On Pantheism (Column 587)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

In my last column I discussed my debate with Aviv Franko. In the course of that discussion we noted our agreement about pantheism, which is nothing but atheism in disguise. This topic has come up here on the site more than once (for example here; you can search for more on the site). In my debate with Ilam Gross I also mentioned pantheism disparagingly, saying that in my view it is nothing but a senseless string of words, or atheism in (very thin) disguise, and they were very offended on Spinoza’s behalf. Is it conceivable that such a famous and brilliant philosopher is talking nonsense?! I thought this would be a good opportunity to touch on this painful subject (discussed at length in my book No Man Has Dominion over the Spirit, the second conversation in the seventh chapter, and also in chapter twenty-six).

A look at Spinoza and the attitude toward him

Spinoza is regarded by many as the first secular Jew (many years ago I participated in a conference at Tel Aviv University with that very title—my experiences there are worth an entire book), the first biblical critic, and also one of the prominent Jewish philosophers (there are, incidentally, very few of those). He was born and active in the Netherlands in the mid-seventeenth century, and over the course of his life arrived at philosophical and theological conclusions that led him to abandon his commitment to the commandments. In the end he and his writings were excommunicated by Jews, by Catholics, and even by the Dutch government. Apropos the previous column, it is worth noting that Spinoza was an outright rationalist and constructed his principal work, Ethics, in a strict deductive structure similar to Euclidean geometry. There are axioms, definitions, and a complete logical structure of propositions deriving one from another.

I remember being greatly captivated by this in my youth. I chanced upon a partial translation of his book (translated by Rabbi Chaim Hirschensohn) in the yeshiva library in Gush. Afterwards I battled with Klatzkin’s heavy, oppressive, archaic translation, and many years later I saw that a more modern translation by Yirmiyahu Yovel had been published, which I did not read. My first encounter was during my analytic period, when I naively thought that logic was the solution to all our problems and I sought a doctrine or a systematic, ordered deductive program that would constitute a Theory of Everything. I was disappointed. The updated translation (by Yovel) appeared after I had left analyticism, and logic had attained a saner status for me. By that stage it was already clear to me that engaging with Spinoza’s philosophy, and especially his metaphysics, is usually a waste of time. Yirmiyahu Yovel was, for my purposes, too late. I think that part of my sobering up from analyticism actually came as a result of studying this book of Spinoza’s, since I discovered fairly quickly that the book’s pretentious logical-deductive structure conceals behind it a net full of holes with undefined concepts and astonishingly vague discourse (I admit I did not fully understand some of it). Later I understood that the problem lies with analyticism itself. It is a method doomed to fail.

It is commonly thought that Spinoza was excommunicated because of his pantheistic views (see below), but scholars doubt this, since various odd views were held by many thinkers before him. I, in my small way, also think it more reasonable that he was excommunicated because he abandoned halakhic commitment, not because of his opinions. The opinions served as a pretext for the ban but not its true cause. Moreover, his opinions could be banned (his works of thought), since he did not write halakhic books. Most of those who banned him neither knew nor understood his thought, so it is unlikely that this was the real reason for their negative attitude toward him.

I will say more. It may be not despite the fact that almost all of the bannermen had never read his writings and did not know or understand his system, but precisely because of that, that they resorted to excommunication. I have written many times that bans and labels (“heretic,” etc.) are the weapons of the weak. Those who have no counter-arguments on the merits and cannot contend with a person or a system on substantive grounds prefer the easier route: to ban. Incidentally, to this day elements in the Sephardi community in the Netherlands engage in (apparently not very consistent) bans against Prof. Yitzhak Melamed, who wished to research Spinoza’s system and writings and to participate in a film that dealt in part with him (see, for example, here and here).

Pantheism

The principal foundation of Spinoza’s metaphysics is “pantheism” (literally: all is divinity), which identifies G-d with the totality of existing reality. Hegel called this “acosmism.” In brief, Spinoza did not accept the existence of a personal G-d nor of a transcendent G-d who exists outside reality and functions vis-à-vis it (commanding, supervising, rewarding, etc.). For him, “G-d” is nothing but another name for the natural totality, the universe. His arguments for this thesis are highly dubious (see my comments above), and therefore I see no point in entering into them here. I wish only to touch on the thesis itself and its meaning (or lack thereof).

