Deriving the Spiritual from the Material: A Speculatively Realist Perspective

Abstract

The existence of the spiritual can be deduced from knowledge of the material. There is an inherent affinity between speculation and spirituality: an embrace of gaps in knowledge. Speculative Realisms’ rejection of both existential anthropocentrism and correlationism in favor of more empathetic, a-, pan-, or metacentric perspectives, allows for a flat ontology where all objects equally exist and allow us to describe how the spiritual exists outside of thought. This perspective allows us to derive the existence of the spiritual via the examination of interactions between material objects. By showing how all objects, whether material or abstract, have a spiritual aspect, this paper advocates for a holistic understanding of reality that recognizes the interconnectedness of all objects.

1. Introduction

Speculation, or engaging with “[the idea] that the world could be otherwise…is a profoundly hopeful way of thinking…that really helps keep [us] grounded when it all feels like a bit much…when the horrors get to [us]” (McGregor and Kosman 2024, at 19:44). Fictional speculation presents alternate realities that inspire or warn, often simultaneously. Philosophical speculation—i.e., musing on the nature of an object by intuiting connections between different areas of study and following the logical path those intuitions provide as an end unto itself—particularly Speculative Realism (SR), shares this hopefulness. To see how it does so, we must remind ourselves of the difference between philosophy and science. In short, philosophy is, as its etymology implies, the love of Wisdom, of Truth. Facts are the realm of science and do not bring us to Truth. They bring us to understanding. Science elucidates mechanisms but cannot address ultimate causes, a task reserved for religion. This distinction highlights the affinity between speculation and spirituality. Both embrace gaps in factual knowledge, valuing wonder, awe, and faith.

Graham Harman (2018b) summed up the similarities between (speculative) philosophy and spirituality by saying that they both rely on “hints, allusions, and innuendo in the manner of the arts” to provide us with hope, grounding, and comfort so we can deal with the world while leaving room for and embracing the gaps in individual and collective knowledge, (103). I do not take this to mean that speculation and spirituality are divorced from facts and proofs. Instead, they are informed by them but neither bound by them nor focused on generating more of them. In this vein, I speculate that a knowledge of the spiritual can be derived from observing the physical. Furthermore, I believe that the spiritual and material are co-constitutive. They each create the other, like in the riddle, “Which came first: the chicken or the egg?”

The connection between speculation and spirituality is key to this position. Science acknowledges gaps in factual understanding. It can even foster a fondness for them. However, science sees these gaps as something to be filled with more facts. In contrast, speculation and spirituality welcome gaps. They see them as sources of wonder, awe, and opportunities for faith. They also appreciate gaps qua—that is, to, for, and by—themselves. This appreciation is why philosophical speculation is just as hopeful as fictional speculation; there is a chance that it can one day be fulfilled in a way that science never can, i.e., speculation overcomes Gleiser’s (2014) island of knowledge paradox by embracing it for its own sake rather than seeing it as mere means to justify perpetual curiosity.

The difference between science and philosophy is seen easily through the example of Freud’s Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious. In this book, Freud scientifically dissected the linguistics and psychology of jokes so thoroughly that he removed the humor from them, inadvertently proving the adage “Explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog. You understand the joke, but the frog is dead.” Science requires the frog to be dead to study how it works—i.e., how each part functions as a member of a whole. Philosophy wants to keep the frog alive to see why it works—i.e., to determine what frog-ness allows a frog to frog. This desire is why Harman says, “Socrates knew nothing and was for this very reason a philosopher rather than a scientist” (Harman 2018b, p. 47 emphasis removed). This example also illuminates what Harman means when he speaks of hints, allusions, and innuendo. The “gap” or “surplus”—both in the sense that there is more than one meaning per utterance or that there is humor that arises out of the utterance—“[between meanings] in the joke is what makes us laugh” (Harman 2024, at 10:20). The surplus is lost if the joke is explained. The same, says Harman, is true of magic tricks, metaphor, threats, and most human communication to the point that “the modern idea that either we know something or we do not, we either can state something in clear prose terms or we can’t say anything about it, is something that runs counter to the very nature of philosophia,” which originated in arts such as fables and theatrical productions—e.g., Meno’s arrow, and Aristophanes’ Clouds (Harman 2024, at 12:08). Even now, we use the arts to express philosophical insights or as proofs, though now we tend to call them thought experiments or literary fiction. These philosophical considerations, particularly the embrace of epistemic gaps, necessitate a reevaluation of traditional metaphysical frameworks. To this end, I turn to Speculative Realism (SR), a contemporary philosophical movement that offers a radical departure from established norms and provides a promising lens through which to examine the relationship between the material and the spiritual.

2. Why Speculative Realism?

To understand why Speculative Realisms (SRs) provide the best framework for deriving knowledge of the spiritual from the physical, we must first examine their central point of departure: the rejection of correlationism. Correlationism, a term coined by Quentin Meillassoux, is the idea that we can only know the relationship between our thoughts and the world, never the world as it exists on its own (Meillassoux 2014, p. 5). It argues that thought and being are always linked, and we cannot separate them to understand either one independently. Correlation relies heavily on the Kantian notion of “an unbridgeable gap between appearances and the thing-in-itself, or between ‘phenomena’ and ‘noumena.’,” which “turns all questions of nature into questions of science as a type of human knowledge,” effectively abandoning ontology for epistemology (Harman 2018b, pp. 54, 60). In short, correlationism is the stance that because we only have access to signifiers, we should ignore the signified, much the way many materialists say we can ignore the spiritual because we have no direct access to it.

Correlationism focuses on the limits of human knowledge. This concept is deeply rooted in historical metaphysical structures, such as the Scala Naturae, also called the Great Chain of Being (GCB). The GCB reflects a theocentric ontology. It also reflects an inherently anthropocentric epistemology. However, under Kant, ontology has been overthrown in favor of epistemology, as he advocates to account only for the existence of what can be known—i.e., the signifier. Therefore only the epistemological significance survived the shift into the modern age. Originating with Plotinus, the GCB arranges existence hierarchically, from the divine to base matter (“Great” n.d.). Plotinus combined his Demiurge with Plato’s form of the Good and then plotted it at one end of a continuum, similar to how virtues are situated between vices in Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics. However, where Aristotle’s ethical continua have horizontal orientations, Plotinus arranged his metaphysical continuum vertically, describing his Demiurge as “perfect because it seeks for nothing, and possesses nothing, and has need of nothing; and being perfect, it overflows, and thus its superabundance”—or “surplus”—“produces an Other” (Plotinus, qt. Lovejoy [1936] 1960, p. 62; Harman 2024, at 29:49). The keyword here is “overflows,” implying that the goodness of the Demiurge runs down the continuum the way wealth was said to under Reaganomics. Thus, the generation of Many from One must continue downward. This overflow continues until all variations are exhausted. Furthermore, the goodness of the demiurge rarifies as it runs down the continuum. Thus, proximity to the Demiurge is equivalent to moral uprightness. The Catholic Church co-opted this metaphysical structure in the Middle Ages to illustrate their anthropocentric beliefs regarding humanity’s place in nature. They replaced the Demiurge with the Judeo-Christian God and arranged Creation below him in order of most to least spiritual: angels, humans, plants and animals, and minerals, respectively. The Church’s use of the GCB slightly diluted the ethical implications of the Scala Naturae, replacing moral uprightness with the capacity for it, allowing demons to remain above humanity as spiritual creatures, even though their status as fallen angels meant that they had turned their backs on their capacity for goodness.

Throughout the 17th–19th centuries, religion and science became disentangled. They were once simply part of understanding the world. However, the emergence of colonialism, globalization, and the Protestant Reformation required them to be understood separately. The material became the sole domain of science. The spiritual remained religion’s province. Like a mutual friend of divorcing spouses, philosophy toed the line between science and religion. It studies concepts that are too abstract for science. Yet, it does so without having to postulate deities or afterlives in the manner of religion. Thus, the GCB was severed.

Despite the divorce of science and religion, both halves of the GCB retained an inherent anthropocentrism. The medieval formulation was literally anthropocentric, placing humanity in the center of the ladder, with God and angels/demons above and non-human life and minerals below. Similarly, the post-split formulations continued to regard humanity as the pinnacle of existence. The Western religious perspective views humanity as God’s final masterpiece, while the scientific viewpoint positions humanity as the current apex species, thus implying a degree of authority over the rest of nature. Religion’s continued reliance on this model is to be expected. There is rarely new evidence in the field. Religious innovation usually comes from new readings of texts based on lived experience or formal academic methods. Science, however, has no excuse. In 1837, Darwin introduced the first phylogenetic model of biological life, challenging the hierarchical structure of the GCB (Gregory 2008, p. 121). Darwin’s theories collapsed the biological portions of the GCB. However, contemporary politics still relies heavily on the idea that “[everyone is] equal, but some…are more equal than others” and—via the relabeling of Darwin’s evolutionary trees into a “phylogenic scale”—science also preserves human exceptionalism within the animal kingdom and the animal kingdom’s dominance over the other four (Orwell [1945] 1946, p. 112; Marino 2014).

