfolding. Each moment serves as a station, a point of reflection, where the soul encounters various forms of appearance and misapprehension.
Through these stages, the soul gradually purifies itself, shedding the veils of illusion that once obscured its true nature. As it advances through each successive stage, it refines its understanding, moving closer to its essential truth. The soul’s journey is a dynamic process of transformation, where it learns not only about the world around it but also about itself. Ultimately, this journey culminates in the spirit, the fully realized self, which is able to grasp and integrate its essence into knowledge. In this process, the soul achieves not just intellectual understanding, but the profound self-knowledge of what it truly is in its essence. Through the complete experience of its own development, the soul attains the knowledge that, while it may have started as something fragmented or disjointed, its true nature is an integrated whole—one that is fully conscious of itself and its place within the universal structure of reality.
The completeness of the various forms of non-real or false consciousness will gradually become apparent through the necessity that is embedded in their progression and the interconnection between them. This interconnectedness is not arbitrary but rather follows a logical development that unfolds according to the very nature of consciousness itself. To make this comprehensible in broader terms, it is crucial to understand that the presentation of non-true consciousness—consciousness in its untruth—is not merely a negative or destructive movement. The tendency to see it solely as negative represents a limited perspective, one that fails to grasp the dialectical process at work. Such a one-sided view, which reduces false consciousness to a mere rejection of truth, is characteristic of natural consciousness in its initial, undeveloped state. When knowledge adopts this one-sidedness as its essence, it falls into the trap of incomplete consciousness, failing to recognize that even falsehood and error have an essential role to play in the movement of truth.
This incomplete form of consciousness appears along the course of the path—through various stages of development—each moment a necessary step toward the eventual realization of truth. Though seemingly a deviation from the truth, false consciousness is not an arbitrary or irrelevant obstacle. Rather, it presents itself as part of the unfolding dialectical process, one that must be encountered, understood, and ultimately transcended. Each form of non-true consciousness carries within it the seeds of its own negation, and through its resolution, the totality of true knowledge emerges. Therefore, these stages of untruth, which may at first seem like mere detours or errors, must be seen as necessary moments within the larger progression of spirit, essential to its self-realization and self-completion.
Specifically, what we encounter in this context is skepticism, which, in its final conclusion, perceives only pure nothingness—an emptiness that it deems the ultimate result. Skepticism, however, fails to recognize that this nothingness is not an arbitrary void but a determined negation, a negation that emerges from something specific, from an idea or concept that it negates. The nothingness that skepticism arrives at is not merely an absence; it is the negation of something previous, the result of a process that involves a specific relation between what was once perceived as true and its negation. When viewed in this way, this nothingness is not simply void but is itself determinate—it carries within it a structure, a specific content, because it represents a conscious movement of thought that has negated a previous state.
In this sense, nothingness, far from being a mere empty abstraction, is a meaningful and significant moment in the development of consciousness. It is the result of a dialectical process, an essential step in the unfolding of thought, and thus, it possesses its own determinate character. Skepticism, however, fails to recognize this depth. By reducing its result to a mere abstraction of nothingness or emptiness, skepticism traps itself in a stagnant cycle. It cannot progress beyond this point, for it cannot transform this nothingness into a new content, nor can it break free from the limitations of its own negative view. Instead, skepticism is forced to await the appearance of new content—new ideas or insights—which it will inevitably cast into the same empty abyss, unable to give them the full weight of meaning or substance. This cycle continues without resolution, as skepticism remains locked in a state of perpetual negation, unable to move forward or attain genuine understanding.
By contrast, when the result is understood in its true nature—as a determinate negation—this understanding immediately gives rise to a new form. The negation is not a mere void or absence, but rather the active, defined negation of a prior state. In this negation, the transition to a new form occurs naturally, as the negation itself carries within it the potential for transformation and development. The process is not a static rejection but a dynamic movement that leads to something new, a new form emerging organically from the negation.
In this way, the progression of thought and knowledge unfolds as a continuous series of forms, each new stage a necessary development of the previous one. The negation, rather than being an end, becomes a critical moment in a larger, self-sustaining process. It is through this negation that the system advances, as each form builds upon the last, unfolding in its own time. The transition from one form to another is not forced or external but happens of its own accord, as the inherent logic of the negation drives the process forward. In this manner, the movement of thought is not merely a back-and-forth oscillation but a purposeful, forward-moving development, where each negation is a productive moment that carries the potential for new insights, new forms, and new understandings.
The goal of knowledge is as necessary to its very essence as is the progression of its development. The true goal is reached when knowledge no longer needs to extend beyond itself, when it finds itself fully reflected within itself. In this moment, the concept aligns perfectly with the object, and the object, in turn, finds its full expression in the concept. The progression toward this ultimate goal is unyielding—it cannot find contentment at any intermediate stage or settle for a partial understanding. Each step in the process is essential, and none can be bypassed, for the journey itself is integral to the unfolding of truth.
