2021/03/03

Eastern Philosophical Concepts in Spinoza’s Pantheism & Ethics | by Jason Sylvester | Medium

Eastern Philosophical Concepts in Spinoza’s Pantheism & Ethics | by Jason Sylvester | Medium


Eastern Philosophical Concepts in Spinoza’s Pantheism & Ethics



Jason Sylvester


Jun 29, 2020·22 min read




Benedict Spinoza (1632–1677)

There are several Brahmanical and Buddhist elements that parallel many of Spinoza’s philosophical conceptions. Philosophers maintain that it is philosophically irrelevant where an idea came from, and they are not surprised to see the same conceptualizations appear in multiple cultures across time as it is expected that the search for truth would result in similarities or a convergence. Historically, it remains a matter of scholarly interest whether these ideas were transmitted or developed independently. However, this is an interesting aspect of his philosophy that has long been overlooked by many scholars. Indeed, Hongladarom (2015) noted:


A search through the literature on Spinoza and Buddhism provides only very scanty result: one of the earliest works on the topic is Melamed (1933), where only a handful of others — Wienpahl (1971), Wienpahl (1972), and Ziporyn (2012) — explore it in a more contemporary vein. This is rather surprising given the fact that Spinoza aims to give an account of how the best possible life can be achieved, which appears to be Buddhism’s goal, too. For Spinoza, the key to this is achievable only through intellectual understanding, which compares to the Buddhist view that wisdom (or paññā) is necessary for realizing such life. The metaphysics are similar, too: all things are interconnected for Spinoza, since they are modes of either the attribute of body (if they are material things), or of the attribute of the mind (if they are mental entities). In any case, all are parts of the one substance: God. We might thus read Spinoza as claiming that things, whether physical or mental, do not possess independent existence in themselves because the only thing that possesses such an existence is God. In Buddhism, rather similarly, things are also interconnected; and though it is well-known that Buddhist philosophy entertains no conception of a personal God, the Buddhist must surely find some comfort in Spinoza’s conception.

Nadler (1999, pp. 109, 242) cited the influence of Greek Stoicism on Spinoza’s thoughts, based on his education and books found in his personal library. However, to the reader unfamiliar with the Greeks but with a basic understanding of Eastern philosophies, the Buddhist thought in Spinoza is readily apparent; it practically jumps off the page and begs to be acknowledged. Schopenhauer (1909, p. 13 footnote 1) noted the connection: ‘The banks of the sacred Ganges were their [Bruno and Spinoza] spiritual home; there they would have led a peaceful and honoured life among men of like mind.’ Amsterdam being a trading hub, it is not outside the realm of possibility that Spinoza had some exposure to Buddhist thought coming back on the trading ships from the Far East, especially given that his family were merchants and he worked in the business as a young man. Perhaps future scholarship will uncover documentary evidence of such a link, just as Revah found the reasons for Spinoza’s excommunication in the Inquisition archives only in the 1950s.

Greco-Indian Cultural Diffusion

There are many aspects of Greek and Indian philosophy that overlap. Scholars debate the exact nature of possible cross-pollination, as ideas from each culture are thought to have influenced the other. For example, McEvilley (2002, p. 649) asserted that the monistic concept influenced the Greeks; and the Greeks brought formalized logic and dialectic to Indian philosophy. Both McEvilley and Beckwith commented on the nature of these shared ideas. Anthropologists have long noted this curious tendency, and Campbell (1988, pp. 51–2) discussed the two possible origins: cultural diffusion, or independent development which Jung characterized as archetypes of the collective unconscious. McEvilley (2002, p. 59) wondered if the Jungian archetypes were at play, but Beckwith (2015, pp. 124; 173) pointed out that, given the trade and diplomatic links that followed Darius I’s conquest of the Indus Valley in 515 BCE and the submission of Ionian Greece by 510, there would be no need to invoke Jasper’s (1951, p. 98) premise of the separate development which characterized the Axial Age — the period around 500 BCE when several spiritual thought leaders (Zoroaster, Buddha, Confucius) emerged contemporaneously from China to Greece and laid the foundations of the several major belief systems which still dominate the world today

There is a link between Greek philosophy and Buddhism, and it comes from the campaigns of Alexander the Great. The founder of what later became the school of Greek Skepticism, Pyrrho, traveled with Alexander’s army and he brought back concepts which were wholly new in Greek thought that influenced, among others, the Stoics. Some similarities between Greek and Indian thought predate Alexander, as Beckwith (2015, p. 40) noted that Pyrrho’s tetralemma, once thought to be based on Buddha’s trilaksana, appeared in the works of Aristotle and Plato. McEvilley (2002, p. 332) also noted that Plato’s (360, para. 86b-c) Timaeus contains an ethic that aligns with the basics of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism:


Such is the manner in which diseases of the body arise; the disorders of the soul, which depend upon the body, originate as follows. We must acknowledge disease of the mind to be a want of intelligence; and of this there are two kinds; to wit, madness and ignorance. In whatever state a man experiences either of them, that state may be called disease; and excessive pains and pleasures are justly to be regarded as the greatest diseases to which the soul is liable. For a man who is in great joy or in great pain, in his unseasonable eagerness to attain the one and to avoid the other, is not able to see or to hear anything rightly; but he is mad, and is at the time utterly incapable of any participation in reason.

Not a Stoic, but an Epicurean

Beckwith (2015, pp. 154; 201) noted the shared central ethic of Epicureans and Stoics — apatheia (without suffering) and ataraxia (tranquility) — was derived from Pyrrho’s philosophy who brought it back from India where he was exposed to and influenced by the teachings of Early Buddhism. Therefore, the Stoic and Epicurean ethic was ultimately based on Buddhist philosophy; an Indian legacy which Schopenhauer deduced from the obvious parallels. Apatheia and ataraxia are also key features of Spinoza’s Ethics (1677, IV. Appendix 4 & 9), particularly Part IV: Human Bondage, or the Power of the Affects.


Thus in life it is before all things useful to perfect the understanding or reason, as far as we can, and in this alone man’s highest happiness or blessedness consists, indeed blessedness is nothing else but the contentment of spirit, which arises from the intuitive knowledge of God: now, to perfect the understanding is nothing else but to understand God, God’s attributes, and the actions which follow from the necessity of his nature. Wherefore of a man, who is led by reason, the ultimate aim or highest desire, whereby he seeks to govern all his fellows, is that whereby he is brought to the adequate conception of himself and of all things within the scope of his intelligence. . . .

. . . Nothing can be in more harmony with the nature of any given thing than other individuals of the same species; therefore for man in the preservation of his being and the enjoyment of the rational life there is nothing more useful than his fellow-man who is led by reason. Further, as we know not anything among individual things which is more excellent than a man led by reason, no man can better display the power of his skill and disposition, than in so training men, that they come at last to live under the dominion of their own reason.

Though there are surface similarities to Stoic ethics and pantheism in Spinoza, labeling him a Stoic is a miscategorization. Perhaps this mistaken belief arose from the Stoic authors found in his personal library and because a handful of scholars mistakenly attributed a Stoic influence which has held sway, but Spinoza was actually an Epicurean. Like much of Spinoza’s thinking, his admission was neither straightforward nor in his published writings. In Letter 56 to Boxel, he disparaged the three icons of Greek philosophy and cryptically aligned himself to the Epicurean school of thought:


The authority of Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates, does not carry much weight with me. I should have been astonished, if you had brought forward Epicurus, Democritus, Lucretius, or any of the atomists, or upholders of the atomic theory..

Aside from this single enigmatic admission, Vardoulakis (2020, pp. 2–7) notes three other points of alignment between Epicurus and Spinoza that illustrate the influence of the former: the monadic concept of the creation of the universe out of nothing, the authority of the state which rules through fear and superstition, and the utility of people defined by Spinoza as justice and loving-kindness for our neighbors. The connection is apparent in the Letter to Herodotus by Epicurus, to which Spinoza’s thought bears striking similarities.

In opposition to Stoic pantheism which required a creator deity, Epicurus and Spinoza rejected creationism and asserted that the existence of the universe is explained as its being part of nature. Vardoulakis (2020, pp. 15–17; 27–28) notes that in Ethics (1677, IV Proposition 20), Spinoza echoing Letter to Herodotus, asserts that it is impossible for something to come from nothing, the creation ex nihilo of those who believe in a deity, and this substance monism is the proper context for understanding Spinoza’s Epicurean admission in Letter 56. Regarding the second Epicurean theme, authority, Vardoulakis connected the central premise of both Spinoza’s TTP and On the Nature of Things by Lucretius, the later Roman disciple of Epicurus. Vardoulakis (2020, p. 25) pointed out both works open with an attack on superstition driven by fear, just as Epicurus outlined fear as the root of human insecurities, and how this leads people to concede religious and political authority to others.