However, SRs challenge this anthropocentric hierarchy. They propose a flat ontology in which all objects “equally exist”—i.e., they are equally existent (Bogost 2012, p. 11). This means that “rather than tracing all beings back to an ‘ur-being’ as in the case of the vertical ontologies of ontotheology or humanism,” SRs “do not trace back and relate all beings to either God, humans, language, culture, or any of the other princes anti-realist thought and idealism has sought to ground being in.” Instead, they hold that “to be is a simple binary. Something either is or is not. If something makes a difference, then it exists, full stop” (Bryant 2011b, p. 268). For the Speculative Realist, existence is a toggle switch. Either an object exists or it does not. The only differences are in how it exists and what other objects constitute it. This understanding makes SRs the best tool for the reintegration of the scientific and spiritual understandings of the universe because removing this core tenant of metaphysics allows us to rebuild from square one, reorienting ourselves away from anthropocentrism and making room for modes of being previously ignored.

Further, without the idea of “higher” or “lower” beings, there is no longer room for egotism in metaphysics. Why should humans be remarkable, either as the only beings with both physical and spiritual existence or as the current apex species?1 There is no reason to assume we are except for our exaggerated sense of self-worth as a species, removing a paradox within the current structure of science. In this sense, anthropocentrism is an emotional factor without bearing on data measurements outside the human psyche or society.

Science loves objectivity. Nevertheless, science holds onto the egotistical idea that humans somehow exist as more or better than other objects. By humbling ourselves ontologically, by “right-sizing” the magnitude of our existence between anthropocentrism’s narcissistically arrogant position and an equally problematic position of self-deprecating servility, we leave room for the idea not that there might be an object greater than ourselves but that no object is more significant than any other and that ontological kinds differ only in the mode of existence or the power over the environment (Zoltan and Potts 2022b, at 4:20–5:13). We can still map those differences—whether between people, societies, rocks, galaxies, economic systems, or fictional characters, as well as compare each of these objects to the others—with x being the mode(s) of an object’s existence and y being the quantification of its power over its environment on a Cartesian plane. However, without using an unnecessary z measurement based on overinflated ethical or ontological self-worth, we can do so with more care and empathy than ever before. In this way, we can, as Jane Bennett says, “live [and thereby study, think, reason, and measure] as earth” as humus (Zoltan and Potts 2022a, at 30:48; Bennett 2010, p. 111). Thus, SRs help us further the objectivity of metaphysics and the sciences and allow us to consider ideas that were previously threatening to our egos, such as the existence of spiritual objects.

3. Descriptions and Definitions

Having established Speculative Realism as my framework for inquiry, it is crucial to clarify the core concepts that underpin this philosophical approach. Specifically, I must describe the diverse positions within SR itself and define object and spiritual, which are central to our argument and frequently subject to varied interpretations.

3.1. Speculative Realisms

SRs are not monolithic. SR writ large is a loose allegiance of philosophical positions, grouped initially via a workshop at Goldsmiths, University of London, in 2007 featuring Ray Brassier, Iain Hamilton Grant, Graham Harman, and Quinten Meillassoux. At this time, they all had “a willingness to re-interrogate or to open up a whole set of philosophical problems that were taken to have been definitively settled by Kant, certainly, at least, by those working in the continental tradition” (Brassier et al. 2007, p. 308).

Since then, many philosophers have been deemed Speculative Realists, including Ian Bogost, Levi Bryant, Steven Shaviro, Jane Bennett, and others, while some—e.g., Brassier—have washed their hands of it (Brassier 2011). Graham Harman “mourn[s] the loss of the umbrella term ‘speculative realism’” but holds that because they are “no longer reduced to alliance under a single banner, the speculative realists now have a chance to wage friendly and futuristic warfare against one another” (Harman 2011, p. 21). There are—despite this contention—three core aspects that all SRs share: first, all SRs are realisms in that they are “committed to the existence of a world independent of the human mind;” second, they are all speculative because “unlike the commonsensical realisms of yesteryear, [they] reach conclusions that seem counterintuitive or even downright strange;” third, they all reject correlationism, which gives minds—particularly humans’—the sole privilege of constructing the only meaningful reality (Harman 2018b, pp. 3–5). This final rejection brings to mind Berkeley’s maxim esse is percipi—“being is to be perceived;” Berkeley took this to mean that there is no thing-in-itself, only thought (Berkeley [1710] 2014, p. 30). Correlationists hold that we can only know three facts about the thing-in-itself, per Kant: “the thing-in-itself exists, that the thing-in-itself is thinkable as non-contradictory…[and] that the thing-in-itself is not identical to the space-time phenomenon,” and thus, the thing-in-itself warrants no further study as we already know all we can of it (Brassier et al. 2007, p. 448).

Rather than fall in line behind either Berkeley or Kant, Speculative Realists hold—some more explicitly than others—that there is a difference between the Real and the Sensual. In the context of Speculative Realism, the Real refers to that which exists independently of our minds and perceptions. It is the world as it is in itself, not as it appears to us. The Real contrasts with the Sensible, which is our subjective experience and perception of the world or how objects appear to us. Speculative Realists argue that philosophy should strive to understand the Real and that the Sensible is a barrier to understanding the Real, as our individual perspectives and limitations influence it.

Because SRs are anti-correlationist, they also push back against the primacy of the anthropocentric and hierarchical (human) subject/object model, favoring pan-, a-, or metacentric, democratic object/object relationships between any two interactants. This is not to say that Speculative Realists wish to remove the subject/object relationship. Instead, they want to democratize it. Doing so would require two acknowledgments. First, that objecthood has primacy over subjectivity. All subjects are objects. Second, humans are not the sole, or even standard, model of subjective objects. Thus, they advocate for a “flat ontology,” which rejects the idea that some beings have greater existential importance than others. They avoid any system that puts any one type of entity—like humans—at the top. Instead, they propose that all objects “equally exist, but do not exist equally” such that “the funeral pyre is not the same as the aardvark; the porcelatta is not equivalent to the rubgy ball. Not only are neither pair reducible to human encounter, but also neither are reducible to one another.” (Bogost 2012, p. 11; 2010). This is to say that each object is a unique combination of components and capabilities but none is existentially greater than any other object. This position, as a matter of course, also applies to the powers associated with the experience of subjectivity.

Further, Speculative Realists hold that because Kant “defines the horizon of contemporary philosophy,” i.e., all contemporary philosophy is post-Kantian “not merely in the historical sense of succeeding Kant, but philosophically, in that it is defined by the coordinates set by Kant for philosophical activity,” Kantianism “must be overcome if a new era of philosophy is to emerge” (Harman 2018b, p. 60; Grant 2006, p. 9). Thus, some Speculative Realists challenge the dominance of critique and in contemporary philosophy, advocating for a return to being “first philosophers”—i.e., undertaking an inquiry into the nature of being as compared to merely commenting or critiquing other philosopher’s stances (Bryant 2011b, p. 262).

Despite these core agreements, the Speculative Realist movement encompasses a wide array of philosophical perspectives. Indeed, the diversity of thought within SR is so significant that, as Harman notes, “not a single philosophical hero [was] shared by the group as a whole” at the initial Goldsmiths workshop (Harman 2018b, pp. 4–5). To illustrate this diversity and set the stage for the subsequent discussion, let us examine the individual stances of some of its originating figures, including Brassier’s Transcendental Nihilism—also called Prometheanism, Grant’s Transcendental Materialism—known at the time of the Goldsmith’s workshop as Vitalism Idealsim, Harman’s Object Oriented Ontology (OOO)—called Object-Oriented Philosophy at Goldsmith’s, and Meillassoux’s Speculative Materialism. I will also summarize Bennet’s Vital Materialism as it is relevant to this paper. Finally, I will bring the explanation of SR to a point by summarizing my views—tentatively named Sacred Realism.

3.1.1. Transcendental Nihilism and Prometheanism

Although he was the first to speak at the Goldsmiths workshop, Ray Brassier now denigrates SR, calling it “actor-network theory spiced with pan-psychist metaphysics and morsels of process philosophy” and saying that those who support SRs are trying to “concoct a philosophical movement online by using blogs to exploit the misguided enthusiasm of impressionable graduate students” (Brassier 2011). However, Brassier’s position remains similar to other SRs in that it critiques correlationism (Goddard 2016, p. 61). He draws on eliminative materialism to argue that correlationist positions are a flawed and limited understanding of reality (Goddard 2016, p. 60). Actual confrontation with the Real necessitates a move beyond these limitations, even if it leads to the dissolution of the human-centered perspective.

Brassier’s position hinges on the idea that science can access the radically imminent Real, which he understands as a void or nothingness. He argues that “the only non-dogmatic position is able to recognize the extra conceptual difference between objects and concepts” within scientific representation, which also forms the basis for such a representation (Bryant et al. 2011, p. 9). He does not mean that the Real is ineffable, because he says to be so would separate it from philosophy, but rather that it is “inexhaustibly effable as what determines its effability,” meaning “it is not a matter of concepts determining the Real, but of the Real determining the concepts appropriate to it” paralleling the idea that piety is pious because it is what pleases the gods (Harman 2011, 167n17). He also holds that philosophy is the “organon of extinction” because the condition of life is that it gets extinguished (Brassier 2007, p. 239). Thus, Thought is conjoined with Non-Being rather than Being, a radical challenge to traditional philosophical anthropocentrism. Grounded in the idea that “Nihilism is not…a pathological exacerbation of subjectivism,” but “the unavoidable corollary of the realist conviction that there is a mind-independent reality,” Brassier advocates for a stark confrontation with a meaningless, indifferent universe and a re-evaluation of humanity’s place within it (Brassier 2007, p. xi). To Brassier, nihilism is not a lamentation of lost meaning but an emancipative “speculative opportunity” brought about by “the truth of extinction“(ibid). Recognizing a mind-independent reality—in the manner of Laruelle, who claims that “the Real precedes thought—in particular, philosophical thought—and is indifferent” to human concerns and values—allows for radicalizing the Enlightenment project (Brassier et al. 2007, p. 418). It calls for a thought that extends beyond human self-pity and confronts the “disjunction between thought and reality” (Thacker 2009, p. 459), even to the point of considering the “death of thinking” (Goddard 2016, p. 62).