In this sense, knowledge cannot be satisfied until it has reached the final stage, where it fully realizes itself. The pursuit of knowledge is relentless, pushing forward without pause, for each moment of understanding propels the thinker further toward the final unity of concept and object. By contrast, that which is confined to a natural or immediate existence cannot transcend its own limitations through its own efforts. It is not within the capacity of something limited by its own nature to surpass itself; instead, it is driven beyond its bounds by an external compulsion, a force that urges it forward. This compulsion to move beyond itself is what constitutes its death—its transformation from something finite into something that aligns with the infinite, the whole, the complete system of knowledge. Thus, the “death” of the natural state marks the rebirth of knowledge into its true, fully realized form.
Consciousness, however, is inherently self-reflective; it is for itself its own concept. Through this self-awareness, it is not merely passive or confined within the boundaries of its immediate experience; rather, it is actively engaged in the act of transcending these limitations. The limited, by its very nature, belongs to consciousness, as it is through consciousness that the concept of limitation is even possible. But this same act of recognition, of grasping the limited, compels consciousness to transcend it. In other words, consciousness is not content to remain within the confines of the particular; it inherently strives to move beyond, to reach out to what lies beyond its immediate grasp.
Even when consciousness encounters the particular, it simultaneously envisions the beyond—the larger whole, the encompassing context—whether this beyond is perceived as something distant or adjacent, as in spatial perception. Thus, consciousness cannot remain satisfied with the mere particularity of the limited; it continuously sets the beyond as the horizon of its understanding, the movement toward which it is always drawn. This compulsion, this drive to transcend its limited satisfaction, arises not from an external force but from the very nature of consciousness itself. It is an internal necessity, an immanent drive to break through the boundaries of what is particular and finite, propelled by the desire for a more complete and unified understanding. In this way, consciousness is always in motion, always striving toward the infinite and the totality that lies beyond its immediate, finite experience.
In the awareness of this compulsion to transcend its limitations, consciousness may well experience a fear of truth—an unease at the idea that its familiar, finite existence might be threatened or undone. In response, it may attempt to preserve what seems to be at risk, clinging to what it perceives as a stable sense of self or understanding. However, such attempts, grounded in the fear of change or loss, cannot bring lasting peace. Whether consciousness remains in thoughtless inertia, unable or unwilling to engage with the demands of reason, or whether it seeks solace in sentimental comfort, assuring itself that everything is good in its own way, neither of these responses provides a true resolution.
Inertia, while seemingly offering a respite, is undermined by thought itself. The very act of thinking disrupts the stillness, for thought cannot tolerate a state of stagnation or unresolved tension. Even when consciousness seeks refuge in the comforting assurances of sentimentality—convincing itself that all things, however flawed, are justified simply by their existence—this assurance is eventually subjected to the force of reason. Reason rejects the idea that something can be considered good simply because it exists in a particular form or is of a certain kind. It demands a deeper understanding, a more rigorous examination of what constitutes true value and meaning. Thus, both inertia and sentimental assurance are exposed as inadequate, unable to resist the transformative power of reason, which pushes consciousness beyond its comfort zones, demanding that it confront the true nature of its own development and the truths that lie beyond mere appearances.
Alternatively, the fear of truth might conceal itself from both the self and others, donning the guise of an intense, almost fervent zeal for truth. In this form, it becomes a passionate claim that it is precisely this desire for truth—this unwavering commitment to its pursuit—that makes it so difficult, even impossible, to accept any truth other than the singular one it has constructed for itself. This is a self-serving belief, a belief that one’s own vanity and self-assuredness hold the key to wisdom, to a wisdom that surpasses all other thoughts, whether those thoughts arise from the self or others.
This vanity, which cloaks itself in the guise of profound understanding, is adept at annulling every truth it encounters, retreating into its own closed circle. It feeds on the illusion of self-perception, convinced that by dissolving all external thoughts and ideas, it will ultimately arrive at the barren “I”—an empty self that exists in place of genuine content or substance. Yet, this satisfaction, which seems to promise a higher form of understanding, is ultimately hollow. It is a satisfaction that must be left to itself, for it cannot engage with the true universal. Instead of seeking connection with the broader world of thought and truth, it flees from the universal, seeking only to exist in isolation, protected from any challenge to its unshakable sense of superiority. This self-imposed isolation prevents any real engagement with the broader realities of existence, relegating it to a narrow, self-sustaining cycle that feeds only its own ego.