The third Epicurean theme, utility, has the most bearing on the topic of this section and its origins in Eastern thinking. Vardoulakis (2020, pp. 31–32) points out the connection between the Letter to Menoeceus in which Epicurus connected mind and body to Ethics (1677, II Proposition 11), where Spinoza wrote in the corollary:


Hence it follows, that the human mind is part of the infinite intellect of God; thus when we say, that the human mind perceives this or that, we make the assertion, that God has this or that idea, not in so far as he is infinite, but in so far as he is displayed through the nature of the human mind, or in so far as he constitutes the essence of the human mind; and when we say that God has this or that idea, not only in so far as he constitutes the essence of the human mind, but also in so far as he, simultaneously with the human mind, has the further idea of another thing, we assert that the human mind perceives a thing in part or inadequately.

Tying this to the first Epicurean theme that the universe can be explained through nature, therefore, all knowledge cannot exist outside of nature, or God as Spinoza termed it here. What the Greeks called phronesis, or practical knowledge, equates with Epicurus and Spinoza’s peace of mind (ataraxia/nirvana), that can be achieved by truly understanding nature and our place within it. As both Buddha and Pyrrho rejected the dogmatism of religion and philosophers, Vardoulakis (2020, pp. 13–15; 34) demonstrated that the practical knowledge of Epicurus was a rejection of the Nicomachean Ethics, or theoretical rationalizations, of Aristotle. Just as Buddha sought the harmonious Middle Path, this Epicurean utility was mirrored by Spinoza’s second aspect of true religion — justice and loving-kindness for others — which repeated throughout the TTP and was also a central feature of the humanism in Ethics (1677, IV, Proposition 35):


Therefore, men in so far as they live in obedience to reason, necessarily live always in harmony one with another.

Indian Monadism

A further direct link between Spinoza and Eastern philosophies is the concept of the monad, expanded upon by Epicurus, which played a key role in his ontological (11:1–3) and cosmological (11:4) arguments:


God, or substance, consisting of infinite attributes, of which each expresses eternal and infinite essentiality, necessarily exists.

Proof. (11:1) If this be denied, conceive, if possible, that God does not exist: then his essence does not involve existence. (2) But this is absurd. (3) Therefore God necessarily exists. (1677, I. Proposition 11:1–3).

Another Proof. (11:4) Of everything whatsoever a cause or reason must be assigned, either for its existence, or for its non-existence. (1677, I. Proposition 11:4).

In Greek philosophy, the monad was represented as a circle with a dot in the middle, and represented the divine origin of all things. In terms of modern physics, it would be the Big Bang singularity from which all life emanated, and is tied directly to Spinoza’s concept of an impersonal God indistinguishable from nature.


My opinion concerning God and Nature is far different from the one modern Christians usually defend. I maintain that God is the indwelling cause of all things, not the cause from outside. (Spinoza 2016, Letter 73 to Oldenburg).

A concept he borrowed from Pliny (Pliny 1967, II. v5. pp. 183, 187):


That that supreme being, whate’er it be, pays heed to man’s affairs is a ridiculous notion. Can we believe that it would not be defiled by so gloomy and so multifarious a duty? . . .

. . . Which facts unquestionably demonstrate the power of nature, and prove that it is this that we mean by the word “God.”

Whether monism originated in the East and was transmitted to the West, or if the concept arose in both cultures through separate development, remains a matter of scholarly debate particularly as Parmenides developed his monist concept two hundred years before Pyrrho’s experiences in India. McEvilley devoted the entirety of his second chapter to examples of the monadic development in the late Bronze Age in Egyptian and Sumerian mythologies, the latter which influenced the Indians beginning in the Middle Vedic period, around 1000 BCE. McEvilley (2002, pp. 60–1) asserted that as polytheistic mythologies ran out of explanations for the natural world, they began evolving towards a concept of one, creating a new philosophical monism. Indian writings from the Middle Vedic on began to reflect this new monism, while the Greek literature of Homer and Hesiod maintained its polytheistic hold on Greek mythology for several more centuries. In an example of the two-way transmission of ideas, echoes of Parmenides also appear in the Bhagavad Gita.

McEvilley made some interesting comparisons. One, that monism arrived in Greece via India and permeated ancient Greek philosophical monism, which informed the later ideas of Spinoza and the Germans Leibniz, Hegel, and Heidegger (2002, p. 505). Two, the cosmology of the Stoics resembles Vedantic and Vaishnava basic conceptions of the universe in that the monad/God/prime mover/first creator is manifest in, yet apart, from nature (2002, pp. 540–1). Three, that because the Stoic and Upanishadic cosmologies have such significant congruences, the Stoics can be considered the first Western pantheists (2002, p. 541. Cf. Reale, 1985, p. 214).

McEvilley (2002, p. 542) also noted the Stoic conception of Zeus, who was indistinguishable from the world and whom people were to revere and love, which also resembles the Hindu Ishvara monad. Following this cosmological conception, the Stoic ethic developed along a similar path to the Bhagavad Gita in that we must reconcile ourselves to destiny and the futility of resistance, which culminated in the great Stoic maxim from Cleanthes: ‘Fate leads the willing. The unwilling it drags.’ (McEvilley 2002, pp. 542–3. Cf. Epictetus, Enchiridion, 53; Seneca, Epistles, 107.11)

Ziporyn (2012, pp. 126–8, 134) added to the Eastern conceptions that parallel some of Spinoza’s thought, stating that Spinoza was definitely a monist, but not one who equated existence with perception of the mind as some Buddhist philosophical schools do. Further, he noted that Spinoza distinguished three different types of knowledge: imagination, including perception; rationality; and intuition, specifically regarding the monistic idea of the substance which was the basis of his ontological argument.

This leads to the question: when a mind perceives something, does it occur only in the mind of the individual, or did that something exist in the mind of God? That question is particularly reminiscent of Hindu creation mythology. There is no one consistent creation story given the varying Hindu traditions that grew over the centuries from different sources (Vedas, Upanishads, Bhagavad Gita, that came together in what scholars call the Hindu synthesis) and were merged rather inconsistently with either Shiva, Brahma, Vishnu, or some combination as the creators and known in Hinduism as the Trimurti.
Recumbent Vishnu & the Creation of Brahma

There are a few variations that lend themselves to the cosmogony of Spinoza’s substance. In one story, Vishnu is the sleeping god whose dream is the universe and reality. In the other seemingly intertwined tale, Brahma sits on a lotus growing from Vishnu’s navel and everything that occurs in the universe happens only so long as Brahma is awake and his eyes are open. Once his eyes close, existence disappears again (Campbell 1988, p. 63). In a third variation, Shiva is the creator, and in the Shaiva sect which reveres Shiva as the supreme deity, Brahma is a manifestation of Shiva who creates the universe.

In later vedic texts, Māyā connotes an illusion: that which we perceive as reality is a mirage; it is really the dream of Brahma. A parallel could be drawn to the modern hypothesis that what we perceive as reality is really a complex computer simulation. In Buddhism, Māyā became the mother of Buddha. Beckwith (2015, pp. 12; 161; 167) pointed out the later fictional narratives of Siddhartha Gautama’s origin story were retroactively projected onto his legend. Therefore, it is likely the name of Buddha’s mother drew upon the mysticism of Indian culture. One formulation bringing much of this together is that Brahma is the Creator who dreams the universe into existence; Vishnu, the Preserver, maintains the dream; using Māyā to generate the illusion that we perceive as the world. In all these versions, existence occurs in the mind of God, which relates back to the third kind of knowledge in Spinoza that Ziporyn (2012, p. 129) noted ‘necessarily follows from the existence of God.’

Spinoza (1677, II. Proposition 47) presented his conceptions regarding the thoughts of God:


The human mind has ideas, from which it perceives itself and its own body and external bodies as actually existing; therefore it has an adequate knowledge of the eternal and infinite essence of God. Q.E.D.

Note. Hence we see, that the infinite essence and the eternity of God are known to all. Now as all things are in God, and are conceived through God, we can from this knowledge infer many things, which we may adequately know, and we may form that third kind of knowledge of which we spoke.