Prometheanism is the claim that “there is no reason to assume a predetermined limit to what we can achieve or to the ways in which we can transform ourselves and our world” (Brassier 2019, p. 470). It calls for limitless human self-transformation through science and technology. This philosophy advocates for “subjectivism without selfhood,” where the pursuit of knowledge and transformation supersedes traditional notions of the self (Brassier 2019, p. 471). It is a transgressive philosophy that seeks to challenge the boundaries between the human and the natural world as Prometheus transgressed the boundaries of Olympus and the mortal realm when he brought fire to humanity. Brassier’s Prometheanism is not a naive optimism about technology but a call toward the radical reorientation of human agency. It is a vision of humanity not as passive recipients of meaning but as active creators of their own destiny because, within a universe that does not care about humanity, we can make our destinies whatever we want them to be.

Brassier’s philosophies are primarily concerned with the natures of philosophy and thought, and they “aim[] at eliminating anything that might falsely make us feel at home in the world…[but] takes the destruction of meaning as a positive result” (Bryant et al. 2011, p. 7) to offer a stark and challenging vision of humanity’s place in the universe. He calls for a radical rethinking of philosophical thought, away from anthropocentric concerns and towards a “realist” confrontation with the indifferent universe. He embraces both the nihilistic implications of this reality and the Promethean potential for human self-overcoming through science and reason. Thus, Brassier confronts the most unsettling aspects of existence—i.e., the facts that eventually existence itself will end, i.e., “Freud’s theory of thanatropic regression must be reinscribed on a cosmic level so that not only the organic dissolves in the inorganic but also the inorganic gains a dissipative or loosening tendency” in such a way that it too will die, and that all non-human aspects of the universe are indifferent to humanity—head-on, offering a vision of both the limits and the possibilities of human thought and action in a meaningless universe (Negarestani 2011, p. 188).

3.1.2. Transcendental Materialism

Another founding perspective within SR is Ian Hamilton Grant’s Transcendental Materialism—called Vital Idealism at the time of the Goldsmiths workshop—which centers on a reinterpretation of Schelling’s nature philosophy, emphasizing nature’s dynamic and autonomous character. Grant’s views are neither an idealism in the usual sense, stating instead that ideas have a role in the “productive power of nature“—in which “nature is not a basis to which everything must be reduced but a basis from which everything is produced,” nor a traditional materialism, in that it rails against Aristotelian Matter in favor of a unique reading of Platonic Matter, arguing that we should stop attempting to overturn Plato but rather turn our attention toward undoing Kant (Harman 2018b, pp. 5, 56 emphasis removed; Lawrence 2007; McWherter 2007, p. 49).

Grant’s position tapdances on the edge of scientism by claiming that “thought is produced by the world,” while differentiating itself from traditional idealisms, materialisms, and scientism by holding that “we [must] accept that there’s something prior to thinking, and that there are several layers of dependency amongst what is prior to thinking...an entire complex series of events” and that we cannot “draw direct causal links between the sub-cognitive processes of nature and their outcomes on the level of thought” “because the conditions that support the event that’s produced also support the production of other events” (Harman 2018b, p. 55 emphasis removed; Brassier et al. 2007, p. 334). This notion of causality tends toward the Deluzean “virtual” rather than the “mechanistic and linear” understanding of causality preferred by most naturalists (Harman 2018b, p. 55).

For Grant, “being is simply power,” and nature is a self-organizing, productive, impersonal force, irreducible to individual objects or entities, but is instead an underlying principle of becoming (Grant 2006, p. 28 emphasis removed; McWherter 2007, p. 49; Lawrence 2007). This force is “retarded or blocked in its flow, thereby giving rise to what we think of as individual objects [including the human object],” and “the genesis of objects necessarily occurs outside them, in a realm of productivity irreducible to fully constituted objects” (Harman 2018b, p. 65; Bryant et al. 2011, p. 9 emphasis removed). Thus, for Grant, two forces create the world: “[the] first force is the ‘principle of all motion,’ while the second or negative force retards the first, [and] their necessary union slows infinite becoming to the point of phenomenal production” (Grant 2006, p. 142). In this way, Grant stands against what he calls “somatism“—i.e., the view that nature can be fully understood by examining the individual physical bodies and their actions, or “treating nature as a sum of actions of individual bodies,” especially Heidegger’s formulation of nature as “beings as a whole” and Kant’s “sum total of all things” (Harman 2018b, p. 63; Grant 2006, p. 7). To illustrate, Grant suggests that a volcano is not merely a physical object but a dynamic “force to be reckoned with” (Shaviro 2011, p. 284).

Grant’s perspective challenges the prevailing Kantian paradigm and its prioritization of human experience and practical reason (McWherter 2007, p. 49). Grant also criticizes Kantianism for its emphasis on human subjectivity and its limitations on understanding the natural world (Lawrence 2007; McWherter 2007, pp. 50–51). He argues that correlationism restricts the conceptual possibilities for a genuine philosophy of nature, advocating instead for the independence and autonomy of nature, drawing on Plato’s “indeterminate dyad” and Schelling’s “unconditioned I” to assert that it possesses a history and a dynamism that extend far beyond human comprehension or control. Grant’s philosophy is characterized by a “material vitalism” that challenges the traditional dualism between matter and life, i.e., that matter itself possesses a vitality and dynamism that are irreducible to mechanistic explanations (Lawrence 2007).

For Grant, philosophy amounts to “a natural history of our minds” and has significant implications for understanding the relationship between humanity and the natural world (Grant 2006, p. 104). It offers a compelling alternative to traditional post-Kantian philosophy. By emphasizing nature’s autonomy and dynamism, he calls for rethinking our anthropocentric relationship with nature and recognizing its value and power qua itself. His emphasis on nature’s character challenges correlationism and calls for rethinking our relationship with the natural world.

3.1.3. Object-Oriented Ontology

OOO is the most widely studied SR. Therefore, I will focus on the main points of OOO as a whole rather than specifically on the views of Graham Harman or any other object-oriented philosopher, such as Ian Bogost or Levi Bryant. OOO—called Object-Oriented Philosophy at the Goldsmiths workshop—is a prominent form of Speculative Realism. It asserts that all objects, whether living beings, inanimate objects, or even abstract concepts, equally exist. As Ian Bogost explains, OOO suggests that “nothing has special status” and that every object—from plumbers to sandstone—exists on an even playing field (Bogost 2009).

OOO prioritizes aesthetic experience as a primary mode of cognition (Harman 2018b, p. 91). This priority on aesthetics is evidenced through the Ontic Principle, which asserts that beings exist through their differences. This principle underscores existence’s inherent multiplicity and diversity, rejecting any reduction to a single foundational principle (Bryant 2011b, p. 264). From the Ontic Principle comes the Principle of the Inhuman, which emphasizes the significance of non-human entities and forces in shaping reality, thereby challenging anthropocentric biases by “underlin[ing] the point that humans are beings among the swarm of differences and hold no special or privileged place with respect to these differences” rather than attempting to remove or demolish the subject in the manner of anti-humanist perspectives (Bryant 2011b, p. 267). Consequently, OOO proposes a “flat ontology,” wherein all entities, irrespective of scale or complexity, possess equal ontological status—i.e., they “equally exist, but do not exist equally” or, in other words, “Being is composed of nothing but singular individuals, existing at different levels of scale but nonetheless equally having the status of being real” (Bogost 2009, 2010).

Thus, OOO suggests a “weird realism” (Harman 2018b, p. 92). This highlights reality’s inherent strangeness and elusiveness. Harman argues that true realism must acknowledge this strangeness. It should not capitulate to common sense or scientific reductionism. OOO’s framework of undermining—reducing an object to components, overmining—reducing an object to effects, and duomining—under- and overmining at the same time—further elucidates the limitations of both theory and practice in fully capturing the depth of objects (Harman 2011, pp. 24–25). This perspective challenges Heidegger’s tool analysis, asserting that objects transcend their relations to human beings (Brassier et al. 2007, pp. 369, 371; Harman 2018b, pp. 93–94).

Harman’s model distinguishes between Real Objects (ROs), which “are not directly accessible to thought, perception, practical use, or even causal relation”, and Sensual Objects (SOs), which “exist only for some entity, human or otherwise,” as well as Real Qualities (RQs) and Sensual Qualities (SQs), which share a similar distinction (Harman 2019). ROs interact with each other through SOs, which act as intermediaries or “sensual vicars” between RO, in the style of Islamic occasionalists (Harman 2012, p. 201). Thus, objects combine in the following configurations: SO—SQ, RO—SQ, RO—RQ, and SO—RQ with each combination having particular phenomenological, epistemological, and ontological effects (Harman 2018b, p. 97). Thus, OOO posits an a priori metaphysics in which only objects are present.

When pool balls collide, says Harman (2018b), “the collision of these balls is really a question of both balls interacting only with the most superficial features of each other” (p. 95). Those “superficial features” are the material aspect of the balls made sensible via their material qualities—the SOs evidenced by their SQ. Materiality is the “sensual vicar” between the immaterial aspects of the balls, for the entire ball—rather than just its physical aspect—moves when struck by another (Harman 2012, p. 201). In other words, the Sensual balls are made of matter; the Real ones are not. Thus, OOO is “the first materialism to deny the existence of matter” (Harman 2002, p. 293 emphasis removed).