As was outlined in the preliminary discussion on the nature and necessity of progression, it is equally important to offer some insights into the method of execution for this endeavor. This presentation, conceived as an exploration of the relationship between science and appearing knowledge, as well as an investigation into the reality of cognition, cannot proceed effectively without some form of assumption that serves as a standard of measurement. The act of examination, by its very nature, involves the application of such a standard. It is through this standard that one determines whether the object being examined aligns or conflicts with the criterion set for assessment, thus deciding its correctness or incorrectness.
However, in this process, the very standard by which examination is carried out—whether it be science itself or another measuring tool—must be presupposed as a given. In other words, the act of evaluating the truth of cognition or knowledge inherently assumes that the standard, whatever it may be, is already understood as the essence or the underlying reality of the matter being examined. Without such an assumption, the examination could not take place, for there would be no basis upon which to judge the agreement or discord between the object of knowledge and the standard. Thus, science, in this context, is not merely a process of measurement or assessment, but is itself positioned as the foundational principle—what is “in itself”—that grounds the very act of inquiry and guides the progression toward true understanding.
However, at this stage, where science is only beginning to emerge, neither science itself nor anything else has yet proven itself as the essence or as what is “in itself.” In the absence of such a justification, it appears that no true examination can occur. If we cannot yet establish what constitutes the essence, the very foundation upon which we base our judgments, how can we proceed with evaluating the truth or validity of the knowledge we encounter? Without a clear understanding of the essential nature of science—or any other concept—it would be futile to apply a standard or measure by which we assess the accuracy of cognition. The process of examination relies on a pre-existing, fundamental certainty that, at this stage, has not yet been attained. Therefore, the act of evaluating knowledge, particularly when science is still in its formative stages, must be deferred until the essence of science itself is recognized and justified.
This contradiction and its eventual resolution will become clearer if we first recall the abstract determinations of knowledge and truth as they manifest in consciousness. In its basic structure, consciousness distinguishes something from itself while simultaneously relating to it—this fundamental distinction is often expressed as “something exists for consciousness.” The immediate and definite aspect of this relation—the fact that something is made present to consciousness and apprehended by it—is what we refer to as knowledge. Knowledge, then, is not a passive state, but an active relation between consciousness and the object of thought. It is the moment in which the subject (consciousness) encounters the object (what exists outside of it), and this encounter constitutes the act of knowing.
In this basic form, knowledge is merely the recognition of the object in relation to the self. However, this initial and immediate form of knowledge is abstract—it does not yet engage with the full depth or truth of the object. It is merely a reflection of the object as it appears to consciousness, not as it is in itself. The act of knowing, then, is the first step in the process of cognition, but it is not yet the complete realization of truth. The contradiction arises from the fact that consciousness, in its abstract form, cannot yet grasp the totality of the object—it only relates to the object as it appears. The task of philosophy is to move beyond this abstract, one-sided knowledge and to realize the full, self-determined nature of truth, overcoming the limitations of immediate experience.
However, we distinguish this existence-for-another from existence-in-itself. The former represents how something is known or related to consciousness, while the latter pertains to the thing as it is independently of any relation or perception. The object of knowledge, in this sense, is viewed not simply as something related to consciousness, but as something that exists in and of itself, independent of the subject’s awareness or recognition of it. This distinction is crucial, for it allows us to conceptualize knowledge as a mediated relation, where the object is presented through the lens of consciousness, but is not wholly defined by that relation.
The existence-in-itself refers to the objective reality of the object, its truth, which is not contingent upon its being known or perceived. Truth, then, is not simply what appears to consciousness or what is apprehended by knowledge in its immediate form. It is the essence of the object, the way it is in its purest, most self-determined state, independent of any particular observer or cognitive relation. This distinction between the existence-for-another (the known object) and existence-in-itself (the object in its truth) is foundational to understanding how knowledge progresses beyond superficial recognition to an engagement with deeper, more complex layers of truth. The challenge, therefore, lies in overcoming the initial abstraction and moving toward a more complete and accurate understanding of the object, grounded in its true, independent nature.
What these determinations truly entail in their full depth and implications does not concern us at this juncture. Our focus remains on appearing knowledge, which is the object of our inquiry. The specific content and nature of these determinations will be addressed as they emerge in the form in which they present themselves, according to how they have been conceived or understood. For the purposes of this discussion, it is sufficient to acknowledge that they do indeed manifest in this manner, as part of the unfolding of knowledge within the realm of consciousness. The exact workings or deeper meanings of these determinations are set aside for now, as the immediate task is to engage with them as they appear and to analyze them within the context in which they are situated.
By proceeding in this way, we begin the process of examining the stages through which knowledge presents itself to consciousness, without delving prematurely into the complexities that will be addressed later. This method allows us to approach the object of our inquiry—appearing knowledge—without losing sight of its fundamental nature, remaining attentive to its manifestations as they arise in the course of our philosophical exploration.
