This post aims at better understanding how God interacts with creatures, not primarily at proving his existence. Central objections to God’s existence are that (1) his nature is self-contradictory and/or (2) his relation to creatures is somehow impossible, as in, for example, the problem of evil that I have addressed here previously.

In other posts, I have argued that God is the source of all “new existence” that appears in the world every moment it progresses through time. Regarding St. Thomas Aquinas’s Fifth Way to prove God’s existence, I have argued that every non-knowing agent’s final causality requires intellectual foreknowledge of the end to be achieved – right down to the least aspect of its existence.

Some conceive God as distant from his creation: he causes it to begin, gives it natural laws, and intervenes only where necessary – say, to create the human spiritual soul or to bridge alleged “evolutionary gaps.” Otherwise, God stands back in deistic fashion letting his physical laws run the “day to day” operations of the universe.

But, metaphysical science proves that God not only creates the cosmos at its beginning, but also continuously sustains its existence lest it fall back into nothingness. For, proper causes are simultaneous with their effects, and, as St. Thomas points out in his Second Way, “to take away the cause is to take away the effect.”¹

My articles on “New Existence” and on the “Mysterious Fifth Way” penetrate further. They argue that God constantly impacts the world (1) by accounting for every new aspect of existence that appears in our ever-changing cosmos and (2) by directing with foreknowledge all finite agents to the exact end which results either by their self-perfective actions or by their production of effects.

God: Universal Source of All "New Existence"

My own variation on St. Thomas’s First Way notes the absolute moment to moment limits on each and every existent in our ever-changing cosmos. This realization implies that even the least change in the way things exist is totally inexplicable in terms of the previous state of total finite reality. This is because all the qualities of reality, all the perfections of existence, that were present in the “before” state of the cosmos do not include the new qualities of existence that appear in the “after” state of the ever-changing cosmos. Since what prior states lack in being cannot explain the “new being” of later states, there must be some “universal source or donor” of these new qualities – something already possessing these qualities that are “new” to the finite world, but not to that universal source.

I have shown elsewhere that there must be an Infinite Being to create and sustain the world’s existence. Since that Infinite Being is the infinite cause of all that exists, it must contain all possible qualities of existence itself. Thus, it must be identical with that Universal Source of all new qualities of existence that appear in our ever-becoming cosmos. For, becoming is the coming-to-be of new existential qualities. Thus, the Infinite Being must also be the Universal Source or Donor that creates these new qualities of existence, whether substantial or accidental in nature.

Clearly, the roles of creator and sustainer of all being and of all becoming befit the God of classical theism.

As Universal Source, God cannot undergo any change, since to do so – even to go into the act of causing new qualities in others – would be to gain a new mode of existence he did not have to give new being to himself, which is impossible.

As Infinite Being, there can be only one God, since, were there two, the necessary difference between them would entail one lacking something the other had. The one lacking something would be merely another finite being.

Because of the divine simplicity, God’s infinite being is identical to his infinite knowledge, whereby he knows all creatures perfectly in the act of knowing himself as their cause.

God gives to finite beings all the new qualities they manifest as they undergo even the least alterations. God’s causality reaches down to the least iota of new reality in finite things. As St. Thomas says, “But the causality of God, who is the first agent, extends to all being (entia) ….”²

Efficient Causes Fail to Explain Final Causality

The final causality St. Thomas’s Fifth Way depicts is rejected by scientific materialists who attempt to explain all cosmic change just in terms of efficient and material causes. This tendency arises because they think that as long as physical agents can produce effects, efficient causality (matter being assumed) is totally responsible for the effect produced.

But that is to confuse efficient causality with the entire physical agency taking place.

In truth, a physical agent exhibits both efficient causality and final causality. But, the latter is not reducible to the former. Efficient causality explains why some effect is produced, whereas, final causality explains why this specific effect, as opposed to any other, is produced. Of course, both diverse sufficient reasons influence the actions of a physical agent. But, to reduce the entirety of the agent's causality just to efficient causality is to confuse the whole with a part.