Thus OOO is an immaterialism. However, OOO does not hold that matter—i.e., that which gives physical objects their materiality—does not exist. Such a position would be throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Instead, OOO rejects “the formless ‘prime matter’ thought by some to exist prior to any individual objects” and “the ‘pre-individual’ realm” (Harman 2024). In other words, “What is real in the cosmos are [withdrawn] forms wrapped inside of forms, not durable specks of material that reduce everything else to derivative status” (Harman 2002, pp. 171, 293). There are only objects, and when objects combine, they create new objects in the manner of Aristotelian substance (Harman 2009, p. 211). This denial of matter as the sole basis for the existence of objects allows OOO to recognize abstract objects—e.g., capitalism and the number two—and fictional beings—e.g., Santa Claus and Scooby-Doo—as Real.

OOO also includes Bryant’s use of DeLandean “phase space,” defined as “the variety of states an object occupies at the level of its actualized qualities or properties,” such as how a pendulum swings across an arc but can only exist at any one position along the arc at a time (Bryant 2011a, pp. 114, 89). Every object has the power to move between the phases of its phase space—i.e., the local manifestations—given certain relationships to other objects. Bryant, for instance refers to shining different lights on his mug to allow it to exercise its “coloring power” and display different local manifestations of color (2011, pp. 89–90). This model, says Bryant, shows how the “virtual proper being”—his counterpart to Harman’s RO—does, rather than has, different properties (2011, pp. 87–88).2

OOO’s emphasis on aesthetic experience and weird realism distinguishes it from other SRs. By advocating for the equal ontological status of all entities and acknowledging reality’s inherent strangeness via the Ontic Principle, the Principle of the Inhuman, an immaterialist tendency, and vicarious causation, OOO provides a framework for understanding the complex interplay of objects and their relations. While OOO may be seen as “weird” or counterintuitive, its commitment to exploring the depths of reality beyond human perception aligns with the overarching goals of SRs.

3.1.4. Speculative Materialism

Quentin Meillassoux’s Speculative Materialism is unique among Speculative Realisms. While he introduced the term correlationism—the idea that we can only know the relationship between thought and being—he also acknowledges its strength (Harman 2018b, p. 124). Meillassoux recognizes the “circle” of correlationism, which argues that we cannot think of an object outside thought without, in the very act of thinking, making it a thought (Brassier et al. 2007, p. 413). The correlationist circle primarily rests on performative contradiction, which argues that claiming access to a mind-independent reality is self-contradictory, as the claim itself is a thought, leaving only a “logic of secession,” where correlationism is impenetrable and arguments for a “rich elsewhere” are dismissed as sub-philosophical (Brassier et al. 2007, pp. 422, 423, 446–447). Meillassoux aims to radicalize correlationism from within, accepting the correlationist circle but rejecting its anti-absolutist stance (Harman 2018b, 124; Brassier et al. 2007, p. 427).

Meillassoux outlines a spectrum of philosophical positions on realism and anti-realism, ranging from naive realism—the belief that the world exists exactly as we perceive it—to subjective idealism—the position that reality exists only in our minds (Harman 2018a, p. 15). He identifies his view as strong correlationism, which posits that while the concept of a mind-independent “thing-in-itself” is meaningless, such objects could still exist (ibid). Meillassoux argues that correlationism’s weakness lies in its opposition to both realist and idealist absolutisms (Brassier et al. 2007, p. 428). While effectively countering realist claims of a mind-independent reality using the “circle of correlation” argument, correlationism struggles against idealist positions (ibid). Idealists, like subjectivists, argue that correlation is absolute, rendering a mind-independent reality nonsensical. This challenge highlights a potential contradiction within correlationism: to reject absolutism absolutely would align with idealism, while a non-absolute rejection would validate realism (ibid).

Meillassoux strengthens this position by positing that ontology is mathematical. Doing so allows him to make two moves. First, he revives the Cartesian distinction between primary and secondary qualities, arguing that an object’s primary qualities can be expressed mathematically (Meillassoux 2014, p. 1; Harman 2018a, p. 8). Unlike secondary qualities, primary qualities are independent of human perception and would persist even if all humans were to vanish. This position aligns with Meillassoux’s strong correlationist position and gives some evidence to the idea that there is an existence outside of the correlative that can be comprehended. Second, he leverages Cantor’s transfinite mathematics, which proves the existence of different sizes of infinity, to counter probabilistic arguments that assume stable natural laws must have a hidden reason (Harman 2018a, p. 20).

Meillasoux’s formulation of the correlationist circle forms the basis for all SRs, though his admiration for the argument and insistence that mathematics is a basis for ontology make his position unique. While his argument that correlationism must collapse from within because it is absolutely anti-absolutist—i.e., it is against both idealism and materialism—is strong, most other Speculative Realists disagree with his argument.

3.1.5. Vital Materialism

Jane Bennett’s Vital Materialism differs from other SRs. She emphasizes “thing-power”—the agency and force of objects—rather than focusing on the thing-in-itself (Bennett 2004, p. 2012). While Bennett’s approach is materialistic, it is also a form of realism, and as Meillassoux shows, being a Speculative Realist does not require rejecting materialism. Additionally, Levi Bryant includes Bennett among the “heroes of OOO and onticology,” and she and Harman have interacted with each other’s works (Bryant 2011a, p. 27; Bennett 2012). Most importantly, though Vital Materialism reaches its conclusions through unique means, it aligns with SRs by working against Kantian correlationism and recognizing that nonhuman existence extends beyond phenomena.

Bennett’s goal is to question not only subjective idealisms but also naturalistic materialisms by articulating a vibrant materiality that exists alongside and within humans through a political lens to see how the way we treat objects might change if we gave more consideration to the existential force and agency of nonhuman objects (Gratton 2010, p. 159). She does so differently from McKibben—who holds that nature’s meaning lies in its independence from humans—and deep ecology—which sees humanity only as a part of nature (Dobson 2011, p. 439). Her views tend closer to deep ecology, but she sees nature as “neither a smooth harmony of parts nor a diversity unified by common spirit” (Bennett 2010, p. xi). Instead, she modifies Thoreau’s “wild” to incorporate “thing-power,” drawing on Deleuze’s “assemblage” (Bennett 2004, p. 348).

Bennett’s Vital Materialism finds common ground with Latour’s Actor-Network Theory, where both humans and non-humans are considered actants with the ability to produce effects and alter events (Bennett 2010). She highlights this with the example of worms, which she describes as political beings that “make history” by creating fertile soil, thus creating “an earth hospitable to humans” (Bennett 2010, p. 95; Dobson 2011, p. 440). To avoid a critique for this anthropocentric example, she employs John Dewey’s “public“—i.e., “a set of bodies affected by a common problem generated by a pulsing swarm of activities,” stating that all objects are equally members of a shared public (Bennett 2010, p. 101).

Bennett uses Spinoza’s concept of conatus, which is the inherent drive or tendency of every object to continue existing. She describes it as “the trending tendency” or the “virtue” by which any object strives to persist (Bennett 2010, p. 2). This idea suggests that all objects share this fundamental drive, making them equal in this respect and expanding membership in a public to all objects. She also introduces shi, which refers to the overall “mood” or “style” of a changing, interconnected system where every object influences and alters every other object. (Bennett 2010, p. 35). In this way, conatus and shi leave the way open for “an animal, plant, mineral, or arifact” to “catalyze a public” and redefines public as an assemblage of conative members, challenging the anthropocentricity and correlationist tendencies found in most contemporary philosophies (Bennett qt. Dobson 2011, p. 440).

3.1.6. Sacred Realism

Having explored the diverse landscape of Speculative Realism, including its various branches and key thinkers, it is important to introduce my own perspective within this framework. Sacred Realism is primarily—though not exclusively—influenced by OOO. Like other object-oriented philosophers, I hold that existence is neither constrained to material objects nor reducible to either components or functions. I am also in specific agreement with proponents of OOO that only objects exist and that abstractions, including—as will be discussed later—the relationships between objects, exist as objects. Further, I agree with Bogost that every object “exists equally”—i.e., existence works like a toggle switch, either on or off, there or not—regardless of its genus, even though their manner of existence and the amount of power each object has over itself and other objects vary (2012, p. 11). In this way, I—like other Speculative Realists—ascribe to a flat ontology. My main point of disagreement on this matter is with Bryant’s statement: “there is no being to which all other beings are necessarily related,” a statement that replaces anthropocentrism with an acentric perspective (2011b, 268). Instead, I advocate for a pan- or metacentric model in which all objects are necessarily related to all other objects, though some relations are indirect. This is where the “sacred” of Sacred Realism originates: hierarchical ontologies regularly posit a sacred being or set of such beings to which all others are related, I hold that ontology can be mapped with any object taking on this role, and thus, all objects are sacred.3

I, like Grant, am against somatism, but I am for recognizing the universe as the ultimate compound object—a monad in the Pythagorean sense. I can make this distinction based on Grant’s definition of somatism as the belief that nature is the combined actions of all bodies, “beings as a whole,” and the “sum total of all things” (Grant 2006, p. 7). Meanwhile, I hold that the universe—a material object—is a compound object comprised of all other objects—a stance I will discuss at length in the sections on divinity and the four-dimensional model of the universe—and that nature is an abstract, correlationist concept defined as “the universe aside from humanity” per the natural/artificial split. Further, I hold that there is more to any compound object than its components—i.e., all objects are more than the sum of their parts, and thus, the universe is more than beings as a whole or the sum total of all things. This formulation of a monadic universe can be misconstrued as viewing the Real as an “unarticulated and immediately discernible One, which OOO obviously cannot endorse” (Harman 2018b, p. 129). However, it would be more accurate to say that the Real is inarticulable and that the One-ness of it is discernable, not immediately, but rather upon close inspection in—as I will describe later—four dimensions rather than three.