When we set out to investigate the truth of knowledge, it may seem at first that we are probing its essence, examining what knowledge truly is in itself. We approach knowledge with the intent of uncovering its intrinsic nature, seeking to understand it as it exists independently of any subjective influence. However, in this very investigation, knowledge shifts and becomes our object—it exists for us, as an object of thought or inquiry. In this way, what we claim to be the in-itself of knowledge—the truth that we aim to reveal—emerges not as an objective, unchanging essence, but as something that is mediated through our relation to it.
Thus, the in-itself of knowledge, which we believe would arise from this examination, is not the objective truth of the matter but its being-for-us. In other words, what we identify as the essence of knowledge, through this process of inquiry, is not its true, independent nature but rather our conception of it, our subjective grasp of its meaning. What we call the essence or truth of knowledge is, therefore, not the thing itself but merely our understanding of it, shaped by our perspective and limited by the boundaries of our cognition. The process of examining knowledge, then, reveals not the ultimate truth of knowledge itself, but our own engagement with it—our relationship to it as an object of thought.
If the essence or standard were to reside within us, then the process of comparison and judgment would be entirely contingent upon our own internal framework. In this case, that which is compared to this internal standard would have no inherent necessity to recognize or conform to it. The external object of comparison would not be bound by any objective criteria but instead would merely be subjected to our personal or subjective judgment. In this scenario, the truth or validity of the object being judged would be determined solely by how well it aligns with our internal standard, without any necessary connection to an independent or external truth. This creates a situation where the validity of what is considered true is entirely dependent on the individual’s perception, leading to an arbitrary and potentially unreliable judgment, where the essence or standard loses its objectivity and universality.
Thus, the very nature of truth or essence, when it is placed solely within the individual, risks becoming disconnected from the objective reality it should reflect. What we claim as true in this context would not be a universal truth but merely a subjective projection, lacking any necessary connection to a deeper, external reality. This undermines the very foundation of knowledge and truth, making it something mutable and relative rather than fixed and absolute.
However, the nature of the object we are investigating transcends any superficial separation or appearance of disconnection, including the presupposition that such a distinction exists at all. The process of examination is not simply a matter of comparing an external object to an internal standard. Instead, consciousness itself provides the very standard within its own structure. This transforms the investigation into a comparison of consciousness with itself, where the distinction between subject and object is not external but internal to consciousness itself. In other words, the examination becomes a movement within consciousness, as consciousness inherently contains within itself the determinations of knowledge and truth.
Within consciousness, one element exists for another—there is a dialectical relationship between the subject and its object, or between what is known and the knower. However, this relationship is not merely a reflection or a projection; it is simultaneously an acknowledgment that the object exists not just for consciousness but also independently of it, in its own essence. This moment of the object’s independent existence—its truth—emerges in the very act of knowing. It is the recognition that the object is not just a construction of the mind but holds an independent reality that is grasped through the act of knowing. This dual movement—both the internal self-relation of consciousness and the external self-sufficiency of the object—is the moment of truth, where the object’s essence is revealed in its full determinacy and independence, yet still inseparable from the knowing subject.
Thus, in what consciousness itself declares to be in itself—or the true—we encounter the very standard that consciousness establishes to measure its knowledge. This is the internal criterion by which it judges the validity of what it knows. If we designate knowledge as the concept—the way consciousness grasps and formulates its understanding—and refer to the essence or truth as the being or the object—the external reality or object of knowledge—then the examination becomes a matter of determining whether the concept accurately corresponds to the object. The question, in this case, is whether the abstract, mental construct of the concept aligns with the concrete reality of the object, whether it truthfully represents that which it seeks to know.
Conversely, if we reverse the terms, regarding the essence or the in itself of the object as the concept, and understand the object as it appears for another—that is, the object as it is revealed to consciousness—then the examination takes on a different focus. Here, the inquiry shifts to determining whether the object corresponds to its concept, whether the object, as it is given in experience, accurately reflects the essence or the conceptual truth we have attributed to it. In this case, the challenge lies in ensuring that the external reality—the object as it appears—is consistent with the internal idea or the conceptualization of that object. The dynamic interaction between concept and object, between the internal and the external, is central to the process of examining knowledge and establishing truth.
It becomes clear that the concept and the object, being-for-another and being-in-itself, are not separate or independent; they are, in fact, two aspects of the same thing. The essential point of the entire investigation, however, lies in the recognition that these two moments are not external to the knowledge we are examining but are contained within it. In other words, the relationship between the concept and the object is not something to be imposed from outside; it is an intrinsic part of the very knowledge we are engaging with.
