Devadatta
Well-Known Member
There’s quite a decent discussion of pantheism at the online Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy (http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/pantheism/). One of its most important points is that the distinction between pantheism and theism shouldn’t be seen in terms of immanence/transcendence but simply in the presence or absence of a more or less anthropomorphic God that stands outside of nature, a Being beyond being(s). Pantheism says that “God” in this sense is a projection of our direct experience of transcendence, and may therefore be skilful means for spiritual practice but is not strictly necessary or literally existent. Theism says that all being is incoherent without an underlying Being, a first cause, and that this first cause is not only accessible in some way to human consciousness, but is accessible as a kind of person.
There appears in fact to be three fundamental spiritual dispositions, the pantheist, the theist, and the renunciant. They overlap & mix in the major religious traditions, and even within individuals, but I think in general most of us have minds that give off predominantly one of these three scents. My mind is very clearly scented pantheist.
For me, pantheism is really the baseline of all spiritual experience. If you can’t find some trace of the transcendent in your immediate experience then the idea of any sort of transcendent Other is off the table. So I think all spiritual life begins with pantheism. The problem then becomes one of practice, and how that practice becomes socialized & institutionalized.
Pantheism is hard to handle straight up, nakedly. (Infinity in the palm of your hand is a little frightening, when you think about it.) It requires skilful means, in the Buddhist sense (or more negatively pious frauds in the old Catholic sense). So that’s why pantheism has never existed on its own, as a separate religion, but only as a subversive strand in religions that are otherwise theistic or renunciatory (the Abrahamic faiths, (Buddhism, as the outstanding examples).
So pantheists traditionally use a lot of the same institutional means but toward different ends – or maybe it’s the case that pantheists are not all that interested in “ends”.
The big picture might help. In the grand schemes of divine emanation you find in most traditions – Vendantic, Neoplatonic, Kabbalistic, etc. – the details vary but the general drift is the same: we travel from luminosity to luminosity. From original luminosity we break down into creation; from creation we slowly reascend to final (but still original) luminosity.
The simple distinction is that while theists and renunciants are focussed on getting to, or back, to the luminosity – theists in God’s good time, renunciants asap - pantheists are in no hurry. Silly folks that they are, they say that we’ve never left the luminosity, that not only is creation not a fallen world but that the universe seems to have no other purpose but to create, and to create something novel at every instant.
Pantheists have had many great friends over the ages, from Chuang-tze to Spinoza; in the last century they had Henri Bergson. His Creative Evolution, with its vital pulse, illustrates what I’m saying here. Before Bergson, there were two prevalent spiritual views of human history: the Judeo-Christian linear lockstep to judgement day, and the “oriental” vision of vast tedious cycles with endlessly interchangeable parts. Bergson celebrates neither the forced march nor the repetition but the vital moment, endlessly renewed.
Sincerely,
Devadatta
There appears in fact to be three fundamental spiritual dispositions, the pantheist, the theist, and the renunciant. They overlap & mix in the major religious traditions, and even within individuals, but I think in general most of us have minds that give off predominantly one of these three scents. My mind is very clearly scented pantheist.
For me, pantheism is really the baseline of all spiritual experience. If you can’t find some trace of the transcendent in your immediate experience then the idea of any sort of transcendent Other is off the table. So I think all spiritual life begins with pantheism. The problem then becomes one of practice, and how that practice becomes socialized & institutionalized.
Pantheism is hard to handle straight up, nakedly. (Infinity in the palm of your hand is a little frightening, when you think about it.) It requires skilful means, in the Buddhist sense (or more negatively pious frauds in the old Catholic sense). So that’s why pantheism has never existed on its own, as a separate religion, but only as a subversive strand in religions that are otherwise theistic or renunciatory (the Abrahamic faiths, (Buddhism, as the outstanding examples).
So pantheists traditionally use a lot of the same institutional means but toward different ends – or maybe it’s the case that pantheists are not all that interested in “ends”.
The big picture might help. In the grand schemes of divine emanation you find in most traditions – Vendantic, Neoplatonic, Kabbalistic, etc. – the details vary but the general drift is the same: we travel from luminosity to luminosity. From original luminosity we break down into creation; from creation we slowly reascend to final (but still original) luminosity.
The simple distinction is that while theists and renunciants are focussed on getting to, or back, to the luminosity – theists in God’s good time, renunciants asap - pantheists are in no hurry. Silly folks that they are, they say that we’ve never left the luminosity, that not only is creation not a fallen world but that the universe seems to have no other purpose but to create, and to create something novel at every instant.
Pantheists have had many great friends over the ages, from Chuang-tze to Spinoza; in the last century they had Henri Bergson. His Creative Evolution, with its vital pulse, illustrates what I’m saying here. Before Bergson, there were two prevalent spiritual views of human history: the Judeo-Christian linear lockstep to judgement day, and the “oriental” vision of vast tedious cycles with endlessly interchangeable parts. Bergson celebrates neither the forced march nor the repetition but the vital moment, endlessly renewed.
Sincerely,
Devadatta