There are different approaches to the question of pantheism. In Kabbalah one speaks of G-d as sovev kol almin (encompassing all worlds) and memale kol almin (filling all worlds). The former is the transcendent aspect—outside the world and encompassing it—and the latter is the immanent, present within it. But pantheism is a more radical conception than a standard immanent theology. Immanence holds that G-d is present within every thing in reality, but it does not identify Him with reality. Pantheism says more than that: G-d is reality itself (not merely present within it). To complete the picture, it is worth mentioning the conception later dubbed panentheism, which, unlike Spinozist pantheism, holds that reality is not identical with G-d but exists within Him. It is part of Him. That is, not, as pantheism claims, that all is divinity, but that all is in divinity. There is room to identify panentheism with transcendence, except that here G-d both encompasses reality and includes it. But to the same extent there is room to identify it with immanence, even though the formulations of the two approaches seem, at first glance, opposite: immanence maintains that the divinity is in reality, and panentheism maintains that reality is within divinity. This already hints—broad as a beam—at the great vagueness surrounding all these metaphysical-theological discussions.

Much ink has been spilled to distinguish between the various approaches. Scholars have written learned articles dealing with differentiating the systems and describing them. But it seems to me that far fewer pens have been devoted to clarifying the concepts themselves and the meanings of the various claims. Those scholars generally employ strings of words that, to my mind, are of highly doubtful sense. Consequently it is not clear whether they are truly sketching different metaphysical and theological pictures and only their definitions are unclear, or whether they are simply babbling themselves into oblivion. At least regarding what I have read, I incline to the second possibility.

Tzimtzum (Contraction)

A bit before Spinoza, the Arizal innovated the doctrine of tzimtzum in his Kabbalah. In the picture he describes (for example, at the beginning of Etz Chaim) there was the Infinite Light that filled all reality. It then withdrew to the sides and a hollow circle was formed in its center. This is the vacated space of the contraction within which all reality is created, and around it the Infinite Light still remains (this is the sovev kol almin, the transcendent). Into this circle descended a line of Infinite Light from above, stopping just short of touching the surrounding Infinite Light from below. This line expresses the memale (the immanent), the divinity within reality. We now have a description of the two aspects of Infinite Light in relation to the reality created in the vacated space: the encompassing and the filling.

Thus far this expresses the theological tension between the transcendent and the immanent G-d, and it appears that the image of line and contraction says that both aspects exist. Yet this description gave rise to another controversy among later kabbalists, commentators on the Arizal. They disagreed about whether the contraction described here is literal—i.e., that this description indeed portrays reality as it was (and perhaps still is at every moment)—or not literal, i.e., it did not really occur. The reason to read it non-literally is twofold: their axiom that G-d is infinite and without bounds, because of which they refuse to accept that He is contracted, i.e., that there are places where He is not present (“the whole earth is filled with His glory,” and in their view His glory is He Himself); and sometimes they add the assumption that nothing can exist without divinity at its foundation (though this perhaps could be solved with an assumption of immanence—the line that fills). Therefore, in their view, there is no escape from the conclusion that the description of contraction is not literal—i.e., the Infinite Light did not truly contract. The contraction is a kind of parable or perspective, but not a description of the facts themselves.

You can now see more sharply the difference between immanence and pantheism. We saw that the conception of the line within reality expresses immanent divinity, but pantheism requires that there be no contraction at all. Even after “creation,” everything remained divinity as before.

Many have already noted that the principal metaphysical basis for the central stream of Hasidic thought is the assumption that contraction is not literal. A sharp expression of this can be found in a letter by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the essence of which is cited here:[1]

Without entering the details of the distinctions presented here, it seems clear that the Rebbe insists on explaining that Chabad’s approach is that tzimtzum is not literal, and not even in the light (and certainly not in the Luminary). In effect, nothing happened. In his formulation here, tzimtzum is concealment, not removal. The Holy One, blessed be He (= the Luminary and the light) did not withdraw but hid. The meaning is that there is nothing in reality that is not divinity. At most, part of reality conceals the divinity—but that is an illusion, not actual reality.