This insight allows us to avoid the need to introduce external standards or rely on preconceived assumptions when conducting our investigation. Rather than trying to measure knowledge against something outside of itself, we focus on the knowledge as it stands in its own terms, as it exists within its own structure. By setting aside these external elements—be they traditional frameworks, arbitrary ideas, or external metrics—we can consider the matter as it truly is, in its essence and in its truth. This approach allows us to engage with the object of our inquiry directly, without distortion or mediation by outside influences, thereby staying true to the concept and the object in their mutual and inseparable relation.
Not only in the sense that the concept and the object—the standard and what is to be examined—are already present within consciousness itself does any external contribution from us become superfluous, but we are also freed from the burden of comparing these two elements or performing the actual examination ourselves. The process of examination, in this case, unfolds organically within consciousness. The concept, in its immediate relation to the object, already contains the movement of its own self-examination, and it is through this movement that the truth is revealed.
Our role, as observers, is not to impose external judgments or to force the examination by bringing in our own preconceived ideas or measurements. Instead, we step back and allow consciousness to examine itself, as it works through the necessary progression of its concepts and their relation to the object. Our task is not one of intervention, but rather one of witnessing the natural unfolding of this examination. This shift from active engagement to passive observation aligns us with the essence of the process, where the truth of knowledge is revealed through its own self-reflection, without the interference of external standards or subjective evaluation.
Consciousness, in its nature, operates on two levels: on one hand, it is consciousness of the object—it perceives and understands what is presented to it as the object of knowledge; and on the other hand, it is consciousness of itself—it is aware of its own act of knowing and of the truth it holds. These two aspects—consciousness of the object and consciousness of its knowledge of the object—are inseparable, as both exist simultaneously within consciousness itself. This dual awareness allows consciousness to constitute the very comparison between its knowledge and the object.
For consciousness, the process becomes one of self-assessment. It is through this dual awareness—where it is both the subject knowing and the subject reflecting on its own knowing—that consciousness determines whether its knowledge aligns with the object. The relationship between the concept it holds and the object it seeks to know is not an external comparison but an internal judgment. Consciousness itself becomes the measure, recognizing whether its own understanding of the object corresponds to the object’s truth. In this way, the verification of truth does not lie outside of consciousness but is inherent in its self-reflective process.
At first, the object presents itself to consciousness only as it is known by consciousness, which creates the impression that consciousness cannot access the object as it exists independently. It may seem, initially, that consciousness is trapped within its own subjective framework, perceiving the object only as it is for consciousness, and thus unable to test its knowledge against the object as it truly is-in-itself. The apparent limitation lies in the seeming inability of consciousness to reach beyond its own subjective grasp to encounter the object in its pure, independent essence.
However, the very act of knowing an object already introduces a crucial distinction: one moment reveals the object as it is in itself, existing independently of consciousness, and another moment reveals the object as it is for consciousness, as the object is understood, perceived, and conceptualized by the knowing subject. This distinction between the object in itself and the object for consciousness is not a mere theoretical separation but a fundamental aspect of consciousness’s very structure. The examination of truth, then, is grounded in this duality, which is inherently present within the act of knowing. It is this distinction within consciousness itself that allows for the comparison and assessment of whether the object’s nature as it is known corresponds to its true essence, independent of how it is represented or grasped by consciousness.
If, in this comparison, the two—the object and the knowledge of the object—do not correspond, it appears that consciousness must adjust its knowledge to align it with the object’s true nature. However, this process of modifying its knowledge introduces a deeper complexity: as consciousness alters its understanding of the object, the object itself also seems to undergo a transformation. This occurs because the knowledge was not merely a passive reflection of the object, but rather an active relation that inherently shaped the object as it was known. The knowledge was not an external, detached view but an integral part of how the object was understood and experienced by consciousness.
Therefore, when consciousness revises its knowledge, it does not simply refine a static idea; it also reconfigures the very nature of the object as it was perceived. The object, in this sense, is not independent of the act of knowing but is deeply interconnected with the knowledge that constitutes it. Thus, when knowledge shifts, the object, too, appears to change because the two are dynamically connected. The relationship between knowledge and object is not one of simple reflection but of mutual transformation, where each influences the other, and the object’s essence is revealed through its active engagement with consciousness.
As a result, consciousness comes to the realization that what it previously regarded as the object in itself—the object as it was believed to exist independently of consciousness—was, in fact, only an object for consciousness. In the process of examining its knowledge, consciousness discovers that its previous understanding of the object was not an accurate reflection of the object’s true nature. When consciousness finds that its knowledge does not align with the object, the very foundation of what was assumed to be the object’s essence crumbles. The object, once thought to hold firm and unchanging, now reveals its dependence on the knowledge that conceived it, showing itself to be not a fixed reality but something shaped by consciousness itself.
Thus, the standard of examination shifts dramatically. What was once taken to be the object’s inherent truth becomes questionable, and the knowledge that was supposed to match the object is now called into doubt. This change signifies that the examination is not just a test of knowledge—whether it aligns with the object or not—but also a test of the very standard that knowledge was built upon. The very process of examining knowledge transforms the object and the concept of truth, leading consciousness to understand that what it assumed was objective and independent is, in fact, inseparable from its own knowing and is revealed only in relation to it.