Regarding the interaction of objects, Harman does an excellent job describing how SO and RO interact on the material plane with his example of the pool balls. However, I have two issues with his position. First, I believe that his ROs and SOs are not separate; they are aspects of the same object. The RO is the object as it exists independently, while the SO is how the object appears to us. The SO acts as a “sign” that points to the RO but does not fully reveal it, similar to how a signifier points to but does not fully capture the signified in Saussure’s linguistic theory. An example of the implications of this model is that if someone punches me in the face, they punch me. Also, if I lose a limb, I do not lose some of my essence, but my essence is affected. This example exposes a weird, but important point. On a sociopolitical level this stance avoids problematic issues surrounding disability. As I will discuss later, the essence of an object—its conatus—is countably infinite. When you remove members of a countably infinite set, the set remains countably infinite. The set of all positive integers is a standard example of a countably infinite set; every member of the set corresponds to a positive integer because they are each a different positive integer. However, the set of all positive even integers is also countably infinite, despite the fact that no odd integers are members of the set. If I lose a limb, the set of objects that comprise my body loses members, yet remains countably infinite.

My second issue with Harmon’s position on ROs and SOs is that he has yet to describe the sensual vicar and the superficial features of abstract—i.e., immaterial—objects. Thus, I will say that, for abstract objects, minds—which should be understood as any thinking object, not just humans, and concepts—i.e., the incomplete recreations of abstract objects within those minds—play the role of abstract vicars—a point I explain in more detail in the section on defining and describing the spiritual. While it would be correlationist to say that objects are brought into being by a mind, saying that abstract objects are made to interact via one is no more correlationist than it would be to say that one pool ball moves because the material aspect of another hits it. Minds can manipulate abstract objects as evidenced by my ability to use that capability to write this paper. Indeed, this paper—nor any other—could not have been written unless minds had that capability. Thus, we can say that concepts are the sensual aspects of abstract objects.

A final point on Harmanian ROs and SOs and their counterparts in Sacred Realism: ROs are necessarily abstract—as will be discussed in the next section—and thus intangible and transcendent of materiality. They present aspects of themselves via “sensual vicars,” and therefore, they have a level of immanence. Further, by constantly withdrawing, they make themselves inexhaustible. That inexhaustibility includes defying complete definition or explanation, meaning they are ineffable. These five traits, intangibility, transcendence, immanence, inexhaustibility, and ineffability—which I will collectively refer to as Divinity—are the primary traits of spirits across traditions. Therefore, I hold that ROs are spirits, regardless of whether their SOs are either material bodies or abstract concepts. And the spiritual refers to that which has to do with ROs.

Like Brassier and Meillassoux, I value scientific knowledge and mathematical reasoning. However, I believe that philosophy—as an object-oriented broadening of Grant’s views—must address both the material and the abstract. The physical sciences excel at describing the material aspects of objects. The social sciences effectively describe the mental aspects. Mathematics provides excellent descriptions of the behaviors and relationships between objects. However, contrary to Meillasoux and Grant, none of these can provide us with a complete picture of the identity of an object, especially when it comes down to multiple instances of identical objects, as mathematics and both the social and physical sciences continually fall prey to over-, under-, and duomining. This disagreement, of course, does not stop me from drawing on mathematics or sciences. Rather, I simply do not call on them as final arbiters of existence.

I believe, like Bennett, that—expanding again on Grant’s ontology—not only the universe writ large but each object within it has an experience qua itself, though—in the manner of OOO—I disagree that affectivity arises from materiality. After all, as I will discuss further, completely abstract objects, such as capitalism, massively affect other objects across the material and abstract modes. From this idea of affectivity without materiality, I derive the existence of the spiritual and, from there, the sacredness of individual objects and the universe.

3.2. Object

Having explored the various perspectives within Speculative Realism, it is now necessary to define one of its core concepts: the object. After all, what is often meant by object has become so commonsensical that it can be hard to put into words. First, I will draw on OOO, which holds—as stated above—an a priori metaphysics in which only objects are present. This position is contrary to those who believe there is a difference between a thing and an object—e.g., Kristie Miller (2008) states, “things are ontologically innocent, objects are not,” “there exists a thing iff either there exists a simple particular [in the Russellian sense], or there exists a fusion of some simple particulars,” whereas “there exists an object if…there exists something that is posited by our folk ontology or best science,” in this way, (quoted in McLaughlin 2023, 34n1). A thing “remains ill-defined until we discern what it does, that is until we grasp its relationship to the milieu in which it exists. At that point, we can say, ‘this thing is a glove, or an umbrella, or a tree,’ and it becomes an object with a world…A thing is an object waiting to happen” (Morgan 2011, p. 254). A thing’s innocence arises from its unrecognizability, while an object is recognizable.

Miller’s definition strongly favors correlationism because the basis for the endowment of objecthood on a thing is its relation to a mind, as minds are necessary for creating an ontology or science. According to her, we can only ever say that a thing is recognized or unrecognized by a subject. As humans, it is easy to anthropocentrically conflate recognizability with being recognized by us. After all, if a tree falls in the forest and there is no one there to hear it, the sound waves still vibrate the air, stirring the branches of the surrounding trees. Further, it is possible for a “thing” to be recognizable—and thus to confer objecthood—to itself; thus, it is an object qua itself despite its dubious objecthood from an anthropocentric perspective. Therefore, it is impossible to be “ontologically innocent.” In this way, every thing is an object qua itself, and when an object is shifted from thingness into objecthood, it does not change. Instead, the observer and their ontological understanding of the object change. A change in understanding is not congruent to a change in the world. The world qua itself remains as it was. Thus, the difference between object and thing is subjective. That is not to say that the distinction is not helpful. Seeing what one object refers to as an object and what they refers to as a thing reveals ontological biases, such as anthropocentrism.

So, if the difference between thing and object only serves to reveal these biases, what of the difference between an entity and an object? In common usage, entity serves to mean some object with subjectivity of an unrecognized kind—i.e., beings beyond our understanding, because of either supernatural or scientific ignorance. For instance, in Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG), the crew of the Enterprise visits a planet wiped clean of all biological matter.4 Later, they find out that a being they call the Crystalline Entity is responsible. Why do they call it an entity? Why not an anomaly or being? It is because the characters recognize it as subjective but do not understand its subjectivity. It can plan and negotiate, but the nature of that subjectivity is beyond comprehension (Lewin et al. 1988).

Another episode of TNG provides an example of the entire hierarchical spectrum from thing to entity. In this episode, the Enterprise crew sees the Crystalline Entity just before it attacks. The following occurs:

Across the darkened sky a white spot
of something is approaching—at an incredible speed:
3 RIKER AND OTHERS
	stare at the object... Riker’s face suddenly shows an
	awful recognition, a terrible disbelief…
				RIKER
			We’ve seen it before—we know
			what it is. Now get moving!
She stares at him, then turns and starts running.
STAR TREK: “Silicon Avatar”—REV. 8/2/91—TEASER 4A.
4 ON THE SKY (OPTICAL)
	from Riker’s POV the approaching object has taken
	form... a huge crystal form descending toward the
	planet... a vast shimmering, faceted shape... ominous
	in its cold beauty. The Crystalline Entity advances
	on the outpost. (Conley et al. 1991, emphasis added)

We start with a “something,” which eventually is recognized as an “object,” which in turn, when “stare[ed] at” becomes recognized—“We’ve seen it before”—as an “entity.” So, like the object/thing distinction, differentiating an object from an entity is a matter of recognition. In this hierarchy of recognition, the observer either demeans an object—thing—or ennobles it—entity—in the manner of the GCB, but what is observed is always an object.

The Twilight Zone’s “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” provides a complementary example. In the episode, aerophobic Bob Wilson sees a gremlin tampering with the wing of the plane. The gremlin has apparent subjectivity yet is portrayed as animalistic, somehow less than humanity, and conquerable, as the episode ends with physical proof of the being’s existence—damage to the airplane’s wing. These facts are emphasized by Bob Wilson only referring to the gremlin as a “thing” (Matheson et al. 1963). The Crystalline Entity is rhetorically portrayed as greater than us, with the gremlin—a thing—as lesser. Each term is connotatively related to the relationship between it and the observing (human) subject. Object, then, is a hierarchically neutral term denoting any thing or entity within an ontology. Any completely flat ontology will recognize all objects qua themselves without demeaning or ennobling any object above others.

Thus, object means a “non-totalizable [i.e., inexhaustible] sum” that “cannot be paraphrased in terms of either its components or effects” and has “a distinct history of formation [and] a finite span” without regard for “mental and non-mental zones,“ such that all instances are ontologically equal with all others—i.e., abstract objects, such as Santa Claus, Narnia, and capitalism are objects just as much as material objects like Keanu Reeves, the Amazon River basin, and my desk are (Harman 2016, p. 9; Bryant 2011a, p. 271; Bennett 2010, p. 24). Object also does not apply simply to nouns; instead, we must “treat relations adequately as compound objects,” such that “two vicariously linked real objects do form a new object” by generating “a new internal space” meaning that a prepositional phrase signifies an object as much as it does a relationship between two other objects (Harman 2012, p. 207; 2016). Thus, when objects A and B interact, a third object, A&B, is formed. If this interaction is immaterial, A&B is a spiritual object—as defined in the next section— generated by, but not identical to, the interaction. This point will become important in the section on conatus and shi. Further, object should be understood similarly for both the material and abstract modes of existence, i.e., that objects do not exist equally. Some have more capability and power than others. I have more capability and power than my desk. Capitalism has more capability and power than the color blue. Some objects even experience subjectivity. Yet all of them equally exist, in every case, the toggle switch is “on”.