Implications and difficulties

Before I go further into this discussion, note that this is pantheism par excellence. I doubt anyone ever dreamed of excommunicating the Hasidim because of this (they tried to do so for other reasons). Therefore, as I wrote above, regarding Spinoza too, I very much doubt that the ban was because of his pantheism. But our concern here is with the claim itself and its meaning.

What does the claim that tzimtzum is not literal mean? Everything that seems to us to exist and is not divinity is a mistake. Everything is divinity; it is merely concealed. The big question is: concealed by what, and from whom? If everything is divinity and there is nothing besides Him, what exactly could conceal Him? It would have to be something that is not He, but according to the view that contraction is a metaphor there truly is no such thing. Beyond that, from whom is He concealing Himself? Who lives under the illusion as though there is a world and G-d is not in it? That would be the human being (or the Jew?), i.e., us. But according to this view we do not exist either. We ourselves are an illusion behind which G-d hides. Who, then, is being deluded? From whom is G-d hiding? From Himself?

That concerns the Hasidic view of tzimtzum. Similar questions arise regarding pantheism. If G-d is nothing but the totality of reality—the universe—how is this different from atheism? Atheism maintains that what exists is only nature. Spinoza comes and explains that this is indeed correct, but nature is called “G-d.” Pleased to meet you—and my name is Michi. If both sides agree about what exists and what does not, why does the difference in the name they give to what exists (nature/universe—atheists; or G-d—pantheists) make this into a philosophical/metaphysical dispute? As I explained in the previous column, my problem with respect to this difference is not that it lacks consequences, practical or otherwise (as Aviv Franko claimed in the debated discussed there). My problem is that there is no difference here at all. It is a change of label for the very same picture: pantheism = atheism.

First explanatory proposal: different dimensions

In my book No Man Has Dominion over the Spirit I proposed an explanation for the question of tzimtzum, following R. Shem-Tov Geffen in his book Dimensions, Prophecy, and Earthliness (in his essay on dimensions he offers this as a solution to the problem of transcendence and immanence). In brief, the claim is that we are dealing with different dimensions. When we look at three-dimensional space, a two-dimensional plane within it does not reduce its volume at all (does not contract it), and yet that plane definitely has an independent existence. So too for a point versus a line, or a line versus a surface. If so, think of G-d as a higher-dimensional object (for our purposes, four dimensions will suffice) and of the universe and all within it as three-dimensional objects. You can now see that in this model the entire universe exists independently of G-d, but that does not mean G-d was diminished in any way. Although prior to creation the Infinite Light filled all of reality, and although in creation objects were added that were not there before, nothing diminished from the “volume” the Infinite Light had previously filled. In effect, this means that the circular space within the realm of Infinite Light is of a lower dimension than that realm itself.

Incidentally, I think this is what the Leshem meant when he wrote that each world is contained within the yesod d’malchut (= the womb) of the world above it. I think his intent is that with respect to the space of the higher world, the lower world has no existence. It belongs to a lower world. He also explains that each world does not affect the world above it in any way—that is, there is a world in which the Infinite Light did not contract at all, and beneath it (i.e., in a lower dimension) there is a world of line and contraction (as described above), and beneath it a world where around the line Adam Kadmon already formed, and beneath it a world where the Atzilut already exists, etc. Each world does not impinge upon the one above; rather it is created “beneath” it (in my proposal: in a lower dimension). In this light he also explains that the space and time of the world belong to the world above (it is the mother’s womb, a space within which the lower world is created and exists), and therefore they are so elusive and intangible. It is no accident that Kant saw space and time as categories that do not exist in objective reality, for they truly do not belong to our world but to the one above. From the perspective of our world they appear as a fiction, or a subjective definition.

However, this solution to tzimtzum cannot explain pantheism. If we indeed have an independent existence, even if in a lower dimension, then G-d is a different entity separate from us. The philosophical and metaphysical arguments of pantheism lead to the conclusion that G-d truly is nothing beyond what exists in our nature. One can of course claim that Spinoza erred because G-d exists in a higher dimension, and from His perspective it appears as though we have no separate existence. But such an explanation cannot rescue pantheist doctrine as such. It seems that the question of tzimtzum is separate from the question of pantheism.