This dialectical movement, which consciousness enacts upon itself—both on its knowledge and on the object it seeks to understand—represents the true unfolding of experience. As consciousness engages in this self-reflective process, a new, genuine object of knowledge gradually emerges. The object that was once assumed to be fixed and independent is continuously reshaped and refined through the movement of consciousness, revealing itself in its true nature only as a result of this dynamic interaction. This process, where knowledge and object transform in mutual relation, is what we properly call experience. It is through this dialectical movement that consciousness transcends its initial limitations and achieves a more complete and accurate understanding of the object.
Within this larger movement, a specific moment stands out as particularly significant, one that illuminates the scientific nature of the following exposition. This moment, when recognized, provides the necessary foundation for understanding how the progression of knowledge unfolds within science. It reveals the essential dynamics of how truth is uncovered not through static observation but through the active, evolving relationship between consciousness and the object. In this way, the movement of experience is not just the acquisition of new knowledge but the continuous redefinition of what is known, marking a crucial turning point in the development of true science.
Consciousness knows something, and this object, as known, is understood as its essence or what is in itself—that is, the object as it exists independently of consciousness. However, this very object, which was initially understood as existing in its own right, also becomes for consciousness—it exists not only as an independent entity but also as something that is perceived, thought about, and grasped by consciousness. This dual relationship introduces a crucial ambiguity in how truth is regarded. At this stage, consciousness does not merely encounter a singular, self-contained object, but rather an object that exists in two forms: on the one hand, it is the original, unchanging object in itself, and on the other hand, it is the object for consciousness, shaped and mediated by the knowing subject.
This duality—between the object as it is in itself and the object as it is known or perceived—creates a distinction that must be navigated carefully. Consciousness, now, seems to hold two objects: the first, the original object as it is in itself, as it exists independently and objectively; and the second, the object as it is for consciousness, as it appears to the subject. This introduces a tension between these two aspects of the object, and it is this tension that drives the process of understanding and further examination. The task, then, is to reconcile these two forms of objectivity—how the object can be both in itself and for consciousness—in order to arrive at a deeper and more comprehensive grasp of truth.
Initially, the second object—the object as it is for consciousness—appears to be nothing more than a mere reflection of consciousness turned inward. It seems to be a representation not of the object itself, but of consciousness’s own knowledge or perception of that object. In this sense, it seems detached from the object’s true nature, simply a mental image or conceptualization of the original object. This would suggest that the second object is nothing more than a subjective projection or an internalized representation of the first object, an idea rather than the thing itself.
However, as the dialectical movement progresses, it becomes evident that this process of knowing and representing the object does not merely preserve the object as it was in itself. Instead, this act of knowing transforms the object. Through this movement, the first object, which was initially perceived as in itself—independent and separate from consciousness—ceases to be merely what it was in isolation. Instead, it becomes, for consciousness, something that is not only in itself but also, through the process of being known, now fully exists as for consciousness as well. In other words, the very act of consciousness engaging with the object changes the object’s nature, making it no longer merely an isolated entity but also a reflection of the relationship between consciousness and the object.
As a result, the object, now existing as for consciousness, becomes the true object—it becomes the essence of what was once simply in itself, now fully integrated into the process of knowing. The object’s transformation into something for consciousness means it now takes on the status of the true, as it is no longer merely external but has become part of the very self-movement of consciousness. This transition marks the moment when the object is no longer an external, independent thing but is recognized as a fully mediated, conceptual truth, now accessible to consciousness in its complete form.
This new object, which emerges through the dialectical process of knowing, encapsulates the nullity of the first object. It is not simply a repetition of the original object but, rather, a transformed version that embodies the very negation of the first. In this sense, the new object represents not the raw, unmediated object as it was initially perceived but the experience that consciousness has undergone in its interaction with the first object. This experience—this movement of thought—is what constitutes the essence of the new object. It is the object as it has been grasped, processed, and internalized through the lens of consciousness, shaped not by the object’s original existence but by the act of knowing itself.
In this way, the new object is not a passive reflection of what was originally given but an active representation of the transformation that knowledge has wrought. It carries within it the nullity—or negation—of the first object, for it is no longer an independent thing but an object that is forever tied to the process of knowing. The new object, therefore, represents not the object in isolation but the object as it has been made meaningful through consciousness’s self-reflective activity. It is this object that now embodies truth, for it is no longer simply a static entity but the product of the dynamic, self-moving relationship between consciousness and the object.