Having explored the nature of material objects and their relationship to the Real within the OOO framework, I now turn to the realm of abstract objects. As we shall see, all ROs, in the OOO sense, are ultimately abstract. This becomes clear when we consider that a material RO’s withdrawal from all other objects at all times would necessitate a physically impossible scenario—moving way from all other objects while simultaneously getting close to none of them. Therefore, the primary difference between material and abstract objects is the mode by which their SOs present themselves: material bodies or abstract concepts. Also, material objects also have abstract Sensory counterparts. Consider the following sentence: On the shelves above my L-shaped desk, I have a few dozen books and several knickknacks, including ceramic bowls, model owls, and Doctor Who collectibles. As you read that sentence, you developed a rudimentary concept of my desk and work area. I could give more information, and your concept would become more accurate, but it would never become either the Real desk or the material Sensory desk. Nevertheless, you think of my work area. For abstract objects, we only have the RO—e.g., the Real capitalism—and concepts—each person’s understanding of capitalism, which range from rudimentary to detailed but never exhaust the Real capitalism. Thus, what Harmon says of material interaction is true of all interaction: “When one object comes into contact with another, it cannot perfectly replicate the form of the first” (Harman 2018b, p. 105).

3.3. Spiritual

The first step in defining spiritual, is to note that I am attempting to define the term outside of any single religious understanding of spirituality and hope to define it in a way that satisfies any pre-existing understanding. That is to say that I am not defining G/god(s), angels, demons, djin, genus loci, ghosts, or any other particular spiritual object but rather the nature of immaterial or intangible objects that exist qua themselves prior to perception. To attempt the former would be to take sides in a way that would be unfair to people who do not share my religious history or affiliations and to spiritual objects themselves. This attempt would also require the attempt to prove the personhood of some subset of (non-human) spiritual objects—an undertaking I support but that is outside the scope of this paper. Therefore, we should, as I briefly mentioned in the section on Sacred Realism, understand the spiritual as being that which has to do with the properties of or direct interaction with ROs. In this way, spiritual aspect (or spirit) is the equivalent to the Harmanian RO and spiritual object is the spirit of a strictly abstract object. Thus, the only significant difference between this definition and the standard definition of spiritual is that in most cases, the term is reserved for entities rather than objects, a difference discussed in the previous section. In Harmanian terms, the spirit is that which withdraws from perception or the inexhaustible aspect of an object. Some spiritual objects are—as mentioned above and discussed in detail in the next section—relational; other spiritual objects are not relations, but can be related with, such as the number 2, Santa Claus, and capitalism.

At this point, one might mistakenly assume that the spiritual realm is the domain of potential, yet undiscovered relationships between material objects. This, however, is not the case. Were that true, the spiritual would not be withdrawn as it would be accessible via the discovery of new relationships, a notion that contradicts the core tenets of Speculative Realism. The potential of an object is better understood to be the collective phase space of all the powers of an object, as described in the section on OOO. Spirits are the Real aspect of the object, which exists independently of the human mind. This aligns with Harman’s perspective, suggesting that spiritual aspects are an inherent aspect of material objects. I extrapolate this to include all abstract objects. We should also avoid conflating spirituality with potency or having particular mental capabilities. Conflating an object’s spirituality or an aspect of an object with a set of capabilities would build a hierarchy into ontology. Objects that had only abstract aspects would belong to one plane of existence. In contrast, objects with both material and abstract aspects would belong to multiple planes and, therefore, be existentially unequal to monoplanar abstract objects. After all, as soon as a second plane is introduced, a Cartesian grid gains a z-axis. This would defeat the purpose of a flat ontology.

The spiritual must also have an intangibility and ineffability to it. This point is evident because every instance of the spiritual in mythology, religion, or philosophy has included these elements. While many gods—e.g., Jesus, Vishnu, and Zeus—have taken on material forms, it is always with the caveat that they are not showing their whole selves. Jesus is the aspect of the Judeo-Christian God that took on flesh compared to the other aspects of the Trinity. Vishnu reincarnated many times, each different from the others except in spirit. Zeus took on many physical—often nonhuman—forms. If the spiritual were tangible or effable, there would, in some religion or mythology, be a way to touch it or exhaustively describe it, but there is none.

Finally, to discuss the difference between the spiritual and the conceptual, while both are types of abstract objects, spiritual objects are Harmanian ROs and thus exist outside minds, while concepts, being abstract SOs, exist within them. In the previous section, I pointed out the difference between capitalism qua itself and our individual conceptions of it. Now, I name this difference. Capitalism qua itself, being an RO, is a spiritual object. My conception of it, and yours, and your neighbor’s, are the SOs that act as vicars between it and each of us. Both spiritual objects and concepts are abstract. However, spiritual objects exist independently of any individual mind, while concepts exist within a single mind as that mind’s model of the objects it interacts with, whether material or abstract.

4. Deriving the Spiritual from the Material

We are finally ready to discuss how to derive that spiritual objects equally exist with all other objects based on how the SRs above—particularly Sacred Realism—understand material objects. OOO gives us a world that exists only of objects, and those objects all have a Real aspect, which must be abstract (the spiritual aspect). All objects also have a Sensory abstract aspect (the conceptual aspect), and many have further Sensory material aspects (the material aspect). Spiritual aspects withdraw from us, refusing to be accessed directly. However, this seems to lead back to the original problem of correlationism: how can the spiritual matter if it is inaccessible? To think a thing is to think it, right? However, I believe aspects of Bennet’s materialist approach help build an ontological framework that addresses the issue.

4.1. Spirits and Spiritual Aspects

Spiritual aspects of objects have one trait in common with their material counterparts: affectivity. Bennet derives her flat ontology from affectivity and materiality, equating the two (Bennett 2010, pp. 92, xiii). However, materiality is not the same as affectivity. Instead, the former is a type of the latter. Consider capitalism. It is strictly abstract, yet capitalism affects how we live, while even the world’s greatest economists cannot exhaustively predict how economies will behave. Capitalism exists spiritually, outside of any one mind, and it cannot be exhausted by definition or function, withdrawing from human understanding as much as any material object. This leads us to consider how these spiritual aspects manifest in various forms, such as ideas like capitalism and fictional entities like Santa Claus. Capitalism is strictly abstract, yet it is also important to note that capitalism was never “invented.” Its origins go back to the 16th century, but Adam Smith, often called the “father of capitalism,” published his definitive work in 1776. Even the most influential person in the development of capitalism only wrote a descriptive account. Yet the parts of capitalism that we do not account for still affect us. Spiritual objects sometimes behave differently than we expect because our concept—our model—of it is incomplete. Fictional characters, such as Santa Claus, are similarly spiritual, as the contemporary figure is very much divorced from the historical Saint Nicholas, having been blended with Germanic, Wodan, Dutch, Belgian, Swiss, and Celtic folklores to create a new character, which is, again, inexhaustible in how he can be described both in terms of definition and function. If description could exhaust an object, sufficient description would speak it into being.

However, this position seems flawed: while capitalism and Saint Nicholas are Real, they originated in minds. One of the definitive features of a spiritual object is its independence from minds. This trait must be the case because minds only interact with concepts—SOs—per Harman’s quadripartite model (2019). That is to say, each mind interacts with spiritual objects indirectly through concepts. On the other hand, when we interact with another person’s idea, we encounter the same problem as when interacting with physical objects. No matter how well someone describes their idea, the receiver of that description still falls short of a perfect replication: the concept cannot be exhausted by definition or function. This inexhaustibility partially has to do with language limitations. However, it also has to do with the fact that their idea is a compound of their observations, inherent biases, familiarities with other ideas, metaphors that they have built or encountered, their experience of society as shaped by their intersectional identity, and so much more that the receiver cannot replicate. So they replace these parts with their versions of these aspects, creating a similar but new idea that is—hopefully—close enough to the original that the originator and receiver can converse productively. In other words, when Qualities (either Real or Sensual) of a concept are communicated, the inexhaustibility of that object is experienced via the fact that the communicator cannot express every aspect of the concept, and the receiver does not receive every notion that is expressed and must therefore fill the gaps in the concept with their own ideas. This makes the communicator’s concept and the receiver’s concept different from each other, but they correspond to the same spirit in the manner of the story of the three blind men and the elephant.5

So now we have concepts revealing themselves as the Sensory counterparts to spiritual objects upon being shared. However, when the originator first had the idea, they had the same problem as the receiver did above. The originator is unable to give, even to themselves, an exhaustive description of the conceptualized object. No matter how much description is given, there is always more description to be had. Thus, when describing objects, we can only ever asymptotically approach exhaustion. The concept is withdrawn even from the conceiver. An excellent example of the withdrawal of concepts is the creation of fictional characters and locations by storytellers, particularly novelists. There is an expectation in novel writing that “the characters’ emotional states—their motivations—have to be consistent. They have to stand up to the scrutiny [of the reader] as consistent people” (Kim and JC 2023, p. 5). However, characters rarely, if ever, come to an author fully fleshed out and consistent. Even for the author, some aspects of the character’s personality must be discovered as the novel is written. Further, there are character traits that may never become relevant enough to the novel that the author would think to uncover them, such as Sherlock Holmes’ favorite food. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle saw fit to tell us some of the foods Sherlock Holmes ate, but it is unlikely that Doyle even thought about which foods his characters preferred (Waldmann 2022). While it is elementary to deduce that Sherlock would neither trouble himself with collecting this superfluous self-knowledge nor waste his time pursuing foods as enjoyment over foods as practical objects, there is no text, no sensual aspect of the character that says so. The Real Sherlock remains withdrawn. So, we see that when concepts are created within minds but are not contained by them, they reveal themselves as spiritual.