Final causality operates in conformity with the formal cause, which specifies which activities are proper to a given agent. But the formal cause itself is, in a way, static. It is there even when the agent is not acting for an end. For the agent to begin to act for a definite end there must be a sufficient reason why this particular end is actively moved toward, rather than any other, and this reason must be operative from the very beginning of its motion, or else, nothing definite could be accomplished.

Assuming the physical agent as the total explanation of the results which it produces risks confusing the entire causal process with subsets of various intelligible reasons that partially explain it. Final causality is a unique principle that must be present in order to explain certain aspects of the total causal process which are not explained by matter, efficient causality, or even substantial form.

Perfect Intellectual Knowledge of Ends Exists

As explained in an earlier article, the principle of final causality entails two claims: (1) that every agent must act for an end and (2) that there must be intellectual knowledge of that end. St. Thomas supports the latter claim when he affirms that “… those things which do not have knowledge do not tend toward an end unless directed by something with knowledge and intelligence….”³

Thomists make the following type of argument in support of St. Thomas’s claim:

“We see, therefore, that the sufficient reason for an agent’s action, that which determines it to a particular action or effect rather than any other is the effect, the action itself – not as produced and accomplished, but as that which is to be produced, accomplished and therefore as preconceived by a thought, so as to preordain the agent to that action.”⁴

However, skeptics dispute how something which does not even presently exist – something that is only yet “to be produced” can possibly determine which end is achieved, and especially that it should be claimed to “retroactively” act on the natural agent from the very beginning of its agency. Rather, they claim that this is explained by existing efficient causes, which they identify with physical agents.

Still, consider looking at this finality starting with the end as already attained. Now this end is not a “mere possibility,” but rather something already existing and needing a full causal explanation of how it came to be.

When beginning at the "future point," you can look back and say that the natural agent's former state is the explanation. But the problem is that when you examine the "explanation," you find that what was needed was a causal influence aimed at producing the now "present" state – actually guiding the entire causal process to this unique actually-achieved end.

This makes the reality of the present intelligible only if a real causal influence in the past was operative and moving the agent to its present state. Since the formerly future, now present state, is an actual reality, so must have been real the causal influence oriented to the now present state's production.

This means that when you focus on the end as actually achieved, it is no longer just a mere possibility, but a reality that can only be explained by a sufficient reason in the past that was actually aimed at its fruition.

While final causality present in the natural agent is retrospectively discerned, it exists and operates prospectively in the natural agent at the point at which it begins its agency.

But since the end did not exist extramentally at the beginning of the agent’s action, its active guidance toward the end achieved is intelligible solely if it had retroactive influence by existing in the intellect of an intelligent director guiding the agency to its final end.

Since some intellect knows the end before the agent can begin to act, what precisely is the nature of that end? Is it some sort of general end, as, say, a dog knows when wolfing down food? While the dog senses a sensible good to be eaten, it does not know the exact food it will actually eat as it wolfs it down.

What of man? Doesn’t he know his acts exact ends – and the means, as means, to those ends? The difficulty is that human intellectually-known ends abstract from concrete circumstances of actual ends. He aims to graduate, but does not know the exact point average he will earn. Human intellectual knowledge simply cannot attain the existential uniqueness of the end as actually attained. We mark success in broad terms (he graduated), but not with foreknown concrete existential uniqueness (2.14 QPA).

The problem is that the actual term of every agent’s action is the end as actually and concretely attained, not some abstract “target range.” Since the actually attained end is never precisely identical to the end as known by man, something else must exist which intellectually knows the actually attained end with perfect existential precision.