Perhaps panentheism could be understood this way. When we say that not all is divinity but all is in divinity, perhaps we can understand this as existing in a lower dimension—like a surface within a three-dimensional space. But I do not see how this differs from the perspective of sovev kol almin. Again, it feels to me like empty verbiage.

Second explanatory proposal: organism

We might think of G-d as an organism, with all the objects in the world as His organs. When we speak of organisms, what characterizes them as opposed to non-organic objects is that the whole has an existence meaningfully distinct and differentiated from the existence of the particulars that compose it. To understand this, John Searle suggested contemplating a liquid such as water. Any single molecule is, of course, not liquid, but the aggregate of molecules is a liquid. That is, the whole has a property that none of the individual parts possesses. What is the object to which this property is ascribed? It is not a property of any particular molecule but of the aggregate. One might perhaps see this as an indication that the whole is a being distinct from the parts, for it has properties they do not. In column 397 I addressed the phenomenon of organism, and there I brought additional examples, such as the Ship of Theseus.

Searle wished to use liquidity to illustrate the possibility that our mind (soul) is not necessarily an entity separate from matter (the body), but perhaps a property of the material aggregate. The property emerges at the collective level, though it does not exist in any single cell or molecule of the body. Hence this picture is called “emergentism.” But in that column I explained why liquidity is not a very successful example for this matter, because it is a case of weak emergence. Briefly, in the example of liquidity one can say that the property is of the aggregate of molecules, but that does not mean the aggregate is a separate entity. It is a cluster of molecules, and when there is such a cluster (under certain conditions of pressure and temperature) it behaves as a liquid. Moreover, one can explain the collective property (liquidity) in terms of the properties of the individual molecules, which further strengthens the claim that the liquid is not a separate entity from the molecules composing it. By contrast, regarding our mind Searle’s emergentist claim is much stronger: the mental phenomena (feelings, desires, thought, memory, etc.) emerge from the material aggregate and are not properties of a separate substance (the soul)—even though here it is a case of strong emergence, i.e., one cannot explain the mental phenomena in terms of the properties of the individual cells or molecules.

Is strong emergence even possible? In those columns I showed that it will never be possible to bring proof of its existence, for the moment we have a proof of emergence it is necessarily weak. But here I wish to ask a more difficult question: irrespective of whether and how one could demonstrate strong emergence, is such a phenomenon even possible? Can there be a situation in which a collection of particulars behaves in a way that cannot be reduced to the properties of the particulars (not that the calculation is hard and complex, but that no such reduction exists)? I very much doubt it. But even if so, the conclusion would be that in the whole there is nothing beyond the particulars (this is the essence of emergence).

Returning to pantheism, we might suggest that G-d is the aggregate composed of all particulars in the universe. Does this manage to give pantheism any sense? In my opinion, no. If strong emergence is impossible, then I do not see what there is in “G-d” beyond the aggregate of parts composing Him. His “properties” are simply the laws of nature, and thus He is nature. And if we assume that strong emergence is possible, then we may ascribe to G-d properties different from those of the parts composing Him; but as an entity He is still nothing but the accumulation of the particulars. There is still no separate entity, and in the ontological sense one cannot say that pantheism espouses the existence of G-d. It espouses the existence of the material aggregate (and perhaps also the spiritual, if you are dualists) and nothing besides it—exactly like the atheist. He simply calls that aggregate “G-d.”

In sum, pantheism in this sense still appears to be empty verbiage. It is a different verbal wrapping for good old atheism. In everything I have seen to date, the attempts to explain what is meant are nothing but vague speech and apparently empty of content. As the poet said: bunches of words people concoct from their fevered minds. They may evoke various feelings in the listener—some are even greatly moved by hearing pantheist theories—but none of this implies any cognitive content. To my best judgment, they have none. I am reminded of a quip, I believe by the physicist Paul Dirac, who said of Fermi’s hole theory that it is an excellent technique for hunting elephants: you place a description of the theory on a sign by the watering hole; when the elephant comes to drink he begins to read the sign and is totally captivated and hypnotized by the beauty of the bizarre theory, and then, without noticing, he can be captured. It seems to me that a sign with a brief explanation of pantheist doctrine would work even better (considering that Fermi’s hole theory was later found to be very useful and of great empirical content—our entire electronics is based on it).