Buddhist Metaphysics

Ziporyn’s (2012, p. 138) analysis of Spinoza’s proposition then moves from Hindu cosmogony into the realm of Buddhist meditation: knowing yourself leads to a deeper understanding of existence in the outside world. Ziporyn (2012, p. 139) posited that Spinoza’s conception may possibly be uniquely distinct in the West, but that it shares some fundamental parallels from two other Eastern thinkers, one from Daoism and another from Chinese Buddhism. To overcome the solipsism (the self can only know its own mind), the Daoist philosopher Zhuangzi simply accepted it: one may not be able to see beyond their own perspective, but having a perspective necessitates that others have one, too. Similar to Zoroastrian duality, a perspective cannot exist in a vacuum without another perspective to provide a contrast. Modern psychologists refer to this as theory of mind, and Bering (2012, p. 37) devoted an entire book to this topic and the concept of God’s mental states. Hongladarom (2015) concluded:


. . . [W]e might say there are a number of similarities between the conception of the self within Spinoza and Buddhism. First, they are both unions of mind and matter that are limited by their own kind. This is meant both literally and metaphorically: the self is limited physically by the existence of others; but also recognized as such to the effect of limiting what the self is. This is in line with the idea that selves are not merely inert object, but the seats of subjectivity and the source of thoughts and ideas.

The second example Ziporyn gave, possibly derived from Daoism, comes from Huayan Buddhism: ‘all phenomena are present in each phenomenon,’ and that ‘no phenomenon knows another phenomenon.’ Ziporyn (2012, pp. 139–40) cited a quote in his footnotes from Fazang, one of the Patriarchs of Huayan Buddhism:


One small speck of dust . . . pervades all times and places, and yet this one speck of dust, and all other phenomena do not know each other or see each other. And why? Because each one is the entire perfectly interpenetrating universe, integrating all into itself with no other universe outside of it. Thus they do not need to further know or see each other. Even when we speak of knowing or seeing, all of it is the entire universe knowing and seeing; ultimately there is no additional universe to see or know.

What is intriguing about this conceptualization, is that it seems to intuit quantum entanglement and multiverse theory, joining ranks with the monad and the example of the Big Bang singularity. American scientist Carl Sagan and science writer Dick Teresi have both noted the wisdom of the ancients. Teresi (2002, p. 210) stated that Indian cosmogony was the closest in terms of theorizing quantum physics and the atom, which may have influenced the Greek atomists. Both Teresi (2002, p. 159) and Sagan (Sagan & Malone 1980, Episode 10) noted that of all the creation myths of world religions, only the Hindus approached the actual number, estimating over four billion years. This brings to mind one of Sagan’s (Sagan & Malone 1980, Episode 1) most famous quotes: “We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.”

Ziporyn (2012, p. 140) concluded by observing how interesting it is when we ponder ‘the unusual epistemological resonances between these disparate systems.’ Thus, Spinoza’s conception of nature (God) may then have been built on Brahminical and Buddhist philosophies that had been filtered through the lens of Greek monism, but he seemed to be unaware of the pedigree of these ideas. (McEvilley 2002, p. 547).

Symmetries between Spinoza and Buddhist Enlightenment

While Spinoza’s cosmogony and pantheism have parallels, if not origins, in Indian philosophy, his ethics contain an unmistakably Buddhist character, especially his ideas on the soul and salvation. Spinoza’s assertion that souls die with the body was one of the reasons he was excommunicated in 1656 by the Jewish community, and by 1660 he had codified his thoughts on the topic in his Short Treatise on God, Man and His Well-Being. For Spinoza (1910), the soul was simply our conscious mind (p. 129), which perishes with the body (p. 136):


And since he consists of such a body of which there must necessarily be an Idea in the thinking thing, and the Idea must necessarily be united with the body, therefore we assert without fear that his Soul is nothing else than this Idea of his body in the thinking thing. . . .

. . . From this, then it can easily be seen, that if it is united to the body alone, and that body happens to perish, then it must perish also; for when it is deprived of the body, which is the foundation of its love, it must perish with it.

Spinoza’s conceptualization of the soul as synonymous with consciousness does strongly correlate to the Buddhist idea. Hongladarom (2015) noted:


A basic tenet in Buddhist philosophy in both the Theravada and Mahayana traditions is that the self is regarded as being composed of form (rūpa), feelings (vedanā), perceptions (saññā), thought formations (sankhāra) and consciousness (viññāna). (For an introduction to Buddhist philosophy, see Siderits, 2007 and Gethin, 1998. The analysis of the self as consisting of five elements here is fundamental in all Buddhist schools.) These five elements can be grouped together into physical and mental entities whereby form belongs to the former and the other four aggregates to the latter. The argument is that, as the self is divisible into these five aggregates, it cannot be found as an inherently existing entity because the self dissolves itself by virtue of being so divisible. Any characteristic that is thought to belong to the self, such as having a certain personality, is not found to belong to any of these aggregates. The personality may be thought to belong to perceptions and memories, but these are fleeting and constituted by countless short episodes, so cannot be considered as a candidate for the self that is thought to endure as a source of personality. The same kind of analysis applies when the self is equated with the body. In short, the Buddhist takes up the usual way in which the self is conceived: as existing as a life-giving soul, and finds that it is nothing more than a collection of these five aggregates.

As to what Spinoza (1677, V. Cf. Nadler 1999, pp. 170, 190) meant by salvation, it was something very similar to the Buddhist concept of enlightenment: an awakening of consciousness by becoming self-aware and learning to take control of the ever-changing whims of our emotions and the freedom this entails:


At length I pass to the remaining portion of my Ethics, which is concerned with the way leading to freedom. I shall therefore treat therein of the power of the reason, showing how far the reason can control the emotions, and what is the nature of Mental Freedom or Blessedness. (Preface).

From what has been said we clearly understand, wherein our salvation, or blessedness, or freedom, consists: namely, in the constant and eternal love towards God, or in God’s love towards men. (Proposition 36 note).

Whereas the wise man, in so far as he is regarded as such, is scarcely at all disturbed in spirit, but, being conscious of himself, and of God, and of things, by a certain eternal necessity, never ceases to be, but always possesses true acquiescence of his spirit. (Proposition 42 note).

The Theological-Political Treatise (TTP from the Latin title, Tractatus Theologico-Politicus), contains a few passages with Eastern leanings[emphasis added]:


The true happiness and blessedness of each person consists only in the enjoyment of the good, and not in a self-esteem founded on the fact that he alone enjoys the good, all others being excluded from it. For whoever views himself as more blessed because things are well with him, but not with others, or because he is more blessed and more fortunate than others, does not know true happiness and blessedness. The joy he derives from that comparison comes from envy and a bad heart — if it isn’t mere childishness.

For example, the true happiness and blessedness of man consists only in wisdom and in knowledge of the truth, not at all in the fact that he is wiser than others, or that others lack true knowledge. For their ignorance does not increase his wisdom at all, i.e., his true happiness. So someone who rejoices for that reason rejoices because of an evil occurring to someone else. He is envious and evil, failing to know either true wisdom or the peace of true life. (Spinoza 2016, TTP iii. 1–2).

Finally, almost all the Prophets found it extremely obscure how the order of nature and what happened to men could agree with the concept they had formed concerning God’s providence. But this was always quite clear to the Philosophers, who strive to understand things, not from miracles, but from clear concepts. They locate true happiness only in virtue and peace of mind; they are concerned, not that nature should obey them, but that they should obey nature; they know with certainty that God directs nature as its universal laws require, not as the particular laws of human nature require, and that God takes account, not of the human race only, but of the whole of nature. (Spinoza 2016, TTP vi. 34).

However, the majority of Spinoza’s concepts that parallel Buddhism are in the Short Treatise, Ethics, and in the Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect as demonstrated by Nadler’s (1999, pp. 101–2) citation of its opening paragraph:


After experience had taught me that all the things which regularly occur in ordinary life are empty and futile, and I saw that all things which were the cause or object of my fear had nothing of good or bad in themselves, except insofar as [my] mind was moved by them, I resolved at last to try to find out whether there was anything which would be the true good, capable of communicating itself, and which alone would affect the mind, all others rejected — whether there was something which, once found and acquired would continuously give me the greatest joy, to eternity.

Spinoza’s phrasing of ‘empty and futile’ is evocative of the Buddhist concept of Śūnyatā, or emptiness, encapsulated by:


Here, O Sariputra,
form is emptiness and the very emptiness is form;
emptiness does not differ from form, form does not differ from emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form,
the same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, and consciousness.
(Heart Sutra)
Photo by Manuel Cosentino on Unsplash


The intellect is empty of a self or of anything pertaining to a self. Ideas… Intellect-consciousness… Intellect-contact is empty of a self or of anything pertaining to a self. And whatever there is that arises in dependence on intellect-contact — experienced as pleasure, pain or neither-pleasure-nor-pain — that too is empty of a self or of anything pertaining to a self.
(Suñña Sutta SN 35:85)

Once again, Spinoza, whether consciously aware of his choices or not, was echoing distinctly Buddhist conceptualizations. As meditation and mindfulness have become increasingly popular in the past few years, it is a tribute to Spinoza’s genius that profound ideas endure and come back around; just like the Wheel of Dharma.