What Agents Actually Cause: New Existence

While causal explanations are usually given in terms of broadly-conceived and essentially attained ends, extramental reality itself does not exist abstractly. Real things are always concrete, particular, and existentially unique. Despite claims that natural science alone achieves knowledge of the physical world that is “scientifically accurate and precise,” natural science itself never describes reality exactly as it exists. Every measurement and prediction is couched in terms of approximation no matter how precisely stated. Even objects described in the smallest possible units of physical measurement, Planck units, still represent a certain degree of abstraction from reality itself, always requiring that telltale “plus/minus” at the end of a number.

Thus, any cosmic causal process that produces change or coming-to-be must produce actually existing unique beings not mere approximations or concepts abstracted from concrete reality. This applies to the “new existence” described earlier. Since any cosmic change causes new limited being, and since every being or aspect of being is unique, any change in finite reality requires that some being gives that new unique form of existence which comes into being. Since every finite thing is limited to its present way of being, and since any new thing or change of being has never existed before in quite its new existential uniqueness, no mere finite cause can actually give, of itself, that new existence. This is so precisely because it lacks that form of existence which differentiates the newly acquired form of existence from itself, and hence, cannot account for its coming-to-be.

Yes, this is an argument for the existence of an infinite being which already possesses every possible mode of existence, and to which any newly manifested change in finite being is not new, but simply part of what that infinite being already possesses. This Universal Source of existence is the Infinite Being called God.

What Agents Actually Cause: Finality

But just as God can be understood as the Universal Source of all new and unique finite becoming, so can he be understood as the Mind that knows the intentionality that attends all final causality.

I say this because every result of finite agents acting for an end is also existentially unique and new never identical to anything that has ever existed before.

Finite natures do not routinely produce the same exact effect, but always some unique variant that falls within the possibilities of that nature. Birds never simply “fly,” but rather always fly this or that unique way, depending on interaction with other finite agents, such as wind, sunlight, other birds, and so forth. Finite agents inevitably act in interaction with countless other finite agents that shape and alter their expected effects in ways too complex to predict, analyze, or even perfectly describe.

Thus, saying that some intellect must know the end exactly as achieved points to an intellect knowing perfectly all the intentionality entailed in this cosmic myriad of causal interaction. God alone, as the single Infinite Being shown above – having infinitely perfect knowledge of all creatures – must be this necessarily existing intellect which actually foresees the concrete and unique ends of nearly-infinite causal interaction, since he alone has perfect knowledge of future ends of all agents – knowing them in their future, but in his unchanging present, as effects of his causality existing in the vision of his eternal now. For God alone, in his timeless eternity, knows all things – past, present, and future simultaneously.

Of course, God’s foreknowledge of the actions of free agents also foresees himself as moving their wills to act as secondary causes whose natures are free with respect to choosing finite goods.

God: First Mover and Universal Governor

God is the same cause both (1) for ever-appearing cosmic newness and (2) for perfect intellectual apprehension of natural agents directed to ends actually attained. He sustains in existence all finite natures that interact so as to produce those ends.

While acts of secondary causes are truly their own, they cannot account for those existential qualities which are new and differentiate them from their previous states of existence. The Universal Source of new existence alone can do that. But God also directs and guides each agent to its activity or end by sustaining it in its natural operations that produce these ends. As such, the creature and its acts and ends are the effect of divine causality acting in and through them. Yet, due to divine simplicity, God’s causal agency is identical with his substance. Therefore, God knows creatures, not by observing them as we observe others, but by knowing himself perfectly and thereby knowing perfectly those creatures he causes.

Hence, God’s acts of sustaining creatures’ secondary causality that result in uniquely new existential qualities are also identical, through divine simplicity, with his perfect knowledge of all creatures and their final causality.

The First Way combines with the Fifth Way to illuminate how one and the same God both (1) enables finite agents to produce effects and seek ends and (2) can foresee all natural agents’ ends as actually achieved. He foresees such unique ends even if they are a complex result of two or more finite agents interacting to produce effects outside the “intention” of some or all the natural agents involved. Such “unintended” effects are what St. Thomas calls chance events, which, in a certain sense, have no proper cause, but whose result can be foreseen by perfect knowledge of the agents involved and of their interaction.⁵

In this manner, the First Way from motion and the Fifth Way from finality complement each other with God being the sole agent, as First Mover, able to provide the new qualities of existence manifested in any change and, as Universal Governor, able to know and direct the tendencies of all the interacting natural agents of the entire cosmos to their actually achieved ends.