4.2. Conatus and Shi

This emphasis on relationality brings us back to Bennett, who emphasizes the inclusion of non-humans in her concept of “publics.” She does so by using Spinoza’s idea of conatus—defined in the section on Vital Materialism—which offers a compelling bridge between materiality and spirituality. Conatus, being present in every body, suggests to me that it, rather than materiality, is the key to developing the flat ontology proposed by SRs. By this logic, the possession of conatus is the rubric that can horizontalize ontology. The conatus is the part of each object that remains withdrawn, the inexhaustible part that constantly and consistently defies definition and expression. We can name it and say it is a component that all objects have, but we cannot describe its nature; in this way, objects refuse to be reduced to “the contexts in which (human) subjects set them”—i.e., objects refuse to be over-, under-, or duomined (Bennett 2010, p. 5). In short, conatus is the ineffable thingness-of-the-thing, its essence, and, in some ways, its soul.

Where, then, does this thingness come from? To answer this, I look to material objects. On a practical, quotidian level, every material object is a compound of other objects. These constituent objects interact or, as Levi Bryant would say, “perturb” each other (Bryant 2011a, p. 141). These perturbations between objects create a Latourian Actor-Network between them. This network is a new and more complex compound object. Take, for instance, a river. Is the river the water running in it? The bed over which the water flows? No. It is a combination of the states of these objects and more. The river itself is a combination of all of the possible constituent objects of that river and the relationships between them. The objects constitute the form of the river, and the relationships constitute the conatus. Both form and conatus are necessary for the river’s existence. The conatus of the river is immaterial, but it comes from the materials that make up the river.

The relations that determine a particular object’s conatus are not just the internal relations between parts but also the external relations with the surrounding objects. Suppose I am holding a dozen identical red balloons. Each balloon’s conatus is affected not only by the different air particles inside it and the molecules of rubber and dye that compose it (endorelations) but also by its spatial relationship to the others, my hand, and the general environment (exorelations) (Bryant 2011a, p. 68). The same is true for this journal issue. Like the river, each paper makes it what it is, yet it existed before a single paper was submitted. However, the issue could not exist without papers. If no one had submitted one, the publishers would not have published an issue; they would have merely attempted to do so. However, when each author submitted their paper, they submitted it to the editors of this issue for this issue.

Note the prepositions in the previous sentence. Prepositions are the beginning of a prepositional phrase, which can only end in a noun, an object, in this case, the issue. There are three prepositions in that sentence—to, of, and for. Two of them refer to the issue. The sentence is just as true for the first person who submitted a paper as it is for the last. Papers seem to be a necessary constituent part of a journal, yet the issue included no papers before the first submission. The fact that we can speak of the issue existing before a single paper was submitted shows that it existed in spirit before that point. Simultaneously, like the balloons, the issue would not be what it is without the intellectual environment surrounding it, i.e., the ideas that gave rise to its constituent papers. Again, it must exist to have them. Thus—as mentioned in the section defining and describing objects—it exists spiritually as the conatus of the objects that relate to it. However, it also existed before the material objects came together, drawing them into the relationship that defines it. After all, the issue must contain papers, and a paper cannot be a journal paper without having been published in a journal. The issue and its constituent parts are existentially interdependent.

This interdependence brings us to Bennet’s shi. To form a compound object, the constituents of that object must change, or else the object would already have existed. Each author had to change to be part of this issue. The research each author did while writing for this issue changed them. Every paper we read changes each of us and how we read the next paper, and our papers and their ensuing scholarship—we hope—change the intellectual landscape. The list goes on and on. If any of these constituent parts were different than they are, if even the order of papers was different, this issue would not be what it is; it would be an issue of a journal and even have the same volume and issue numbers, but it would be a different issue. Its shi would be different, as would its conatus.

To say that spirituality can be derived from the physical by assigning identity based on constituent parts and their relationships might appear to be—as some say of Grant’s work—a form of scientism (Harman 2018b, p. 55). However, like Grant, I believe this derivation is too complex to be expressed and cannot be exhausted by the description of components or functions. We can observe that it happens because we see the effects of changing any part of an object for another and can watch how these changes ripple outward from constituent to whole. We cannot, however, account for the entirety of any conatic system to accurately describe which effects will be created by future changes. As Harman wrote of Grant’s work, “Nature is not a basis to which everything must be reduced but a basis from which everything is produced.” It is a “dynamic model in which force is primary, with individual entities being merely a derivative configuration of that force” (Harman 2018b, p. 9 emphasis removed). Yet I believe that this is only half right. As with the river, nature would not exist without its constituent parts, even though it is the force from which those parts are derived. Each compound object is interdependent with its constituent parts for existence. The combined conatus and shi of the constituents create those of the compound, but the fact that they are part of the compound is part of their conatus and shi.

Let us turn our gaze to the largest material scale: the universe. The universe has two seemingly contradictory qualities. It is both infinite and finite. The universe is infinite because it cannot have an edge. If it had an edge, there would be a beyond, and the universe would not be universus—i.e., all combined into one. However, the universe must be functionally finite. The number of atoms in the universe must be countable. Thus, while the Universe is a compound object made up of all objects, it is also made up of more than that. It is also the combined conatus of all objects, which, in turn, creates the conatus of the Universe itself, which is, necessarily, more than the sum of the universe’s parts. This “moreness” of the Universe is, in some ways, outside of the Universe because it is not a “part” of it, yet if we looked at each part, we would be unable to account for the entirety of the Universe. Such is the nature of the Divine: the moreness that comes from the infinite relationships between the finite objects from which the universe is comprised, an unsummarizable vibrating whole that simultaneously constitutes and is constituted by its parts.

4.3. Divinity

Divinity is the most powerful form of the spiritual. As mentioned in the section on Sacred Realism, every notion of the Divine includes some combination of the following properties: transcendence, ineffability, inexhaustability, and intangibility. Since the conatus of the universe—i.e., the Real rather than Sensual universe—goes beyond the physical parts, it is, in some ways, outside of the universe we can experience. It is therefore transcendental to the physicality it both produces and comes from—i.e., the Real universe is greater than the sum of its parts. Further, we can work our way through the various complexities of objects, from the universe down to the 17 quanta currently theorized by physicists, and see that this property of the universe is mirrored in the conatus of every object. After all, one of the core tenements of SRs is that all objects, as Bogost (2012) would say, “equally exist” even if they do not “exist equally,” i.e., existence is not a scale; only the power one object has over itself and other objects varies (11). All objects “withdraw” from all others (Harman 2018b, pp. 104–109). There will always be aspects of objects that are unknowable and inexpressible. The ineffability of the Universe is imminent in all objects.

The ineffability and inexhaustability of the Universe works similarly to Cantor’s Cardinalities of Infinity. While Meillassoux points toward Cantor as a counter to probabilistic arguments, I turn to the structure of his cardinalities of infinity (Harman 2018a, p. 20). Cantor showed that there are different sizes of infinity, which can be written in terms of the first Hebrew letter aleph (ℵ). Aleph-zero (ℵ₀) is the smallest, representing infinities of the size of the set of all natural numbers—i.e., countable infinities. Aleph-one (ℵ₁) corresponds to all the ways the members of a set sized ℵ₀ could be well-ordered in relationship to each other (Karagila 2024, at 6:43). This list differs from all possible permutations of a set of size ℵ₀—i.e., its powerset—because the powerset of an infinite set is not well ordered (“Power Set n.” n.d.). If you repeated this process, rearranging each member of a set sized ℵ₁ in a well-ordered way and grouping those permutations by type, you would get a set of size ℵ₂. This process can continue ad infinitum. The same holds for the relationships between objects. If all the objects in the universe as proposed by any given ontology constitute a set of size ℵ₀, then the set of all relationships any two objects can have with each other of that set is size ℵ₁. Repeating the process would produce a set sized ℵ₂, giving us the relationships that any two members of a set sized ℵ₁ can have with each other. Considering that any given object is in a countably infinite number of relationships, whether geographical, temporal, causal, dominant, subservient, or some other relationship, and that these relationships are also objects in relationship to each other, the set of all relationships in the universe is a “proper class”—i.e., a collection that is too big to be a set but is still somewhat describable (Karagila 2024, at 10:10). This means that for any ontology, if Harmon’s statement that when two objects interact—i.e., are in relationship—they form another object, then the set of all objects cannot be finite, countably infinite, or even a set. Rather they transcend any numerary system and compose an infinite universe.