This article has been excerpted from a chapter on Hobbes & Spinoza in my forthcoming book, Dangerous Ideas. For additional text from this chapter, including a breakdown of Spinoza’s ontological argument above, please see my blog.



References

Beckwith, C. I. (2015). Greek Buddha: Pyrrho’s encounter with early Buddhism in Central Asia. Princeton University Press.

Bering, J. (2012). The Belief instinct: The Psychology of souls, destiny, and the meaning of life. W. W. Norton & Company.

Campbell, J. (1988). The Power of myth with Bill Moyers. Doubleday.

Hongladarom, S. (2015). Spinoza & Buddhism on the self. The Oxford Philosopher. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/2NpUiqk

Jaspers, K. (2015). Way to wisdom: An introduction to philosophy. Yale University Press.

McEvilley, T. C. (2002). The Shape of ancient thought: Comparative studies in Greek and Indian philosophies. Internet Archive. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/37ZrbDB
Cf. Reale, G. (1985). A History of ancient philosophy III: Systems of the Hellenistic age. (J. Catan Trans.) SUNY Press.

Nadler, S. (1999). Spinoza: A life. Cambridge University Press.

Plato. (360 BCE). Timaeus. Infomotions. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/3dvyPXB

Pliny the Elder. (1967). Natural history. (H. Rackham Trans.). Internet Archive. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/2Vi4AgC

Schopenhauer, A. (1909). The World as will and idea (Vol. 2). (R. B. Haldane and J. Kemp Trans.). Internet Archive. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/2Z4V9Co

Spinoza, B. (1677). Ethics. Infomotions. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/2CF2oJE

Spinoza, B. (1910). Short treatise on God, man, and his well-being. (A. Wolf Trans. & Ed.). Internet Archive. Retrieved from https://bit.ly/31i0hFI

Spinoza, B. (2016). The Collected works of Spinoza (Vol. 2). (E. Curley Trans. & Ed.). Princeton University Press.

Teresi, D. (2002). Lost Discoveries: The Ancient roots of modern science — from the Babylonians to the Maya. Simon and Schuster.

Vardoulakis, D. (2020). Spinoza, the Epicurean: Authority and utility in materialism. Edinburgh University Press.

Ziporyn, B. (2012). Spinoza and the self-overcoming of solipsism. Comparative and Continental Philosophy, 4(1), 125–140.

~~ Media ~~

Sagan, C., Druyan. A., Soter. S. (Writers), & Malone, A. (Director). (1980, September 28). The shores of the cosmic ocean (Season 1, Episode 1) [TV series episode]. In A. Malone (Executive Producer), Cosmos. KCET.

Sagan, C., Druyan. A., Soter. S. (Writers), & Malone, A. (Director). (1980, November 30). The edge of forever. (Season 1, Episode 10) [TV series episode]. In A. Malone (Executive Producer), Cosmos. KCET.

~~ Websites ~~

Hindu Wisdom. Hindu Cosmology. Retrieved June 15, 2020, from http://www.hinduwisdom.info/Hindu_Cosmology.htm

Spinoza And Buddha Visions Of A Dead God : S.M.Melamed : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Spinoza And Buddha Visions Of A Dead God : S.M.Melamed : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive



Spinoza And Buddha Visions Of A Dead Godby S.M.Melamed


Publication date 1933Publisher The University Of Chicago PressCollection universallibraryContributor Universal Digital LibraryLanguage English

Addeddate 2006-11-11 16:09:54

The Greatest Philosopher You've Never Heard Of : 13.7: Cosmos And Culture : NPR

The Greatest Philosopher You've Never Heard Of : 13.7: Cosmos And Culture : NPR


The Greatest Philosopher You've Never Heard Of

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ADAM FRANK




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Let's be honest. When most of us talk about philosophy — the hard-core, name-dropping, theory-quoting kind — we're talking about a particular lineage that traces back to the Hellenistic Greeks.

But consider, for a moment, the fact that over the last few thousand years there've been a whole lot of smart people born into a whole lot of highly sophisticated cultures. It is, therefore, kind of silly that we limit "philosophy" to mean "philosophy done by dudes who lived in Europe a long time ago." That gripe was the main point of a very pointed piece in The New York Times last month titled: "If Philosophy Won't Diversify, Let's Call It What It Really Is."

Of course, given how much my field of physics owes to the rich philosophical tradition of "The West," I do count myself as a big fan. From Plato's Doctrine of Ideals to Spinoza's Ethics, Western philosophic perspectives laid bare core issues that were transformed into really good things, like science and democratic political thought. But as The Times piece shows, it doesn't do much good imagining that Europe cornered the market on creative thinking about being human.
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That's why, today, I want to tell you about Eihei Dogen.

Dogen was a 13th century Japanese Zen teacher who is considered by many to be one of the world's most profoundly subtle and creative thinkers. Now some might object that being a Zen master automatically knocks you off the list of great philosophers. Taking that position, however, misses how closely the history of Western philosophy is tied to the monotheistic religions it grew along with. Also, there is quite a bit of debate about how Buddhism stacks up as a religion to begin with (at least in terms of how we in the West think of the word). Buddhism contains no conception of deity and has a highly evolved monastic tradition that contains at least some elements of empiricism in its emphasis on direct experience and investigation.

But what were Buddhists like Dogen investigating — and what does it have to do with philosophy? For Buddhists, a central concern is the act of being a subject. That means the dynamics of the verb "to be" as a lived experience is often the focus of Buddhist philosophical inquiry.

For Western philosophy, this kind of question usually hinges around debates over the mind-body problem. Buddhist (and Vedic) philosophers had these kinds of debates, too, but they also had something their Western counterparts didn't.


While Western philosophers relied solely on reason and logic to source their arguments, Buddhists attempted to develop refined methods for articulate, focused introspection. The term used today is "contemplative practice." Sometimes the word "meditation" is used, though it doesn't come close to doing the concept justice. Like graduate students working on a Ph.D., aspiring contemplatives spent decades refining their techniques. The big difference, of course, is that for contemplatives the techniques were aimed at the stabilization of attention rather than statistical analysis or genetic manipulation. Once mastered, the stabilized attention is meant to be turned on questions about the nature of awareness. (As a side note, the "mindfulness" many Westerners are being introduced to today is a great start, but pretty much represents the bunny hill of contemplative practice.)

Dogen was a master of "zazen," the particular flavor of contemplative practice developed in Zen. Many of his writings are attempts to help his students understand the importance of, and approach to, this practice. But Dogen also tries to explain what is found, what is discovered, in zazen — and it's here that many find his genius.

The problem with discussions of direct experience is it's notoriously hard to report. How do I communicate my experience of a red apple or the blue sky to you? Words are just signifiers or labels. Most importantly they are clearly something different from my ongoing, happening-right-now, completely vivid experience. Couple that dilemma with the depth of what Dogen claims occurs in stabilized zazen and you can see where the problem begins.

To deal with this dilemma, Dogen deploys language that can be both hauntingly poetic and infuriating at the same time. For example, here is one of the most famous of Dogen quotes. It concerns studying "the Way," which, for Buddhists, is something like what Western philosophers might call essential nature"


"To study the Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly."

When I first encountered this quote I had no idea what Dogen was talking about. What I did get, however, was a hint of truth in his lyricism. It was a hint originating from my own experience of the way the world's presence can rise before us. It's like how, when I'm on a hike, the "myriad things" of the world can all simultaneously unify into a totality of experience. Suddenly, I'm free of thinking about what I'm seeing and, instead, I'm just seeing.

Later in the same piece of writing, Dogen discusses the relationship between time and substance. Because his emphasis is the world as experience, his description breaks traditional dichotomies:


"Firewood becomes ash, and it does not become firewood again. Yet, do not suppose that the ash is future and the firewood past. You should understand that firewood abides in the phenomenal expression of firewood, which fully includes past and future and is independent of past and future. Ash abides in the phenomenal expression of ash, which fully includes future and past. Just as firewood does not become firewood again after it is ash, you do not return to birth after death."