Nature of the Problem

God is absolutely simple, meaning that he is not composed of parts, principles, or things. He is a spiritual being, since what is physical is subject to motion and God, as Unmoved First Mover, cannot be subject to motion.

It seems unimaginable that a simple, pure spirit could both know and cause the nearly infinite myriad of things that God has created. Yet, it is demonstrable that he causes each creature and knows each one individually.

That God causes all finite things follows from the proofs for his existence, since the arguments run from finite effects back to the infinite cause, which is God. Since (1) every finite being is actually being created as it is sustained in existence, and since (2) infinite power is needed to create anything, the First Cause must have infinite power. Infinite power resides solely in an Infinite Being. Were there two such beings, one would limit the power of the other. Since only one being has the infinite power needed in order to create things, it follows that all finite things are created by that single Infinite Being.

God, though perfectly simple, somehow creates untold numbers of finite things. Yet, it seems utterly counterintuitive that an absolutely simple First Cause could produce nearly infinite effects either in a single act or in multiple acts that cause the unimaginable multiplicity of creatures.

God’s intellectual nature is manifest from the fact that some creatures have intellectual abilities. Since God cannot cause intellectual perfections that he himself lacks, God must be intellectual. And, if God creates all things, he must know what he creates. Still, if God knew creatures the way we know things, his knowledge would depend on observing them. But, the Uncaused First Cause cannot depend on another for anything. He is his own sufficient reason for existing and acting. Therefore, God cannot know creatures by observing them as we do. Rather, it must be that God knows himself as Creator of all things -- thereby knowing every least detail of everything to which his creative causality extends.

Were God simply another material entity, such omniscience would be impossible. God’s spiritual nature will be seen as the key to how he can cause and know an infinite myriad of things – in a single act of knowledge that is identical to his act of creating.

A Third Way of Existing

There are three ways that things can exist: (1) materially, (2) spiritually, and (3) in an intermediate state between matter and spirit. Following the father of modern Western philosophy, Rene Descartes, most people think in terms of things being either material or spiritual, with no third alternative being possible. By “matter,” is meant that which is extended or locatable in space. This would include physical forces and energy fields. By “spirit,” we understand that which is neither extended nor locatable in space and is utterly independent of matter.

But, what if something that is not extended in space is still dependent on matter for its existence? Such a thing would constitute the third alternative described above: an intermediate state between physical matter and pure spirit.

Examining the sense of sight shows that something belonging to this third category of reality actually exists. When something is seen, it is seen as a whole: top and bottom, left to right. Thus, when I see a tree, I see the whole tree in a single act of sight. If my perception were not so unified, I could never know a whole tree -- only tiny, unconnected, and unintelligible “pieces.” But, the tree itself is extended in space, and is seen by me as so extended. Can a purely physical entity “apprehend” the whole of anything in this unified fashion? No, it cannot.

Consider a TV screen’s image of that tree. Hundreds of thousands of pixels create the image of the tree. Yet, no single pixel contains the whole image. Different pixels illuminate to represent different parts of the whole image. But, the viewer sees the whole image all at once. That is one reason why TV screens don’t see their own images. Yet, a dog, bounding into the room, instantly sees the tree on the screen – as a unified whole. Indeed, it can see many trees at once.

Every physical device “apprehending” an external sense object entails reception and storage of data on a physically extended medium, such as a CD, DVD, monitor screen, tape, chip, microchip, nanochip, or some such entity. In every one of these devices, data is stored or displayed with one part representing one part of the external object, and a distinct part representing another distinct part of the object.

