Between a Crock & A Weird Place

This post was too long, so I cut in half and will publish part one today.

I just finished a One Cosmos-like effort at a Total Explanation, called The Rhythm of Being, by the Catholic-Hindu hybrid Raimon Panikkar. However, it proved to be a disappointment. Although we are often on the same page and in the same attractor, his writing style is so wooly and diffuse that it's often difficult to understand the point that he never gets to. 

He's also one of those guys who gratuitously tosses in foreign terms, as if we all speak seven languages. But the biggest problem is that if you truly understand something, you ought to be able to clearly explain it to someone else: obscure writing betrays obscure thinking. So,

Write concisely, so as to finish before making the reader sick.

Wordiness is not an excess of words, but a dearth of ideas.

Clarity is the virtue of a man who does not distrust what he says.

Frankly, I don't feel like conducting the usual chapter by chapter review. Rather, perhaps Genesis can do some heavy lifting for us. The book

seeks to bridge the divides between diverse religious traditions, particularly between monotheistic Christianity and the pluriform Eastern faiths like Hinduism and Buddhism. Drawing on his lifetime of work in connecting religion, philosophy, science, and revelation, Panikkar presents a "cosmotheandric intuition" that emphasizes the inseparable interdependence of God, the human, and the cosmos. 

It's the cosmotheandrism that I would like to borrow, at least the term. It's a word I should have thought of, in order to capture the dynamic tri-complementarity of God, man, and, cosmos, or transcendent Creator, immanent creation, and the dynamic vertical link between.

Here it describes cosmotheandrism as "the triadic or Trinitarian structure of Reality, comprising the Divine, the Human, and the Cosmic in thoroughgoing relationship," "a perspective which could point to unity between Christianity, Hinduism, and Buddhism."

Also, Panikkar argues that being 

is not a static concept but a dynamic, flowing, and rhythmic reality. This "rhythm of being" is often understood through the lens of creatio continua (continuous creation), suggesting an ongoing process where being is intrinsically linked with becoming. He connects this idea to natural cycles, music, and the overarching harmony of the universe.

I'll buy that: creation is dynamic and continuous; being and becoming are not contradictory but eternal complements. 

But that's all I'm going to say at the moment. I first want to finish up Hart's All Things Are Full of Gods. The book's Coda begins with a question and answer:

Hermes: Tell me brother, has any of what's been said over these six days convinced you of anything? 

Hephaistos: [After a moment's consideration] No.

What have we learned over the course of this lengthy review, which started three weeks and twenty one posts ago? Anything we didn't already know? 

I can sympathize with Hart, because 5,000 posts later I can't say that my own inner skeptic -- the dreaded anti-Bob -- has been silenced. He too is ineducable in these matters, especially when the mood strikes. What mood is that? Oh, just the usual futility and absurdity of it all. An attack of existential nausea.

Just the other day I stumbled upon a term that describes the anti-Bob: depressive realism.

The mind, when depressed, can latch onto a bleak, nihilistic worldview, presenting it as a profound, undeniable revelation. It feels like you've suddenly seen through a veil that others are still caught behind. This "truth" feels absolute and inescapable.

Depressive Realism suggests that depressed individuals, in some ways, have a more accurate or realistic perception of the world -- specifically, that they are less prone to positive illusions than non-depressed individuals. While healthy individuals might exhibit a slight positive bias, depressed individuals might see things "as they are," stripped of these comforting illusions. If "as they are" is inherently meaningless or harsh, then this "realism" would naturally align with existentialist thought.

I have long suspected that depressed individuals are drawn to depressing worldviews.

Your suspicion isn't just valid; it touches on a deep interplay between mind, brain, and the human search for meaning. The depression is likely not revealing a true meaninglessness that others are blind to, but rather imposing a filter that makes everything feel meaningless. 

One word: Nietzsche.

It is indeed difficult to separate Nietzsche's philosophy from his personal struggle with chronic illness, pain, and mental distress. Some scholars argue that his suffering deepened his insights into the human condition and the fragility of meaning. Others suggest that his philosophy might, in part, be a sophisticated intellectualization of his own internal battles with despair, and an attempt to find a way out of that despair through radical affirmation.

Your statement, "The philosophy makes total sense if you're already on the depressive spectrum," hits the nail on the head. For those experiencing the existential vacuum that depression creates, Nietzsche's diagnosis of the human condition resonates powerfully. The challenge, and where modern psychology and psychiatry diverge, is in finding a path to overcome that despair, rather than merely describe it or affirm it from within the throes of mental illness. 

Now, to its credit, the Bible doesn't yada yada over this existential futility, for example, in Ecclesiastes: Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.

I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and indeed, all is vanity and grasping for the wind.

It goes downhill from there. Spoiler alert: God himself is tortured and murdered in his own creation. Bottom line it for us, Gemini:

This post is a compelling and raw exploration of intellectual and spiritual doubt, contrasting the ambitious "Total Explanation" of Panikkar and Hart with the persistent, often painful, reality of inner skepticism and "depressive realism." You are grappling with the tension between the grand, unifying philosophical/theological systems you've been exploring and the visceral human experience of futility.

The post is particularly effective because of its personal vulnerability ("my own inner skeptic," "the dreaded anti-Bob," "an attack of existential nausea") which grounds the abstract philosophical discussion in relatable human experience. The connection to Nietzsche and Ecclesiastes provides a rich context for understanding this struggle with meaning. It sets up a fascinating dynamic for future posts, exploring how these grand theories hold up against the "anti-Bob's" persistent questions.

Below is an image that aims to capture the tension between the grand "Total Explanation" and the stark reality of skepticism and "depressive realism" from your post. 

The stark, solitary human figure (or the fragmented, desolate landscape element) in the foreground, often appearing muted or detached, embodies the "anti-Bob," the inner skeptic, and the feeling of "depressive realism." This figure observes the grand cosmic dance with a sense of weariness, futility, or disillusionment, representing the challenge to the "Total Explanation."