To demonstrate, I turn to the smallest material scale. The least complex objects we have theorized are the elementary particles. These combine into the various subatomic particles, which combine into atoms of the 118 elements, which combine into molecules, which combine into compounds, which perturb—i.e., react with—each other, driving every material process. These material processes sometimes become complex enough to think and imagine and thus create abstract objects like capitalism and Santa Claus, which in turn cause changes in how thinking objects behave. Each object, no matter how simple or complex, has an essence. This essence is the conatus, which is created by the various aspects of an object’s structure. Even elementary particles demonstrate this. They have differences in spin, color, and flavor. Each particle also has a unique geographic relationship with others, which individuates it. We still have a finite number of material objects at any given time. However, given the scope of universal time and the fact that relationships are also objects, the set of all objects of all complexities is countably infinite—i.e., sized ℵ₀. The relationships between objects form an intricate web. This web extends into genuinely infinite sets. It reveals a profound ineffability and intangibility at the heart of existence. Every object has a universe’s share of conatus. This points us towards an understanding of the spiritual that transcends simple materiality. These properties lay the groundwork for a discussion of divinity.

4.4. The Four-Dimensional Nature of Objects

One potential response to the Divinity of the spiritual lies in the concept of dimensions beyond the third. Einstein called time the fourth dimension. I find this description to be misleading. Time is theoretically perceptible in dimensions other than the third. Imagine a sphere passing through a plane as perceived by a two-dimensional being on that plane. A point would appear, grow into a circle of a given size, shrink back to a point, then vanish. To both ourselves and that being, a sequence of events would occur over time, but that sequence would look different to us than to it. Time is not, therefore, a spatial dimension, but rather the lens by which an observer can perceive the spatial dimension of one order higher than its own. For the two-dimensional being, time allows perception into the third dimension and, for us, into the fourth. By this logic, each object exists in a constant and static state throughout past and present.6

A good way to picture this is to imagine yourself standing on Earth’s equator. If we account for the spin of the Earth, you become a four-dimensional torus with a cross-section of your three-dimensional form that overlaps itself once per day which constantly changes on a miniscule scale. Now, when we add in the orbit of the Earth around the sun, you become a four-dimensional elliptical epitrochoid—as could be drawn with a Spirograph—overlapping itself once per year. Then, when we consider the solar system’s movement through the Milky Way, you become a four-dimensional wire, one end of which is the beginning of your existence and the other your demise. Of course, none of us spend our entire lives standing on the equator; we each have the paths we take to and from school, home, work, and third spaces, as well as the overall geographical path our lives take as we pass from one living arrangement to the next. This variance in the wires’ shapes allows us to identify ourselves and other objects by these slight path variations. Each moment of our lives is then a cross-section of those wires, and the changes in the physical relationships between the wires can be seen as the gaps and collisions between the wires in four-dimensional space. This image can be brought to bear on every object. Quanta become wires with the smallest possible cross-section. Atoms are slightly thicker wires comprised of quanta-wires, which are interconnected by electrons jumping from one atom to another. In turn, these atom-wires comprise larger interconnected wires as matter gets shot out of novas, digested, or collected by gravity and becomes parts of this object or that, only to be shed and become part of another object. The wires continue to become thicker and thicker until the universe is the ball of interwoven wires as a whole—i.e., a fourth-dimensional monad, finite and infinite, thoroughly inexhaustible, imminent and transcendent, ineffable and intangible, yet spoken of and touched. In this way the universe writ large becomes the basis for a monotheistic model, while, simultaneously, the fact that each individual object—whether material or abstract—has a universe’s share of conatus and shi provides a basis for poly- and pantheistic models.

Naturally, spirits and concepts work similarly, with thoughts, hypotheses, theories, and conclusions all interconnected by the tropes, notions, beliefs, and postulations that comprise them and are shared between them as minds create new concepts and share them into independent being. After all, just as in the material examples above, all abstract objects are interconnected. No idea is entirely new, every single one is an amalgamation of other abstract objects. New concepts can be traced back to other objects. These connections occur through religious and philosophical ideologies, storytelling tropes, academic citations, and cultural norms. These objects connect each abstract object to the others. This connection is similar to how electrons, atoms, and molecules connect material objects. Every mind must use other ideas—inspiration—to build new concepts, even if that mind is the first to create the concept for a particular spirit.

Even so, data are missing within this model. What of the emotive relationships? What of the cognitive relationships? Why does this wire bend this way instead of that? This response to the ineffability and intangibility of the spiritual also falls short. Even in four dimensions, objects refuse to be exhausted. Some aspect of their existence—i.e., their essence, their spirit—remains withdrawn. Though some might see this as a failing of this model, I must return to a point made at the beginning of this paper: spirituality and speculation both rely on embracing gaps qua themselves. For Speculative Realists this is doubly true, as we try to embrace all objects qua themselves and gaps are just another type of object. In artistic terms, gaps are the negative space in knowledge. These spaces are important. They allow us to speculate. They enable us to imagine the world differently. They help us embrace the weird. They let us connect to the spiritual, even though it is Divine.

5. Ethical Implications

The preceding exploration of how the spiritual can be derived from the material through the lens of Speculative Realism carries significant ethical weight. It is, therefore, necessary to consider the ethical implications of SRs in general and Sacred Realism in particular, though a detailed discussion will require further scholarship.

As with all theory, this paper begs the question ‘Why should we care?’ More to the point, ‘Why should we accept a flat ontology?’ ‘What does it matter if spiritual objects are Real?’ The answer is simple. We have seen the effects of existential hierarchies, and there are major issues. Racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, nationalism, classism, antisemitism, and many other oppressive views arise from the idea that there are ways of being that are existentially greater than others. As soon as someone accepts the idea that humans are existentially superior to animals, it opens the door for them to rhetorically equate their enemies with beasts. As soon as someone accepts the idea that their god is existentially greater than themselves, it opens the door for an appeal to authority supporting their existence as greater than another’s. This is what Jane Bennett means when she says “the hierarchical logic of God-Man-Nature…easily transitions into a political image of a hierarchy of social classes or even civilizations” (Bennett 2010, p. 84). That is to say that when we accept any hierarchy, we set ourselves up to denigrate Othered peoples into things and ennoble the beings required for our religious beliefs into entities beyond our understanding—or for that framework to be used against us and our religions—per the section describing and defining objects.

When we impose a hierarchy onto existence, it becomes easy to egotistically aggrandize ourselves either by thingifying Others or by patting ourselves on the back for worshiping the right entities. However, with a flat ontology, we begin with humility—as described in the section detailing why SRs—and the idea that all objects are already right-sized and that “to live as earth” is not to degrade ourselves, but to live properly (Bennett 2010, p. 111). It is in our own best interest to advocate for existential humility. If we do, then we only sacrifice the illusion of superiority in order to make sure that we never believe the lie that any object is more—or less—existentially significant than we are. To be humble and to allow for a democracy of objects protects us from being denigrated and from denying the inherent worth of others.

Meanwhile the pan-, a-, or metacentric perspectives found in SRs provide a firm ontological basis for affirming equality and equity in ethics and politics. Because flat ontologies disallow any internal hierarchies, it becomes much more difficult to justify hierarchies outside of the powers inherent to an object. Flat ontologies, for instance, allow political power to exist because the object of the political position has inherent powers that objects termed “citizens,” or “residents” do not. However, these powers are only given to the office for the practical purposes of running the state, not because of any inherent moral, legal, or ontological superiority on the part of the person in that office. Similarly it recognizes power differences between adults and children, because adults are inherently more able to interact with their surroundings and have more experience in doing so effectively, not from any existential superiority. The same goes for interactions between states, cultures, and races; flat ontologies allow that different people groups will have different strengths and abilities than others without allowing for or encouraging claims of existential superiority.

Because we have lived within existential anthropocentrism for as long as we have, it is much easier to see how this benefits us within the constraints of humanism as I have done above. Sacred Realism provides a framework to expand beyond those constraints. Within Sacred Realism, every object has a spiritual aspect and therefore has Divine qualities. Divinity has always been considered sacred—i.e., worthy of being treated as an end-in-itself to the utmost degree. Therefore, via the ontological framework described above, Sacred Realism calls us to treat all objects as ends-in-themselves. In short, an ethics built on a flat ontology is built on the idea that “when children learn to devalue [some object], they can devalue any [object];” therefore, all devaluation should be anathema (Abatemarco and Landau 1992). This is not to say that we should not use tools or exercise power over other objects. Rather, we should treat all objects with respect and dignity, right-sizing our place among them and honoring their existence as existential equals, essentially extending humanist ethics outward to include all objects.

6. Conclusions

Thus, I disagree with Graham Harman that “philosophy should never have abandoned the inanimate world to science” when science and religion divorced (Harman 2018b, p. 113). We needed the Scientific Revolution because European Christianity was holding science back, but now, correlationism is holding philosophy back. This, then, is the work of SRs: to flatten these restricting ontologies and to give language to the truth that there truly is a spiritual aspect to all objects. Whether material or abstract, all objects are spiritual. Thus, I advocate for a holistic understanding of reality, wherein every object simultaneously reflects and creates the interconnectedness and vibrancy of the universe. This inversion of the pre-modern approach repairs modernity’s attempt to sever the spiritual from the material. These changes allow us to build a democracy of objects in which all objects are (inter-)created equal.

Further, the spiritual is not merely a matter of matter created by correlation with human experience; instead, spiritual objects exist qua themselves, and SRs enable us to account for them by examining interactions between material objects. This is perhaps the core aspect of SRs’ conatus: the hope that comes from knowing that every object matters equally and that we can regard every object with the knowledge that Whitman’s ([1867] 1980) answer to lament always applies to it:

…—What
good amid these, O me, O life?
		Answer.
That you are here—that [you] exist[] and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. (1980, 227 emphasis in original)