Nothing represents the whole as a whole – for the simple reason that it is physically impossible.

The only way to get the whole image on a TV screen as a whole would be to collapse the vertical and horizontal dimensions to a single “dot” in the center of the screen – such as old picture tube TV’s did when turning them off. Now you have perfect unity – only you have lost your picture, since all the photons are hitting the same spot! Analogously, the same logic applies to every other medium of data reception or storage: reducing the data to perfect unity would entail so overlapping data upon itself as to render it meaningless.

This same analysis applies to all forms of sensory knowledge, whether sight, sound, taste, touch, smell, or any other possible form. Because sensory data, by definition, is extended in space, it is impossible to receive or record physically complex data on a single unitary physical “pixel” (for want of a better term).

Note that, although a material entity cannot know the “whole” of anything, a dog that watches television can see an image of another dog on the screen and bark at it! The reason is simple. While the body of the dog (including its brain) may be physically extended in space, nonetheless, its apprehension of the image on the screen is received as a “whole” solely because the dog has an immaterial soul with immaterial sense faculties, which enable him to see the image as a whole. TV screens and other physical representational devices know nothing at all, since they cannot “take in” the wholeness of sense objects, which alone constitutes real knowledge of things.

What is physically extended in space is inherently multiple, since it has parts outside of parts. This is why a physical entity can never “express” the wholeness of another physical entity in a single “pixel” of its makeup. Rather, part A must represent part A of the object represented, and part B represents part B, and so forth – but no single part represents the whole as such. No single physical part apprehends the whole all at once.

This would work similarly for senses other than sight. Various electronic “sensing” and “recording” devices designed to detect external sense objects of various senses will require diverse technological mechanisms. Still, in each case the discrete physical parts of whatever physical medium data is held on will necessarily face the intrinsic limitation that each physical element can only represent a single bit of information (probably in binary form), while no single bit unifies in a single act of “apprehension” the entire sense object it represents. Even a collectivity of bits explains nothing, since each bit represents only a part of the whole, and nothing represents the whole all at once.

Nor can one evade this logic by avoiding crude images of atomic entities in favor of esoteric notions of physical forces or energy fields -- since the essence of any physical reality entails extension in space, wherein the same problem arises of discrete parts representing discrete parts of the object known, but nothing adequately representing the unified whole.

Metaphysical Materialism is Simply Untrue

Only an immaterial cognitive faculty, that is, one not extended in space, can actually apprehend the wholeness of any sensed object. Moreover, in the same act, the sense faculty can apprehend many individual wholes at once, as in a flock of birds.

How does an immaterial sense faculty unify the object of perception into a meaningful whole? Knowing how an immaterial entity “works” would require knowing how to make one -- something that exceeds human capabilities. Still, I know a sense faculty can do it, because I actually sense meaningful wholes in sensory experience. That is, in a single act, I see a whole moose or experience hearing a complete melody or am aware that I am touching the total surface of a sphere. No purely physical entity can adequately explain this fact.

Sight’s ability to apprehend its object as a whole is sufficient to show that at least one external sense faculty must be immaterial. Because an animal’s sensitive soul is immaterial – that is, because it is not extended in space, even animals can experience the unified wholeness of sense objects – and many such wholes simultaneously.

Purely materialistic metaphysic’s essential problem is that sense cognition’s immaterial nature is what enables the knower to apprehend the physically extended object as a unified whole. In so doing, immaterial cognition achieves something that mere extended matter cannot do, namely, it can unify in a single simple act what in physical reality is extended in space and multiple in parts.

Some materialists admit that certain cognitive acts cannot be expressed in purely material terms. Yet, they insist that these “epiphenomena” somehow “emerge from” purely physical matter. That is, they are simply a product of physical matter in some way. The problem with this explanation is that the more perfect cannot be explained by the less perfect. Or, to put it another way, that which is inherently unable to explain the unity of the whole (discrete physical parts) cannot be a sufficient reason for apprehending the thing sensed as a unified whole.