In this presentation of the process of experience, there is a crucial aspect that diverges from the usual understanding of what is typically meant by experience. Conventionally, experience is thought of as the accumulation of external perceptions or encounters with the world, where the subject gains knowledge of an object that exists independently of the subject. However, in the process we’ve described—the transition from the first object and its knowledge to the second object—there is a shift in how we understand this relationship. Specifically, it was shown that the knowledge of the first object, or what is for consciousness as the first object in itself, becomes the second object itself. This is a radical rethinking of experience, where the knowledge of an object is not simply an external grasping of something independent but becomes the object itself in a transformed and mediated form.
In traditional views, experience is often understood as the acquisition of knowledge about external things, where the subject interacts with and internalizes the object. Here, however, the experience of the object is not merely about collecting facts or representations of external realities. Instead, the knowledge of the first object itself undergoes a transformation, becoming the object in its own right. The second object that emerges is no longer just a passive reflection of the first object but a new, mediated reality, shaped and constituted through the act of knowing. Thus, the very process of experience involves a dialectical shift in which the object and its knowledge are not two separate moments but are unified into one.
By contrast, the common understanding of experience typically suggests that we come to recognize the untruth of our initial concept through the encounter with another object—one that we happen upon externally and contingently. In this conventional view, the role of the subject is reduced to the passive apprehension of what exists independently, in and for itself. This implies a form of experience in which knowledge is seen as a reflection of an external reality, where truth is uncovered through the discovery of an object that exists outside of the subjective process. The subject, in this view, is a mere observer, receiving external stimuli and adjusting its concept based on what is perceived.
In the previous, more dialectical view, however, the emergence of the new object is not an external occurrence but a product of a reversal within consciousness itself. The shift does not take place through a chance encounter with an external object but through the internal movement of thought, where consciousness confronts and reworks its own understanding. The new object that emerges is not simply found, but is actively constituted by consciousness itself, reflecting a deeper internal transformation. This process is not a passive apprehension of truth but a dynamic, self-reflective movement in which the truth emerges through the very reversal of the subject’s prior conception.
This perspective reflects our contribution to the matter, as we elevate the series of experiences undergone by consciousness to the level of a scientific progression. It is an addition that exists outside the immediate experience of the consciousness under consideration. While consciousness itself may not recognize this progression, it is through our reflective and structured approach that the experience is transformed into something more than a mere series of encounters. We, as external observers or thinkers, bring the necessary movement to the process, positioning it as part of a broader scientific development rather than leaving it as isolated, unconnected moments of experience.
However, this is precisely the same point that was made earlier in connection with skepticism: that the result of any untrue or incomplete knowledge should not be allowed to collapse into a mere nothingness. The process of knowledge, even when it appears to end in contradiction or error, does not lead to emptiness or void. Instead, it must be understood as the negation of the previous knowledge—a necessary step in its dialectical development. This negation does not obliterate what was true in the earlier stage but instead preserves it in a transformed form. The result of each phase, even if it initially seems to refute what came before, retains the truth embedded in the earlier knowledge, ensuring that the process of development is one of refinement rather than destruction.
This process is illustrated in such a way that what initially appeared as the object—an independent, external entity—gradually recedes for consciousness, sinking into the realm of its own knowledge of it. What was once considered to be in itself—a distinct, self-contained object—now becomes merely for consciousness, a mere appearance or representation shaped by the subject’s knowing. This shift marks the transformation of the object itself, as it no longer exists as it was initially grasped, but is now redefined within the context of the subject’s conceptual framework. The object, as it becomes integrated into the subject’s knowledge, loses its independent status and assumes a new form—one that is bound to the structure of consciousness’s understanding.
This transformation of the object is not a mere change in the object but also signifies the emergence of a new shape of consciousness. With the redefinition of the object, consciousness itself evolves, as the nature of what is considered essential to it shifts. The new form of consciousness demands a different kind of engagement, a different set of relations and categories, compared to the previous shape of consciousness. This marks a significant turning point in the dialectical movement, where the subject, now equipped with a deeper understanding of the object, progresses into a new level of self-awareness and conceptual grasp.
This dynamic governs the entire sequence of the shapes of consciousness, unfolding in their inherent necessity. It is this very necessity—the unfolding of the new object, which arises before consciousness without its awareness of how it comes into being—that drives the progression of thought. The process unfolds almost surreptitiously, moving forward “behind the back” of consciousness. Consciousness, engaged in the act of knowing, remains unaware of the deeper movement that shapes the course of its experience. It is through this hidden progression that consciousness is led to encounter a new object, one that presents itself as a new truth, yet without the subject’s conscious awareness of how it emerged.
This unseen movement incorporates an element of the in itself—an aspect of being that exists independently of our knowledge or perception. In this moment, the true nature of the object, as it exists outside of our immediate grasp, subtly infiltrates the experience. Yet, this aspect of being-for-us, this reality that is present but not yet apprehended by consciousness, remains concealed from the subject engaged in the experience. The full significance of the object, and the way it is intrinsically bound to the unfolding of consciousness, is not immediately apparent, but lies hidden in the background of the process.