What is a person?

Before returning to pantheism, I will try to clarify what a person is. One can see the human being as a material aggregate, with the picture depending on the resolution at which we look. At low resolution, a person is a collection of organs. At higher resolutions—cells, molecules, or elementary particles. So what exactly is a person? Which cell or organ, if removed, would turn him into another person, or into something that is not a person? It seems there is no such thing (this is precisely the Ship of Theseus example). So apparently the person is the aggregate. But no single part is crucial. So what does the aggregate have beyond the sum of the particulars? Or, phrased differently, what turns this collection into a single whole? Some claim that the existence of a people as a distinct entity is a fiction: a nation is nothing but a collection of individuals, and hence “nation” is a fiction defined for our convenience. Perhaps a person is such an entity as well: what exists is nothing but the collection of particles composing him, and the whole is only a subjective definition. It seems to me that even if one can argue about the notion of a nation, the person, in most people’s view, is a distinct being with an existence of its own (beyond the sum of the parts). Why, in the case of a person, is the collective—the sum of particulars—clearly a being with a distinct existence of its own?

In my view, this can occur only because there is in us a spiritual component beyond the material aggregate. The spirit does not emerge from the material aggregate; it is an additional substance. All the mental phenomena occur in that component and characterize it. The existence of the spirit is what turns the aggregate called “person” into a distinct organic collective (beyond the sum of parts). To my understanding, this is the deep meaning of an organism. An organism is not a set of parts functioning together (a cybernetic system). That may be an accurate description of a machine (see those columns). But an organism is a living being, and unlike a machine it has a spiritual component that integrates all the material particulars composing it and creates from them a whole with a distinct meaning. Only if there is a spiritual component in the person can we view him as a being with an existence distinct from the sum of his particulars.

Note that this means, on this view, that an organism is never merely a set of parts functioning together. An organism is first and foremost a distinct being, and the cybernetic functioning of all its parts is an indication of its being such (unlike the liquid in Searle’s example). But the spiritual and material components function in a way that their combination creates a single whole, and this is the person. The person is not the spirit and not the body, but the conjunction of the two. This reminds me that I once thought that the three cardinal transgressions in halakhah (those for which one must give up his life rather than transgress) are distinguished by the aspect they address: sexual immorality is a bodily transgression; idolatry is a transgression of the intellect/soul; murder is a transgression against the connection between the two (the hyphen). When a person dies his body exists and so does his soul; only the connection between them no longer exists. A human ceases to be human when that connection dissolves, for that connection is the person.

Back to pantheism: an analogy between the person–soul relation and the universe–G-d relation

We can now perhaps extract from this a possible sense even for pantheism. If we see G-d as the soul of the universe, then the relation between Him and the universe itself is like that between soul and body. Their union is one being, as in a human, and yet there are two different components. Moreover, G-d turns the entire universe into a collective entity. Without Him there would be a collection of separate objects; with Him it is one organic whole.

Something like this can be seen in Berakhot 10a:

Those five “Bless the Lord, O my soul” (Psalms) — with respect to whom did David say them? He said them only with respect to the Holy One, blessed be He, and with respect to the soul. Just as the Holy One, blessed be He, fills the whole world, so the soul fills the whole body. Just as the Holy One, blessed be He, sees but is not seen, so the soul sees but is not seen. Just as the Holy One, blessed be He, sustains the entire world, so the soul sustains the whole body. Just as the Holy One, blessed be He, is pure, so the soul is pure. Just as the Holy One, blessed be He, sits in innermost chambers, so the soul sits in innermost chambers. Let that which possesses these five qualities come and praise Him who possesses these five qualities.

The Gemara draws an analogy between the relation of G-d to creation and that of the soul to the body. The soul “fills” the entire body even though it “sits in innermost chambers,” but not in a physical sense. It has no physical existence, yet it is related to the entire body (for it has no ordinary spatial location). So too the Holy One, blessed be He, “fills” the whole world, for He is the soul of the world.

