Philosophy of Sohnaris Philosophy

    Try for a moment to imagine something entirely new, founded on absolutely nothing: neither on what you know, nor on what you perceive. Something that would find no echo whatsoever in our reality:

• That is neither matter, nor energy, nor information.
• That does not interact with space or time.
• That is not, either, a mere abstraction drawn from what you already know.

    The definition of Sohnaris is intentionally circular. It is at once an absolute representation of our reality and implies that everything must exist within the context defined by that reality. This apparent circularity brings to light an essential truth: our mind, in its effort of conceptualisation, is inextricably bound to Sohnaris. Every thought, even one turned toward the absolute or the outside, is conditioned by this totality.

    In other words, Sohnaris is the set of all that is possible and conceivable, a totality that unfolds within the limits of reality itself. Any attempt to describe an "outside-Sohnaris" can only be a negation of the frameworks that structure our understanding: an absence of everything that makes sense to us.

Here are the nine concepts that Sohnaris encompasses:

• Skalenda: space
• Vodenda: energy
• Kienda: matter
• Duukram: the primordial laws
• Faehelbek: thought
• Zatjo: potential
• Botjo: the imaginary
• Sato: cohesion
• Raos: finitude

    To acknowledge Sohnaris is to admit that it constitutes the ultimate frame of reference of our reality. Within this frame, inclusivity is absolute: everything that can be perceived, imagined or conceived is integrated into it. Terms such as impossible, everything or never, though absolute within the context of Sohnaris, are also relative to this specific frame of reference.

    However, through a simple exercise of divergence, one can theoretically postulate other frames of reference: it is enough to start from our reality and suppose that others, different ones, might exist. This hypothesis remains without substance: we envisage their possible existence without ever being able to give them body. In that case, the absolutes of Sohnaris become relative to our reality, without thereby losing their validity within this frame. This relativity is a natural consequence of the potential existence of multiple realities, each defining its own absolutes.

The paradox of absolute and relative inclusivity

    This paradox is made possible by the imperviousness of Sohnaris. This imperviousness means that the frameworks, laws and concepts that structure our reality do not extend beyond its borders. Thus Sohnaris can simultaneously carry an absolute inclusivity (within its own limits) and a relative one (when we attempt to speculate about what might exist beyond those limits). In this sense, the paradox is not a contradiction, but a reflection of the impossibility of conceiving or transposing absolutes outside our frame of reference.

Inclusivity as conceptual anchor

    Thus the inclusivity of Sohnaris rests on the idea that everything which can be conceived or perceived finds its place within this totality. But if we postulate realities outside Sohnaris, these new perspectives only reinforce the idea that our conceptual framework is conditioned by our frame of reference. Sohnaris is not invalidated by this multiplication of absolutes; on the contrary, it is its precondition.

    To understand Sohnaris is to contemplate the deep order of existence. Each element, each idea, finds its place and its function there, in a harmony that escapes our ordinary dualistic thinking. This balance is not that of a simple scale where opposing forces cancel out: a scale balances by subtraction, two equal weights neutralising each other for a net result of zero. The balance of Sohnaris is the reverse: it subtracts nothing, it integrates everything. Each element counts positively. It is in this that it is substantial, complex and multidimensional: woven from the sum of what is, and not from the erasure of opposites.

    Conventional dualities (good and evil, life and death, masculine and feminine, and so on) do not oppose one another there but answer and complete each other. For none of their terms has meaning in isolation: the idea of life is conceived only against the backdrop of death, good is defined only in contrast with evil. Far from fighting, each pole is the condition of intelligibility of the other; their coexistence is not a conflict held in suspense, but what makes them thinkable. Thus each concept is set within a network of subtle interactions, where it finds a myriad of extensions and satellites that enrich it and give it meaning within the whole.

    This balance, of an absolute stability, cannot be broken: not because it is fiercely defended, but because it is the property of a closed whole. Since nothing exists outside Sohnaris, nothing can come to disturb it from without; and since it already contains everything, nothing could truly be added to it or leave it. Its stability is not a feat, but a consequence of its completeness.

    The very disappearance of our reality would not break this balance. Finitude does not escape Sohnaris: it counts among the concepts it embraces, under the name of Raos. Annihilation is then but one of its facets, a note in its melody, foreseen within it.

    The balance then attains a form of perfection: not an aesthetic or moral perfection, but the flawless coherence of a whole that is sufficient unto itself. This is why the question "Why is reality the way it is?" finds no external answer: Sohnaris being the totality that contains its own conditions, it is its own sole explanation. It becomes an existential tautology. Not a flaw in reasoning, but the sign that one has reached the ultimate frame, the one beyond which no further "why" can be posed.