In this quote, you can see the Dogen that can be infuriating when you first encounter it. He often embodies that "up is down, but down is up" kind of Zen-ism. Over the years, and with my own practice, I've come to understand a whole lot more of what these kinds of passages mean. In a sense, Dogen is using language as a kind of game to help unpack the inherently existential problem of the self — the problem of being a self as opposed to thinking about it. If you are looking for a Western analogue of this kind of thing, the phenomenologists Husserl and Heidegger come to mind. Heidegger, in particular, talked about the need to "jump into the circle" when approaching questions of being.

Like Heidegger and Husserl, I have been coming back to Dogen's writing for decades. As I've gotten older, I've come to see experience and its irreducible nature as a central unsolved problem in the overlap between science and philosophy. Dogen is, without a doubt, first and foremost a teacher of Zen Buddhism. But within his self-selected mission of bringing Zen to 13th century Japan, he also laid out an entirely novel approach to central issues of time, action and human being. As much as many of the philosophers in the Western canon, Dogen, too, deserves to be known.

Adam Frank is a co-founder of the 13.7 blog, an astrophysics professor at the University of Rochester, a book author and a self-described "evangelist of science." You can keep up with more of what Adam is thinking on Facebook and Twitter: @adamfrank4.

Spinozism - Wikipedia Comparison to Eastern philosophies

Spinozism - Wikipedia

Comparison to Eastern philosophies
Similarities between Spinoza's philosophy and Eastern philosophical traditions have been discussed by many authorities. The 19th-century German Sanskritist Theodore Goldstücker was one of the early figures to notice the similarities between Spinoza's religious conceptions and the Vedanta tradition of India, writing that Spinoza's thought was "... a western system of philosophy which occupies a foremost rank amongst the philosophies of all nations and ages, and which is so exact a representation of the ideas of the Vedanta, that we might have suspected its founder to have borrowed the fundamental principles of his system from the Hindus, did his biography not satisfy us that he was wholly unacquainted with their doctrines... We mean the philosophy of Spinoza, a man whose very life is a picture of that moral purity and intellectual indifference to the transitory charms of this world, which is the constant longing of the true Vedanta philosopher... comparing the fundamental ideas of both we should have no difficulty in proving that, had Spinoza been a Hindu, his system would in all probability mark a last phase of the Vedanta philosophy."[18][19]

It has been said that Spinozism is similar to the Hindu doctrines of Samkhya and Yoga. Though within the various existing Indian traditions there exist many traditions which astonishingly had such similar doctrines from ages, out of which most similar and well known are the Kashmiri Shaivism and Nath tradition, apart from already existing Samkhya and Yoga.[20]

Max Muller, in his lectures, noted the striking similarities between Vedanta and the system of Spinoza, saying "the Brahman, as conceived in the Upanishads and defined by Sankara, is clearly the same as Spinoza's 'Substantia'."[21] Helena Blavatsky, a founder of the Theosophical Society also compared Spinoza's religious thought to Vedanta, writing in an unfinished essay "As to Spinoza's Deity – natura naturans – conceived in his attributes simply and alone; and the same Deity – as natura naturata or as conceived in the endless series of modifications or correlations, the direct outflowing results from the properties of these attributes, it is the Vedantic Deity pure and simple."[22]

Spinoza And Buddha: Visions Of A Dead God Melamed, S. M.

Amazon.com: Spinoza And Buddha: Visions Of A Dead God (9781432557621): Melamed, S. M.: Books


Spinoza And Buddha: Visions Of A Dead God null
by S. M. Melamed (Author)
3.8 out of 5 stars 3 ratings
This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.






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Publisher : Kessinger Publishing, LLC (March 1, 2007)
Language : English
Paperback : 404 pages



Kenneth Dorter

2.0 out of 5 stars Condemning Spinoza as a BuddhistReviewed in the United States on June 1, 2011

Melamed's book is a rebuttal to the "many commentators, critics, and historians [who] have cried that Spinoza's excommunication was not justified since his doctrine was traceable to Jewish sources" (136). He argues that there is a "line extending from the Upanisads to Buddha, St. Paul, St. Augustine, and Spinoza" (5, 299-363), and that mysticism was no part of traditional Judaism. For all his otherwise impressive erudition, however, Melamed never mentions the Zohar. He does mention Hassidism, but after acknowledging that it arose independently of Spinoza, he circumvents this counter-example to his thesis by means of a non-sequitur: "Chasidism - although it is not a consequence of, is a parallel to, Spinozism... [There is a] deep-rooted pantheistic tendency in Chassidism. In view of these facts, the assertion is justified that Spinoza's influence on the cultural process of his own race in modern times was almost as powerful as was his influence upon the general cultural process in the West" (146-7). Melamed's antipathy to Spinoza is continually in evidence (even apart from the book's subtitle): Spinoza was not only "the patron saint of Lenin's state" (30) and "the official philosopher of Red Russia" (31), "Spinoza was actually responsible for the cultural anti-Semitism of modern Europe" (147).

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miles secker
3.0 out of 5 stars love and hence to those values we must believe in ...Reviewed in the United Kingdom on October 29, 2014
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Melameds Spinoza and Buddhism is a miserable and verbose rant. It contains very little evidence of familiarity with philosophy and a willingness to examine the Ethics for, say, the interdeduciblitity of the propositions, the relation of 'reason' to 'cause', the deducibility of social relations from primary emotions, the notion that adequate ideas of nature are occluded by passive emotions and inductive generalisation...etc..etc. Instead, Melamed has had his mind made up for him and deploys his unthinking loyalty to orthodox Judaism as a cudgel with which to smite Spinoza and the Buddha for their atheism or pantheism. For Melamed both Spinoza and Buddha are guilty of teaching a kind of passive, supine and indifferent attitude to the problems of life while Judaism, and to a lesser extent Christianity, since Christianity, Melamed claims, is infected by Buddhism, demands a commitment to belief in a God who is justice, mercy, love and hence to those values we must believe in order to live with any vitality and spirit. The truth is otherwise however. In his Theologico-Political Treatise and his Political Treatise Spinoza argued that Judaism and Christianity, in becoming harnessed to the apparatus of the state, to rank and status, had promoted superstition as a means of controlling the 'multitude' and, consequently, had become agents of injustice. Religion should therefore be subordinated to the rule of law in a democracy ('In a free state every man can think what he likes and say what he thinks': Ch. 22; TPT). Unlike Spinoza, with whom at least Melamed has some religious kinship, Buddha is completely alien. Melameds attacks on the harmless Buddha show Melamed is eaten up in incomprehension. He is beside himself with rage for the pacifist doctrine of the Buddha. He despises Buddha's doctrine of nature with it's absent God. At least Spinoza, writing in the 17th century when religious bigotry was defended by the state, was cunning enough to call 'nature', 'God'. Not so Buddha. Even the notion of God is emptied and 'blown out' ('nirvana'). Poor Melamed; a miserable and unhappy man. Not so Spinoza: 'The mind endeavours to think only of the things that affirm its power of activity' (Eth. III, Prop. 54) and 'Cheerfulness cannot be excessive. It is always good. On the other hand melancholy is always bad' (Eth. IV, Prop. 42) and the Buddha 'These three persons arise in the world for the welfare of the multitude, for the happiness of the multitude, out of compassion for the world, for the good, welfare and happiness of gods and humans....the Enlightened One (Buddha)...an arahant....a trainee practising the path...' (Itivuttaka 84; 78-79; quoted in: In the Buddha's Words Ed. Bhikku Bodhi; Wisdom Pub. 2005 pp 414-5.
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Marie Parrice, Buddhist Aspects of Spinoza's Thought - PhilPapers