In any case, if this is indeed the meaning of pantheism, it becomes trivial in a sense. G-d is an entity separate from the material universe. There is no identity here; there is conjunction, not identity—where the conjunction turns the universe into a single organic whole. But that happens thanks to G-d, who functions as the soul of that whole. If this were Spinoza’s intent, he did not innovate anything particularly novel. Nor does it seem to be his intent, for on this understanding G-d is not the aggregate itself but that which turns the particulars into an aggregate. That is a different statement.

In conclusion, at least if one adopts pantheism literally, it appears to be empty verbiage or a different verbal cover for atheism. Again I would note that perhaps panentheism could be understood this way: everything is “in” G-d in the sense that the soul “envelops” the body, for it makes it into an organic whole.

An example: Rabbi Cherki’s discussion

To conclude, I will point to a discussion by Rabbi Cherki on the pantheist idea in Rabbi Kook (for some reason I thought this reference had been posted on my site, but I did not find it now). The first part deals with pantheism itself, which is chiefly what concerns us. Note, for example, his claim at the beginning about R. Chaim of Volozhin, who speaks of two aspects (“all is G-d and there is no world,” or “there is a world alongside G-d”), and he comments that the word “from the perspective of” (mitzad) solves very many such difficulties. In my view this, of course, solves nothing. He simply takes the two sides of the contradiction and declares that they live side by side (see columns 549 – 550 on Rudolf Otto’s “unity of opposites” as the refuge of the lazy). After that he brings the approach of R. Nachman of Breslov, which is outright nonsense.

Precisely because Rabbi Cherki speaks very clearly and because he is a talented and learned man, one must notice that behind the clarity sits a vacuum. Therefore his words are a good example of the vagueness and emptiness of the prevailing discourse on these subjects. Incidentally, those who find the full lecture difficult are referred there to the summary here. Not recommended for the faint of heart (like me).

Summary

In my book No Man Has Dominion over the Spirit I noted that the verbiage in Jewish thought is in many cases vague and sometimes truly empty. The concepts are undefined, the arguments weak and unfounded, and the distinctions vague and unclear—and in many cases empty. I brought the discussion of tzimtzum and pantheism as a prime example of all this. As I have tried to show here, pantheism is a play on words; I cannot find a meaning for it, and therefore I am amazed at the oceans of ink devoted to researching it. At least those I have read truly add no content or understanding to this bizarre notion.

Not a few times in the past people have almost taken offense at my dismissive attitude toward these discussions and ideas, particularly given that intelligent people (like Spinoza and his researchers) engage in them at length. I can only regret it, but so long as no one manages to explain to me what is meant (note well: I do not expect to be convinced that the idea is true, only to be given an explanation of what it even says), I am compelled to remain in my position.

In the thread here this emptiness surfaced very sharply and clearly. There is nothing better than ending the column by quoting the two messages that close that discussion. In the first, Ehud offered the following sense for pantheism:

We are independent beings with free choice who must peel away to reach the divine essence within us.

This means that we have free choice, and it means that we are also divine, and the sum of it all is divinity. That’s all.

And I replied (with cynicism, of course):

Yeyasher kochacha. I don’t think I could have summarized better why this is meaningless nonsense. This is an excellent ending to the discussion.

[1] Printed in Beton Chabad, issue 31, p. 43, and in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 15, p. 470.

[2] Publisher’s note:

Apparently R. Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, who, upon studying Tanya and Nefesh HaChaim, concluded that there is no fundamental difference between them; based on this he asked to clarify for him “the nature of the dispute about tzimtzum between the Baal HaTanya, of blessed memory, and the Vilna Gaon, of blessed memory—whether they disagreed about the very concept of tzimtzum itself, for as explained in Nefesh HaChaim, to one who contemplates and delves deeply, ‘both this and that are one and the same’” (Marbitzei Torah uMussar, vol. III, p. 66). At first he turned on this matter, in the summer of 5698 (1938), to R. Yitzchak “the diligent” Horowitz, who replied (Kovetz Yagdil Torah N.Y., issue 61, §110): “The book Nefesh HaChaim is not with me at present… I will write to Your Honor the matter of tzimtzum as explained in Chabad teachings.” Afterwards this question was posed to our Master the Rebbe—may he live and be well—who replies in the present letter that the author of Nefesh HaChaim differed here with his teacher the Vilna Gaon.