Moreover, this immaterial principle must explain how unity is achieved from multiple sense data. Since a material entity can never explain the unity of its discrete elements, what unifies must not only be immaterial, but must be something within the sentient organism that unifies its discrete material organs into a functional whole respecting sense perception. Such an immaterial principle would be the form or soul of even the lowest sentient organisms.

This means that a purely materialistic explanation of all reality is simply false.

Since neither individual material parts nor their collectivity can explain the unity of the whole which is sensed, it is clear that material physical components of organisms cannot explain the unity of sensation experienced. This argues to some principle of unity that enables the entire organism to act in a manner which none of its material parts or their collective whole can explain. An immaterial principle of unity is needed, such as the substantial form, which functions as an organizing principle of matter according to Aristotle’s hylemorphic (matter-form) theory.

Now, I am not saying that the immateriality required for sensation is the same as the strict immateriality of a spiritual soul. For sense knowledge remains dependent on matter to a certain extent, as evinced by the fact that all such knowledge, even in the imagination, is received “under the conditions of matter.” That is, we sense a tree as extended in space, having weight, color, shape, and so forth. This indicates that sensory knowledge is still dependent on material organs of a material substance, even though the actual sensing faculty must belong to a soul that is not extended in space.

Yet, it remains true that these sensing powers cannot be explained merely in terms of lower physical units, as shown above. Rather, this is one of those “third alternative” cases of something that exists in an intermediate metaphysical state between physical matter and pure spirit. Most importantly, what is clear is that these immaterial sense powers (1) cannot be explained by metaphysical materialism and (2) possess the immaterial quality of being able to unify in a simple cognitive act that which is extended in space and multiple in parts – and even a multiplicity of wholes simultaneously, as when a dozen eggs are seen at once.

The existence of such “intermediate” forms obviously comports with Aristotelian-Thomistic hylemorphic doctrine, but not with the materialist claims of some form of atomism. The key insight is that an immaterial cognitive power can manifest what pure physicalism cannot explain, namely, conscious apprehension, in a unified act of cognition, of multiple objects perceived as wholes – as when we see a stand of trees.

While an analogous and even more striking case can be made for the spirituality of the human intellectual soul, I have studiously avoided this topic for two reasons: (1) it would entail explanation far exceeding this article’s space limitations, and (2) it can be easily demonstrated that immateriality in sense cognition enables even a dumb bunny to do something that metaphysical materialism can never explain, namely, to know in a single, unified act the whole of a sensed object, such as an entire carrot – or even a bunch of carrots all at once.

Such immateriality is the basis for the ability of a single knower to know multiple objects in a single, simple unified act of knowing.

How Immateriality Enables God to Know Multiple Objects

What has all this to do with God’s ability to know and to cause the near infinite multiplicity of the created world? Simply this. While we do not know exactly how the immateriality of God’s or man’s cognition enables them to know multiple, whole objects, or even how animals do it at their own merely sentient level of cognition, still, the fact remains that immateriality is the key to explaining how cognition can unify the complexity of experience into wholes, which can be experienced in a single, unified act of cognition.

Just as animals and man can do this at our own finite and limited levels, by way of transcendent analogy, the same explanation must be applied to God so as to render intelligible how he can know all things and cause all things, even in their near infinite multiplicity – all the while remaining absolutely simple and undivided in himself. We do not need to know exactly how he does this, any more than we need to know how we do it – in order to know that it is true (1) that it happens and (2) that it can happen solely because of the immateriality of the cognitive powers involved.

The analogy is that just as animals can perceive whole sense objects in a unified way and that man can understand many individual natures in a single concept, so too, God can know all things in a single unified act of understanding which is identical to the divine essence.

And, because of the divine simplicity, since God’s act of knowing things is identical with his act of creating them, he both knows and causes to be the innumerable multiplicity of created things in a single, perfectly unified spiritual act.

