Relational monism grows out of an intuition that appears simple, yet whose consequences reach far beyond its modest beginning: whatever exists is not a thing but a relation. Not a relation between things, as classical logic assumes, but relation as the ontological principle and primordial fabric of the universe. Relation does not connect ready‑made elements — it constitutes them. Every form, movement, thought, emotion and particle becomes a momentary knot in a field: pulsing, thickening, thinning, transforming.
The unity of the universe is not a dogma but a process — a movement towards coherence, never fully achieved, because every condensation of the field remains temporary and sooner or later gives way to another. Relationality precedes identity. In traditional thinking, one first defines an object and only then describes the network of dependencies into which it enters. In relational monism, the object becomes an effect, not a cause. The electron is not an autonomous unit but a knot of interactions; the human being is not an isolated individual but a weave of biological, cultural, emotional and symbolic relations; even thought is not “mine”, but arises from the field permeating me and momentarily taking the shape of an idea.
Identity becomes a provisional configuration — a fragile equilibrium between density and aperture, a way in which the field organises itself in order to make experience possible.
Every theory remains an approximation. Language is discrete, reality continuous — and this gap cannot be removed. We describe the world through symbols that never fully coincide with what they represent. Hence the word “love” is not love. The word “matter” is not matter. The word “God” is not God. These examples reveal the boundary of language and lead to a broader thesis: every theory, even the most refined, remains a fragmentary map, an attempt to orient oneself in a terrain that escapes definition.
Relational monism accepts this limitation as part of its method. It does not seek absolute truths but functional coherences — tools that allow one to understand, act and live.
The question of the Creator appears as unavoidable yet perilous. Placing Him inside the system risks turning the universe into a God generating Himself, and us into His discrete hypostases. Placing Him outside the system abandons monism. Relational monism neither negates nor affirms the Creator — it suspends Him, because any definitive position would generate contradiction. The question “does the Creator exist?” yields to a more sober one: what function does this idea fulfil within the field of relations? The Creator, if He exists, remains a hypothesis, not an axiom.
Matter and thought become condensations of the field. Contemporary physics shows that the smallest particles are not solid objects but energetic disturbances. Matter is a stable condensation; thought an unstable one; emotion a transient one. There is no chasm between spirit and matter — they are two modes of the same process of thickening. The difference between “material” and “immaterial” arises from language, not ontology. The field generates forms according to density, and ontological differences turn out to be differences of intensity.
To describe what emerges from the field, I use the word hypostasis. It is not a metaphysical entity but an energetic configuration taking on a temporary form. After encountering Faggin, I added the adjective “discrete”, emphasising that each hypostasis can be separated conceptually but not ontologically. We are discrete in perception, continuous in substance.
Each human being becomes a hypostasis of the field, self‑organising for a brief time: a knot arising, developing and dissolving. In its short arc of existence, it attempts to understand what has called it forth.
Science moves downward: cells, molecules, atoms, electrons, quarks, fields. Relational monism requires a movement upward as well: from quarks to systems, cultures, civilisations, universes and higher hypostases of the field. Each level becomes a fractal of another. What appears small reflects what appears large — and vice versa. The field pulses in both directions: towards the micro and towards the macro. Therefore every description of the universe must account for this double dynamism.
Truth is not a metaphysical entity but an operational criterion. A theory is true insofar as it allows one to understand, act and live. Truth becomes what works, not what claims the right to the absolute. Relational monism does not seek final truths but tools of orientation: provisional maps, intuitions and reference points that allow one to move through the field with a measure of grace — without the illusion that grace is the same as certainty.
Finally, caution towards contemporary tools remains necessary. The internet, the network and artificial intelligence — including the tools accompanying this writing — become hypostases of the field. They are powerful, yet they amplify everything: knowledge, error, light, shadow. They must be used with discernment, for they do not stand above the field — they are part of it, and thus subject to the same dynamics of approximation, distortion and relation.
Relational monism is not a doctrine, a faith or a closed theory. It is a way of reading the universe: seeing existence as a set of relations arising, dissolving and transforming. It is a proposal, a hypothesis, an attempt to stitch the gap. And perhaps — like every human attempt — only another discrete hypostasis of the field.
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