Marie Parrice, Buddhist Aspects of Spinoza's Thought - PhilPapers

Buddhist Aspects of Spinoza's Thought


Dissertation, City University of New York (1992)
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Abstract
This dissertation shows how, despite vast differences in metaphysical approach. Gautama Siddhartha and Spinoza arrived at strikingly similar insights concerning the nature of the universe, the human condition and the place of man in that universe. It does not attempt to establish any influence of Buddhism upon Spinoza's thought. As well as exploring significant parallels in their philosophies, it refutes commonly-held misconceptions of them as pessimistic and ascetic and their characterization as mystics. Both offer positive philosophies showing the way to happiness and perfection via full understanding of the world when stripped of illusion and active participation in it despite the inevitability of unsatisfactoriness and suffering. ;Introduction. From the beginning of philosophic endeavor, the ultimate goal of both was to find a remedy for suffering and communicate it to others. Having arrived at the awareness of the unity of the apparently separate person with the whole of nature, and a way to achieve the maximum happiness possible within the limits of determined existence, both set out to show the way to that happiness, stressing the necessity for everyone ultimately to abandon the given and pursue the final goal of perfected realization of truth independently. ;Chapter I. Spinoza's Deus sive Natura and Buddhism's Dharmakaya. Draw parallels between Spinoza's theory of substance as Deus sive Natura and the Mahayana view of the phenomenal world as manifestation of the "Truth Body" . ;II. The Concept of Self. Points up parallels in the Buddha's and Spinoza's concept of self and their common view of the illusion of egoity as principal source of suffering and unsatisfactory relationships. ;III. "Dukkha" and Human Bondage: Their Roots in Craving/Endeavor and their Remedy in True Understanding. ;IV. Ethical Theory as Related to the Buddha's Karma and Spinoza's Efficient Causality. For both insight into the causal process governing humans as parts of the unified whole led to a morally neutral, naturalistic ethical theory. ;V. Salvation Through Enlightenment: The Buddha's Nirvana and Spinoza's Blessedness. Salvation through liberation is effected in the realization of truth, and moral perfection is pursued in rationally governed lives directed at social as well as personal harmony
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Spinoza | The Existential Buddhist

Spinoza | The Existential Buddhist



TAG: SPINOZA

POSTED ONJULY 26, 2015
Dogen, Spinoza, and Whitehead
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I can’t remember a time when I really believed in God. Maybe as a small child when I still pictured him as a bearded old man in the clouds. Even then, however, God was a stranger to me. My parents never talked about Him, my father was a closet atheist, and I was the kid in Hebrew school who asked questions about the things I couldn’t wrap my head around—issues like the problem of theodicy, or how God’s omniscience conflicted with human free will. As an adolescent, the hypothesis of God seemed increasingly unnecessary and lacking in credible supporting evidence. Scientists seemed to be doing just fine accounting for the universe without Him, and Occam’s razor rendered Him superfluous.

Even if I could convince myself that He existed, what was He like and what exactly did He want from me? Which religion got Him right? Was he a God of love, or a God of hell-fire? Did He want me to avoid shellfish, stone adulterers, and put homosexuals to death? To offer burnt sacrifices? To love my neighbor? To wage jihad? To fight for justice and equality? To ban abortions? To prevent climate change? Was there one God, or many? Was He everywhere, or did He exist in some extra-spatial realm? How could one even begin answering these questions?

One could depend on holy texts or religious authorities, but which ones? The Torah? The Koran? The Upanishads? The Book of Mormon? Why believe one over the other? One could rely on mystical experiences, but how could one tell if they were veridical or merely the result of brain chemistry gone awry? Science, at least, provided intelligible criteria for discerning truth. Science had discovered genetics, nuclear energy, black holes, chemotherapy, and computers. Science was transforming the world. Science was the place to go for answers. At the age of thirteen I gave up thoughts of becoming a rabbi and decided to become a scientist instead.

But science has its own limitations. For one thing, science is unable to tell a coherent story of how consciousness fits into the material world. Scientists tend to believe in physicalism, the belief that the world is only made of one thing — physical stuff. Where does consciousness come from? Consciousness is said to be the product of the integral activity of the brain. And how does consciousness arise from the brain? We have to wait for that answer. Science has only been studying the brain for a relatively short time, and the brain is very, very complex. But don’t worry. Science will provide a full account of consciousness once it better understands the brain. When that happens, consciousness will be revealed to be—tada!—an “emergent” process.



Emergence is the idea that as systems become more complex they display novel properties which couldn’t have been predicted from their simpler components. A typically given example is that oxygen and hydrogen atoms lack “wetness,” but when combined to form H2O, voilà! — wetness “emerges.” It’s always been unclear to me why this is considered to be a good metaphor for the emergence of consciousness. What does the fact that water, oxygen and hydrogen become liquid at different temperatures have to do with “emergence?” Wetness, on the other hand, as opposed to liquidity, is a phenomenological property, a quale, a conscious experience that derives from human-chemical interaction. It isn’t a property that inheres to H2O itself. I’m not sure what’s emergent about wetness, either.

A better example of “emergence” involves insect colonies. Individual insects go about their business without any intention of serving a “higher purpose” in the colony or comprehending their role within it, nevertheless, the aggregate sum of their individual actions creates an emergent hive society, much as human free market economies emerge under the aegis of Adam Smith’s “invisible hand.” Similarly, simple electrical circuits, each of which are “dumb” in their own right, yield “smart” calculations when aggregated together in computers. Intelligent behavior arises from components which lack intelligence on their own. These are much better examples of “emergence,” but the premise that intelligence may be emergent is not the same thing as consciousness being emergent. Intelligence is an adaptive response to environmental circumstances, whereas consciousness is a felt experience. What the metaphor of emergence doesn’t do is offer any insight as to how non-conscious neurons, silicon chips, or any other non-conscious material, can produce the raw feel of consciousness. The experience of “redness” arises when humans interact with certain wavelengths of light, but there’s no raw feel of the quality of “redness” within the brain itself. When you look inside the brain, all you see are moving electrons and secreted neurotransmitters. Computers can calculate, but they aren’t conscious. Brains aren’t conscious either; we are. This explanatory gap between non-conscious brain processes and conscious human experience is what philosopher David Chalmers has anointed “the hard problem.” Now, there are some philosophers who don’t think this explanatory gap is as unbridgeable as I seem to think it is. They don’t see it as being “the hard problem.” Either there’s something they’re not getting that seems intuitively obvious to me, or there’s something I’m not grasping that seems obvious to them. Maybe the unbridgeable gap is not in the brain at all, but between us. In any case, I find “emergent” arguments for consciousness singularly unpersuasive. Emergence is a metaphor that gives the outward appearance of solving the problem of consciousness without really solving anything at all.

But there are more problems with the physicalist model than just the “the hard problem.” First, the standard neurological model also treats thoughts as the mere effluvia of neurological happenings, and since “mental” events can never have an impact on “physical” events, thoughts can never play a causal role in the physical brain. All the causal work is done by physical processes, not by thoughts. Thoughts, then, are something extra, like legs on a snake; they serve no identifiable purpose.

Second, the physicalist model is deterministic. Every brain event is determined by a prior chain of physical causes, so that the appearance of “making a choice” is illusory. Given a particular chain of circumstances, one can never behave any differently than one does. It’s meaningless, therefore, to assign credit for blame for behavior, or to ever employ the conditional tense.

Third, science holds that while things happen due to causes, they don’t happen for a reason. There is no meaning inherent in things, no ultimate grounding for human values, morals, or aesthetics other than in human preferences. While what you do may matter to you, it doesn’t matter to the indifferent universe. Today many people in advanced societies accept this notion that the universe is devoid of inherent meaning and that meaning is a human invention. Since Jean Paul Sartre, it’s been a basic existentialist premise — although Sartre, unlike physicalists, believed in the reality of human freedom and choice. But the reader should be aware that the meaninglessness of the universe is a metaphysical proposition, and that there’s no empirical evidence either for or against it.

Now, it’s all well and good to assert that consciousness is epiphenomenal and that choice is only apparent. These are defendable metaphysical propositions. Not provable, but defendable. The problem is, try living your life as if they’re really true. Try living your life as if you don’t have the power of choice, and that your thoughts have no causative power. Just try it. These propositions violate our deepest intuitions, and while it’s possible to verbally attest to them, it’s impossible to authentically live as if they were true. In addition, the scientific process itself requires scientists who are conscious and make decisions. Science presupposes consciousness and choice, then turns around and questions their existence. Can any determinist, epiphenomenalist philosophy truly be “adequate?” If the story the physicalist model tells us about the world isn’t adequate, what would be?

In the past six months I’ve been reading writers who tell a very different story about the universe: Eihei Dogen, the thirteenth century Japanese Zen monk, Baruch Spinoza, the seventeenth century Dutch Jewish philosopher, and Alfred North Whitehead, the twentieth century British-born mathematician and philosopher. Each of these original thinkers challenges the standard physicalist account of reality in his own unique way. While there are profound differences between them, there are also threads of commonality. I intend to focus on those threads, but first I need to describe their individual metaphysics.

Eihei Dogen




Eihei Dogen (1200-1253) was not what we in the West would call a “philosopher.” He was a Buddhist monastic devoted to the training of Zen monks, and his interests were matters of practical soteriology. He wasn’t interested in creating a metaphysics, and he interpreted the philosophy he drew upon from its Chinese T’ien T’ai and Hua-yen sources in his own unique way. He was a conjurer of words, and his metaphysics has to be wrestled from his difficult, enigmatic, and densely poetic prose.