Rather than present a systematic defense of all the divine attributes involved in this article, my purpose here is to explore some philosophical doctrines about God whose interrelationship appears perplexing, if not outright contradictory – drawing on whatever elements of natural theology are needed. Starting with a proof of God’s immutability, I will then consider his eternal life and how it is possible for him still to have free will. Finally, I will consider how it is possible for an eternally unchanging God freely to create and interact with a temporal world that constantly undergoes change. Since some claim that this entire metaphysical scenario is radically incoherent, careful philosophical explanation is mandatory.

Some of the logical steps entailed in this topic are fairly straightforward. Understanding the inferred metaphysical concepts is somewhat more challenging.

God's Immutability and Eternity

As has been shown previously, a key inference of St. Thomas Aquinas’ proofs for God’s existence is that God is the Uncaused First Cause. Since God is uncaused, he cannot be the subject of motion or change, because whatever is moved or changed must be moved or changed by another. Hence, God is immutable.

Moreover, the Uncaused First Cause must be pure act, since change would require moving something from potency to act. But, if no change is possible, God must have no potency to further act. Hence, he is pure act, which means pure being. In fact, as the absolutely simple first being, God is not even composed of essence and existence. He is pure act of existence without any limiting essence, that is, the Infinite Being. Only one such being is possible, since if there were two, one would limit the infinity of the other.

Some, confusing activity with motion, misconstrue God’s immutability as meaning frozen, static, lifeless, and impotent. Quite the contrary, the Infinite Being already possesses all existential perfections so completely that change could give no greater activity or power.

God’s immutability entails his eternity, since what is immutable has neither beginning nor any progression through time. God is utterly outside of time, existing as it were “all at once.” Ordinary language betrays human understanding of God’s eternity. Eternity does not mean endless duration: time without beginning or end. God’s eternity means the simultaneous and complete possession of infinite life. It is the term defining the divine life of God. We know God is living since he is the cause of that positive existential perfection that we call “life” in creatures. The term, “life,” in God must be understood analogously in that he does not live with the limitations inherent in earthly organisms, but rather possesses pre-eminently whatever positive perfections life entails in created living things.

In the divine eternity, God experiences no succession of events. Because of divine simplicity, God’s knowledge of himself and, thereby, of the world he causes, is one with his singular causal act whose multiple objects are the unfolding sequence of temporal world events -- events novel to us, but not to God. God cannot change his mind or will or any aspect of his being during his eternal existence.

Objections to Free Will in God

For us, free will entails considering various alternatives, knowing we can choose one as opposed to others, and then finally, making a choice one way or another. This process takes place through time. But, God is not in time. He cannot choose between alternatives as we do. Since to choose freely requires that there be a real difference between the potency to various alternatives and the actuality of choosing a single option, time is needed to make the choice. God’s eternal immutability appears to preclude him having free will.

Again, if God is pure act, there can be no distinction between potency and act, meaning that there is no real distinction between what God can do and what he actually chooses to do. Since a thing’s nature determines what it is able to do, it would appear, then, that God’s nature must determine both what he is able to do and what he actually chooses, since there is no distinction between them. Hence, God’s alleged “choices” appear to be determined by his nature, and thus, not free choices at all.

God Possesses Free Will

Still, since the positive perfection of intellect is found among creatures, God must possess intellect – for God could not create finite intellects unless he possesses that perfection himself. Just as the intellect knows being as the true, the intellectual appetite desires being as the good. The intellectual appetite is called “will.” Thus God must have will as well as intellect. In fact, the divine simplicity requires that his will is identical with his intellect.

It may seem odd, but it is possible to have a will that is moved necessarily toward certain objects. For example, God wills his own goodness necessarily. As St. Thomas Aquinas puts it:

“The divine will has a necessary relation to the divine goodness, since that is its proper object. Therefore, God wills the being of his own goodness necessarily, just as we will our own happiness necessarily….”¹

Thus, the notion of will itself, as the intellectual appetite for the good, is not inconsistent with an absence of free choice.