    To experience Sohnaris is to let one's mind venture beyond the borders of the tangible, to give form to the invisible, to the imaginary, but always from the elements we have come to know. The imaginary cannot exist independently of what we perceive in reality.

    We cannot conceive what escapes our senses without first having an echo of it in what we have experienced. Even the most novel, the most abstract ideas take root in concepts already present in our world. The real is the bedrock from which the imaginary can unfold, the soil from which the most extravagant creations spring. The process of creation always feeds on existing and real elements, whether it be a metaphor, a symbol, or a mere echo of what exists.

    The imaginary is not an escape from reality; it is a projection and a transformation of it. Far from being detached from the real, the imaginary is an infinite reinterpretation of it. Every thought, every idea, every creation is anchored in the context of what we know, and it is precisely this interplay between the real and the imaginary that opens the doors to the conception of Sohnaris.

    Sohnaris is a concept that only humans can formulate: we invented it for ourselves. Nothing guarantees that it holds on its own, nor that it would exist with no one to think it. Without intrinsic reality, it takes shape only through our perception. Concepts, and the words that carry them, are human inventions, valid solely within our frame of reference, and useful only to those who use them.

    Each reality is confined to its own frame, like a hermetic sphere. We may suppose that other realities exist, but our thought is incapable of approaching them: we have no means of knowing what they would look like. Thus we cannot conceive of any reality other than the one in which we move, and Sohnaris is its pure expression. It is the only accessible frame of reference and, by extension, the only one we are able to know.

    Words and concepts stop at the borders of this frame of reference. Beyond these limits, all knowledge becomes impossible. What escapes our understanding remains indefinable, unknown not only to us, but to everything that belongs to the domain of Sohnaris.

    Sohnaris is a unique reality, complete in itself. Any hypothesis of an "outside-Sohnaris" or of other realities remains purely theoretical. If another reality existed, it could be so different that our concepts, our physical laws, and even our language would be inadequate to describe it. What lay beyond Sohnaris would remain forever inaccessible, including in its mere hypothetical existence.

    To live Sohnaris is to make of this thought a way of standing in the world. If our mind cannot step outside its frame, wisdom lies not in fleeing it but in inhabiting it fully: from this very limit flow a few ways of being.

    First, humility. Since all knowledge remains a prisoner of its frame of reference, no one holds an ultimate truth; lucidity begins by admitting that intelligence, however vast, will always remain incomplete. Questions are often worth more there than answers, for it is they that keep the mind in motion.

    Next, belonging. Each element of Sohnaris holds its place within one and the same network, and nothing exists in isolation: to know oneself part of a whole, interdependent with the body, with nature and with others, is to open oneself to what the spiritual arts call symbiotic thought.

    Then, serenity in the face of finitude. The Raos reminds us that everything which is, already is no longer, that the end is inscribed in the beginning; but this end is not a void to be feared, only one facet of the balance. To be aware of it gives each moment its worth.

    Finally, the impulse to create. Since there always remains more to create than to contemplate, and since everything remains possible, if not in matter then at least in the mind, to inhabit Sohnaris is also to imagine, to shape, to act. This art of living is cultivated through a discipline of the body and of attention, as the martial arts teach, where mastery of oneself matters more than victory.

    Of all the configurations of matter the universe contains, the human mind occupies a singular place: it is, as far as we know, the only one able to turn back upon the whole that contains it and form an idea of it. To conceive a notion as abstract as Sohnaris calls for two faculties that are worth distinguishing: knowledge and intelligence.

    What is knowledge?

    A piece of knowledge is the intellectualisation and the committing to memory of an element drawn from the real. It is a fragment of the world that the mind grasps, turns into thought, then keeps: a perception made lasting. Even the most abstract retains a tie to what is; it is never drawn from nothing, but taken from experience and fixed by memory. It is the elementary unit of our understanding, the brick from which every mental edifice rises.

    What is intelligence?

    Intelligence is not the accumulation of these pieces of knowledge, but the art of linking them. It is the faculty of understanding those that surround us, of confronting them, of ordering them, and of drawing from their relations knowledge that did not exist before. Where knowledge retains, intelligence combines: from a set of isolated fragments, it brings forth a meaning that none possessed alone. To think is less to know than to set in relation.

    It is from this ceaseless work that Sohnaris is born. By linking its knowledge until it embraces the totality of what it can conceive, the mind comes to form the idea of the whole itself. Through the intelligence of one of its fragments, the universe then gives itself a representation of its own totality: it thinks itself through us. The highest knowledge is perhaps only this: the awareness the real has of being a whole.