So what is Dogen’s metaphysics like? As I’ve described in a previous post, Dogen’s universe is one in which space and time is fully integrated, and where every point in space and every time is immediately and intimately connected with every other. It’s a chiliocosm — a multiverse of infinite Buddhas and infinite worlds, even within a single atom or blade of grass. It’s a universe that makes no distinction between animate and inanimate, where mountains “walk” and walls, fences, tiles, and pebbles endlessly teach the Dharma. It’s a universe where all things are in a constant process of change and derive their being from their interrelationship with everything else. It’s a universe where all things conspire to encourage us to wake up and recognize our true nature: our non-dual, compassionate relationship with all of reality. There’s no God in Dogen’s world, but there are an infinite number of Buddhas. His multiverse is co-extensive with Buddha Nature, all of reality the Buddha’s dharmakaya, or “truth body.” Dogen’s universe is an integrated, benevolent, purpose-laden home for human beings.

Baruch Spinoza



Baruch Spinoza (1632-1677) lived in an entirely different culture than Eihei Dogen, and in an entirely different historical era with a different set of concerns. Spinoza was a Sephardic Jew who was born and lived in Protestant Amsterdam at the dawn of the modern scientific revolution. Although they neither met nor corresponded, Spinoza and Isaac Newton were contemporaries, and the nature of physical laws, cause-and-effect, and the relationship between mind and matter were topics of intense interest and debate.

Spinoza wrote his Ethics, in part, as a reaction against Rene Descartes’ claim that the world was divided into two substances, matter which has extension in space, and thought which has none. Spinoza thought there was only one substance in the universe, and that the one substance had both material and mental properties, which he called “attributes.” In Spinoza’a system, everything has both a material and mental side to it. You can describe events in physicalist language (e.g., as events occurring in the brain), or in mentalist language (e.g., as thoughts and experiences) but you have to stay consistent within whatever language frame you start in. Physicality and mentality are two poles of the same process described in different languages.

It’s “easy” to talk about the dual physical and mental properties of matter when we’re talking about the human brain, but what is the mental process of a rock like? We don’t know how it is to be a rock, but we can say that rocks, like living organisms, change in responsive ways to their environment. If we throw a rock, for example, its atoms and electromagnetic fields realign themselves to changes in gravitational force as the rock rotates through space, and its potential and kinetic energy undergo momentary changes throughout its arc of flight. There’s a lot going on. The rock isn’t inert. It responds in some genuine way to the world. It’s possible that these physical changes in relationship to changing external circumstances are in some way meaningfully analagous to whatever physical changes are occurring in our brains when we “have” experiences. Or maybe not. When we speculate that electrons, atoms, molecules, inanimate objects, and one-celled organisms have “experiences,” a question arises about whether we’re stretching the meaning of the word “experience” beyond recognition.

Spinoza’s universe was a true “uni”-verse. His “one substance” was identical to what he called Deus sive Natura, or “God or Nature.” Spinoza’s “God or Nature” was very different from the Abrahamic God. Spinoza’s “God or Nature” manifests everything imaginable out of His/Its infinite potential, the appearance of the many out of the one. “God or Nature” is infinitely creative. Everything that exists is perfect, since “God or Nature” is perfect, and He/It has no choice but to cause everything to be exactly as it is. Everything that is follows the laws of nature by inexorable cause and effect. God is as bound by the laws of causality as humans; neither have free will.

Spinoza’s “God or Nature” is not a supernatural Being. The natural universe in Spinoza’s system, depending on how you interpret his writings, is either coextensive with “God or Nature,” or resides within “God or Nature,” but “God or Nature” is immanent in the world, not transcendent to it. God is the logos, the underlying order of the universe, the generative force behind it. We are natural expressions of God’s infinite, endless creativity.

The reason why it’s uncertain whether Spinoza’s “God or Nature” is fully coextensive with the universe is because Spinoza defines “God or Nature” as having an infinite number of attributes, whereas Spinoza’s universe has only two: extension and thought. This leaves Spinoza’s system open to the possibility (although he does not say so) that our universe is one of an infinite number of possible universes, some of which might have more or different attributes, however unimaginable they might be. Spinoza’s universe, like Dogen’s chiliocosm, is friendly to speculative physics about the universe’s being a multiverse.

Spinoza’s “God or Nature” is not a God of love, however, and the universe wasn’t created with us in mind. God is indifferent to us, caring neither more nor less for us than for viruses or tornados. The universe wasn’t created for humankind’s benefit, but out of God’s infinite imagination. Nevertheless, Spinoza says that the person who is wise will love God and seek to gain adequate ideas about Him/It. Adequate ideas give us the power to overcome our passions, thereby increasing our ability to maintain and enhance our being. According to Spinoza, increasing one’s power to maintain and enhance one’s own existence is the prime directive of all being. Ethics flows from it as a consequence, since maintaining and enhancing our existence depends largely on optimizing our relationships with other people.

Alfred North Whitehead



Writing early in the 20th Century, at the dawn of the age of relativity and quantum mechanics, Alfred North Whitehead (1861-1947) wanted to create a metaphysics that was compatible, not only with newly emergent scientific facts, but with the things human beings are most certain of: that we have conscious experiences, that these conscious experiences have causal efficacy, and that we make meaningful decisions in the world. Whitehead wanted a metaphysics that found a place for consciousness and choice within the very heart of reality.

Whitehead’s philosophy shares certain features with Spinoza’s. Like Spinoza, he believed that mentality inheres in matter, and in the necessity of a God whose creative force is immanent in the world. But there their similarities end. Spinoza’s world is a deterministic one running entirely on a chain of causation, whereas decision and choice are real for Whitehead.

Whitehead’s philosophy is often called “process-relational” because it holds that the world isn’t made of substances, but of processes and relationships. Everything interacts with everything else in a constant process of transformation, only the “things” that are interacting aren’t really “things” at all. “Things” are abstractions from temporal slices of ongoing process. The “thing” we happen to designate a “flower,” for example, is an abstraction from a process occurring over time: seed becoming seedling, seedling becoming flower, flower becoming compost, compost becoming soil, ad infinitum. This beginning-less, endless process occurs within a web of mutually unfolding relationships with other processes, solar, meteorological, geological, ecological, and atmospheric. The flower’s existence is unfolding process and relationship. The same is true of everything without exception, from the smallest elementary particle to God Himself.

Whitehead was also a pan-experientialist. Not only does process and relationship go all the way down and all the way up, but every event within a process is also a “drop of experience.” Even elementary particles have experiences of some kind, whatever they might be. The future, in Whitehead’s view, does not yet exist. Unlike deterministic philosophies that decree the future a forgone conclusion given the constellation of causes set in motion at the moment of original creation, Whitehead’s future remains unwritten. Processes draw on their past experiences and their experience of current influences, but use them to creatively generate the next moment.

Complex processes have more choices in generating the future than simple processes. Humans, for example, have considerable choice; elementary particles, only a little. The reason why the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle accurately characterizes the quantum world, according to Whitehead, is that elementary particles, in some meaningful sense, “choose” their location within their probability matrices. In Whitehead’s language, all processes “prehend” their past and the ways the world impinges on them to create the future out of the array of relevant options. We, and everything else, are forever at that moment of creation when past manifests as present.

Whitehead saw the necessity of including God in his metaphysical system. Like Spinoza’s God or Nature, Whitehead’s God is neither supernatural nor anthropomorphic. For Whitehead, God is that which transforms creativity and infinite potential into something concrete and definite, giving value and organization to an otherwise inchoate set of indeterminate possibilities. He is a kind of anti-entropic force encouraging greater complexity, interrelationship, and creativity. He is a patient persuader, guiding us towards love and mutuality. Whitehead calls him “the poet of the world, with tender patience leading it by his vision of truth, beauty, and goodness.” He co-experiences the experiences of all processes, past and present, “the great companion; the fellow-sufferer who understands.” He provides the universe with an Aristotelian telos, a general direction for the course of its unfolding evolution, as He gently nudges it in the direction of greater freedom, complexity, creativity, and mutuality.

While Whitehead’s evolving universe bears some resemblance to the Jesuit theologian Teilhard de Chardin’s (1881-1955) evolving universe, de Chardin’s universe evolves toward a final, fixed end, whereas Whitehead’s universe evolves as an undetermined, open-ended process. Although Whitehead’s God co-experiences all the experiences of all processes past and present, he isn’t omniscient. He doesn’t know the future, which remains uncreated possibility. Since He dwells in time, His co-experience of all experiences past and present changes how He meets the future. In a universe that’s process-relational all the way up and all the way down, God changes us, and we change Him. God and the universe co-evolve together.