The content of what arises, however, is undeniably present for consciousness. It takes shape as an object before the mind, yet the subject of experience only grasps the formal aspect of it—the sheer fact of its emergence. The object appears to consciousness as a given, an external form that is simply encountered. But for us, as observers or interpreters of the process, this emergence is not a static event but a dynamic movement—a continuous becoming. We see the unfolding of the object as part of a broader progression, where the object is not just presented but also in the process of coming into its full expression.
For consciousness, what emerges is merely an object, something to be known, categorized, and understood. It is presented as a finished form that can be grasped in its finality. However, for us, the true nature of the emergence is far more intricate: it is a process, a movement that transforms the object through time and engagement, drawing us into its unfolding. We, therefore, witness not just the appearance of the object but the active becoming of it—a continual shift from one form of understanding to another, where each moment is both the result of what has come before and the precursor to what is yet to come.
Through this inherent necessity, the very path to science is already science in its unfolding. As consciousness progresses along its journey, the experience it undergoes is not merely preparatory or external to the science itself, but is in fact science at its core. The development of the object of knowledge—along with the corresponding evolution of consciousness—is a process that constitutes the science of consciousness’s own experience. In this sense, the journey of knowledge is not separate from its essence but is inseparable from the very movement of science itself. The act of experiencing, knowing, and transforming is already a manifestation of the scientific process, where the objective is not only to understand what is before us but to witness the very act of understanding unfolding as part of the larger, self-organizing system of thought.
Thus, the content of consciousness’s experience is not just an incidental step towards science but is, in itself, a reflection of science’s true nature. What emerges through the experience of consciousness—the objects it encounters, the shifts in its understanding—are not mere phenomena to be classified or interpreted, but the very steps in the unfolding of science. This process is not external or separate from science; it is, in fact, the enactment of science as it occurs, moment by moment, in the ongoing transformation of consciousness. The progression toward knowledge is science itself, and in this way, the science of the experience of consciousness is already contained within the very movement that drives consciousness forward.
The experience that consciousness undergoes concerning itself must, by its very nature, encompass nothing less than the entirety of the system of consciousness—what might be termed the full realm of the truth of spirit. This is because consciousness, in its journey toward self-understanding, does not merely confront isolated, discrete facts or abstract moments; rather, it engages with the totality of its own development, the interconnectedness of its stages, and the evolving nature of its truth. The moments of this system, which represent the unfolding of spirit, are not experienced as detached or pure abstractions, but rather in the very form in which they present themselves to consciousness. They are not merely theoretical or conceptual entities; they are experienced as they appear, in relation to the subject, and shaped by the conditions of that very experience.
In this dynamic process, the moments of the whole—the various stages or forms of consciousness—are not static or fixed but are experienced as living shapes, each one an active, evolving expression of the broader system. These shapes of consciousness reflect not just abstract stages but the actual unfolding of consciousness itself as it moves through each moment of its development. The experience of each moment is not the apprehension of a lifeless, separate entity but the engagement with a specific form that consciousness adopts as it interacts with the truth of spirit. Through this interaction, the moments of the whole become not merely theoretical components but living, dynamic shapes that reflect the ever-developing nature of consciousness and its journey toward self-realization.
As consciousness progresses toward its true existence, it inevitably arrives at a pivotal moment where it sheds the appearance of being burdened by something foreign, something that exists only for it and as something other. Up until this point, consciousness has been caught in the tension between what is perceived and what is truly known, navigating through the external forms and representations that seem to limit its understanding. However, when consciousness transcends this divide, when it sheds the weight of mere appearances, it reaches a state where the difference between appearance and essence dissolves. At this critical juncture, the form of consciousness aligns seamlessly with the truth it seeks, and what was once external, contingent, or separate becomes integrated into the very structure of its being.
In this moment, appearance no longer stands as a mere veil that must be penetrated to reach the essence; instead, it coincides with essence itself. The superficial distinctions between what seems to be and what actually is are obliterated, and what remains is the pure and undivided reality of the object as it is for consciousness. This convergence marks the point where consciousness no longer contemplates the truth from the outside, as something distant or separate, but recognizes it as part of itself. It is here, in this realization, that the true nature of spirit is revealed—not as an external force to be understood, but as an immanent, self-moving truth within consciousness. Finally, when consciousness grasps this essence as its own, it unlocks the nature of absolute knowing, wherein the process of knowing becomes one with the object of knowledge. In this unity, the subject and object, the knower and the known, are no longer separate but form a whole, encapsulating the very essence of absolute knowledge.
Simon Gros 
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