Threads of Commonality

There are four crucial ideas expressed in Dogen’s, Spinoza’s, and Whitehead’s writings that hold my interest. The first, found in both Spinoza and Whitehead, is that of panpsychism—the idea that experience and materiality are both attributes of the same substance or process. The second, found in both Whitehead and Dogen, is process-relationality—the idea that reality is woven out of processes and relationships rather than our of “substances” and “things.” The third, found in Whitehead and Dogen, is the idea that values are inherent in the universe and not merely projections of the human mind. The fourth, found in Spinoza and Whitehead, is the idea of the existence of something that may best be labeled “God.”

Panpsychism

I’m intrigued by descriptions of reality that find mental activity woven into the essential fabric of being and becoming. That’s not to say that Spinoza’s and Whitehead’s “panpsychist” or “pan-experientialist” views aren’t problematic. The strengths and weaknesses of these views are a matter of active debate by contemporary philosophers like Galen Strawson, David Chalmers, and their critics. Panpsychism’s first problem is the fundamental unknowability of what the experience of elementary particles, nonorganic processes, plants, and simple animals such as protozoa are like. Second, there are explanatory gaps in how one gets from the proto-experience of elementary particles to the consciousness of human beings, or how human beings develop a unified consciousness when all of their cells and elementary particles are busy having their own experiences. Despite these significant problems, there seems to be something intuitively appealing about rooting consciousness deeply into the warp and weft of the world. In a way, there shouldn’t be any mystery to consciousness. It’s what we know best about the world; we understand embodied consciousness from a more intimate perspective than we understand anything else. We know what’s it like to be conscious; it’s matter that’s opaque and mysterious.

As a lengthy aside, it’s unclear how Dogen would weigh in on this controversy. Buddhism’s metaphysical stance on the ontological status of mind and matter is both complex and confusing, tending to muddy the waters rather than resolve problems. While the particular rabbit hole Buddhism goes down is slightly different from Descartes’, it’s a rabbit hole nonetheless. Buddhism views consciousness and physical form, under “usual” circumstances, as two tightly interacting, mutually affecting streams of momentarily arising processes. There are times and instances, however, when these mental and material processes separate out, e.g., during the formless jhana meditative states, in the “formless realm” where subtle mental beings reside, in the “astral” travels of the “subtle body,” during the bardo states and process of rebirth, and through the mind’s ability to manifest simulacra of the body (manomayakaya) in space. Dogen inherited this tradition and did little to question or clarify it. While Dogen makes frequent use of the Japanese word shinjin (“body-mind”) which implies a body-mind unity, it’s unclear what the deep ontological underpinnings of that apparent unity are. The best one can say is that Western ontological categories are completely irrelevant to Dogen’s soteriological project.

Process-Relational Metaphysics

I’m strongly drawn to process-relational descriptions of reality that clarify our mutual interdependence with all things. The crises of our era are essentially crises of failures in relatedness, whether with our biosphere or with our neighbors as we tribally-oriented humans— in other words, all of us—are necessarily confronted with the difficulties of living cheek-to-jowl with strangers-turned-neighbors in the global village. Beyond that, process-relational thinking helps us to understand identity and personhood in ways that accord with fundamental Buddhist insights into the nature of selfhood. Whitehead’s process-relational thinking precisely mirrors Dogen’s metaphysics of impermanence and radical inter-relationship. In Mahayana Buddhism, all dharmas (phenomena) are not only anitya (impermanent) but also śunya (empty), meaning lacking in “inherent self-existence” and deriving their momentary being from an evolving flux of inter-relationships. This is what Mahayana Buddhists call “dependent origination.” This natural affinity between Whitehead’s philosophy and Sino-Japanese thought is one reason why there is a growing interest in Whitehead’s philosophy in contemporary China.

The Value Laden Universe

I’m charmed by descriptions of reality that have moral and aesthetic values baked in from the get-go, and that argue for a universe that’s not morally or aesthetically neutral, but naturally inclined in the direction of goodness and beauty. Whitehead believes God moves the universe towards greater beauty, while Dogen believes the fabric of reality encourages us to realize our Buddha nature and awaken together with all things. The idea that in maximizing the good, the true, and the beautiful we’re living more in accord with reality, helping things to flow in their intended direction, makes for a wonderful story. Much nicer than the story that it’s a dog-eat-dog world and that we’re either sharks or sardines. Much nicer, also, than the story that nothing matters, so we can do whatever pleases us. I’m not sure I buy these nicer stories; there are plenty of reasons not to. But I find myself increasingly willing to at least consider them.

Spinoza, on the other hand, isn’t a member of the Inherent Values Club. He’s the father of our modern hard-edged “realism.” He denies the universe is flowing towards greater perfection; it’s already perfect — meaning the only way it can be — as it is. “Good” and “bad” are just categories the human mind projects onto nature:


“After men persuaded themselves, that everything which is created is created for their sake, they were bound to consider as the chief quality in everything that which is most useful to themselves, and to account those things the best of all which have the most beneficial effect on mankind. Further, they were bound to form abstract notions for the explanation of the nature of things, such as goodness, badness, order, confusion, warmth, cold, beauty, deformity, and so on; and from the belief that they are free agents arose the further notions of praise and blame, sin and merit.

But:


….things are not more or less perfect, according as they delight or offend human senses, or according as they are serviceable or repugnant to mankind. To those who ask why God did not so create all men, that they should be governed only by reason, I give no answer but this: because matter was not lacking to him for the creation of every degree of perfection from highest to lowest; or, more strictly, because the laws of his nature are so vast, as to suffice for the production of everything conceivable by an infinite intelligence… — Spinoza, Ethics

God

Which brings us back to the start of this post — my inability to believe in God. I could never believe in a supernatural, anthropomorphic God, an omniscient autocrat standing outside of creation, judging it, and miraculously intervening in accordance with our prayers and petitions—in other worlds, the kind of God that Whitehead describes as having the attributes of “a Caesar.” “God talk” doesn’t interest me or turn me on. As I’ve mentioned in another post, when I hear “God” mentioned in a Dharma talk, my mind wanders off. But how different — really — are Spinoza’s and Whitehead’s naturalistic, creative, immanent Gods from Dogen’s understanding of the dharmakaya? How different is Whitehead’s God who experiences the experiences of the world and nudges us towards love and beauty from Dogen’s compassionate Avalokitesvara who hears the cries of the world and awakens us to wisdom beyond wisdom? Even if one dispenses with Gods and Buddhas, if mentality, morality and aesthetics can be features of reality right down to the bone, why can’t reality also include some non-supernatural “spiritual” dimension as well? Some beneficial principle that encourages us and the world towards greater love and compassion, beauty and understanding, and our own best selves? I’m not convinced, like Whitehead and Spinoza, that God is either necessary or tenable, but I’m more open to consider it than I once was. That’s why I’m an agnostic rather than an atheist; it’s what keeps me from joining the secularist camp.

Final Thoughts

Of course, metaphysical speculations like these lie well beyond the realm of proof or falsifiability. They’re not scientific questions. That’s why they’ve fallen out of favor in contemporary philosophy. But to say they’re unprovable is different from saying they’re meaningless or useless. They’re stories, narrative devices, that help us to organize our behavior and orient us towards the future. They have their own realms of utility.

For a moment, let’s look at this from the Jamesian pragmatic perspective: Which description, if tentatively adopted as-if-true, would most likely enhance human flourishing? Where does a deterministic, physicalist, purposeless universe take us, and where does a pan-experiential, process-relational, value-laden world take us? I invite you to take some time and try to imagine the moral and social consequences of each.

It’s possible that a physicalist framework might be more useful for the purposes of certain scientific investigations, but that a pan-experiential, process-relational, value-laden perspective might be more useful for rearing children and good citizens, organizing social, political and economic relations, preserving the planet, and cultivating the beautiful and the good. And it just might be — it’s possible— that there are even certain scientific questions — ones related to ecology or quantum events, for example — where a process-relational perspective might prove more fruitful.

It’s something worth thinking about.

Many thanks to cosmologist, cousin, and Whitehead scholar Matthew David Segall who kindly reviewed an earlier draft of the Whitehead segment of this post and helped me avoid some errors. Any new errors in interpreting Whitehead that crept into this essay during the revision process are solely my own. Thanks also to Bob Brantl who commented on an earlier draft and helped this to become a better essay than it otherwise would have been — although I suspect he will still not be happy with what he considers to be my caricature of theism in the opening paragraphs. Thanks also to Susan Mirialakis for her many helpful suggestions to improve the readability and flow of this dense essay.


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