And yet, despite being utterly immutable and eternal, God does possess free will with respect to some things. While he necessarily wills those goods that are equivalent to his own being, such as his own existence and his own goodness, he nonetheless does not necessarily will lesser goods than his own goodness, such as his will to create this world or that world or not to create at all. Again, St. Thomas explains:

“God wills things other than himself only insofar as they are ordered to his own goodness as their end. … Hence, since the goodness of God is perfect and can exist without other things, inasmuch as no perfection can accrue to him from them, it follows that for him to will things other than himself is not absolutely necessary.”²

St. Thomas maintains a suppositional necessity here, saying, “… supposing that God wills a thing, then, he is unable to not will it, since his will cannot change.”³

The immediate evidence of the existence of such freedom by God to will lesser goods than himself is the evident fact that the finite world in which we live actually exists, as opposed to an unlimited number of possible other worlds he could have created. Is he necessitated to create this world? No, because this world is a lesser good than his own goodness which already includes every possible perfection of goodness. Hence, God creates this finite world in which we live by a perfectly free act of his will.

Objections Answered

First, some think that God being the Necessary Being is inconsistent with the contingency of his free will choosing to create this world, which did not have to exist at all. Although God is the Necessary Being, this necessity refers primarily to his act of existence, since his essence is identical to his existence – thus, making it impossible for him not to exist.

The term, “necessary,” with reference to the divine nature cannot be capriciously defined to suit some contrived anti-theistic argument. Its meaning originates in the context of St. Thomas’ Third Way, which refers solely to a being whose necessity for existence comes from itself and not from another.⁴ Such a being must be that being whose essence is its very act of existence.

Hence, God’s necessity means primarily the necessity of his existence. As shown by St. Thomas above, that necessity also pertains to God’s willing his own goodness, since it is equivalent to his own being -- but it is not necessary for God to will things other than himself.⁵

Thus, when God chooses freely to create this world as opposed to any other, this choice does not make him to somehow become a “contingent” being. He is still the one and only Necessary Being, but he makes a free choice that in no way contradicts his existential necessity.

Second, some object that God cannot have free will, since that would necessarily entail a change in him, which his immutability and eternity forbid. But this is to make the gross error of thrusting God into time – as though he was first not making a choice and then later making one, which would be a change in him.

Unless one misconceives God in a material, temporal fashion, the metaphysical insight required is to grasp that God’s very substance is an eternal act of will in which some objects are willed necessarily and others are willed non-necessarily. This is not an act having temporal duration in which choice begins at some point. God is simply his own act of choosing – a choice eternally identical with his very substance through divine simplicity.

Third, it was objected that God’s choices are not really free, because his choice is identical to his nature, and therefore, is determined by his nature. It is true that God’s nature determines what he is able to do and that his actual choice is identical to that nature. But, this will prove to be unproblematic.

While God might have made other logically possible choices (and there might be other logically possible Gods), such hypothesized alternatives are not metaphysically possible – given that the one and only actual God, who is immutable, has made the choice he has actually made. These hypothesized alternatives may be metaphysically possible in an absolute sense, but they are not so de facto – given that only one God actually exists and has made the actual choice he has eternally made.

What is de facto metaphysically impossible renders the alternative “logical possibilities” not logically possible at all, except as contrary-to-reality mental imaginings. That is, they are not actually real possibilities at all.

God is actually able to do only what he actually freely wills to do, since on the supposition that he wills a certain choice from all eternity, that will cannot be changed -- because of the divine immutability. Thus, there is, in fact, no distinction between what God is able to do and what he does do – but what he does do, he does freely with respect to goods that are less than his own goodness.

Given the divine nature, God is determined to will his own existence and goodness necessarily. But, he is also determined to will lesser goods than his own existence non-necessarily, which means that he is determined by his own nature to act freely. That is to say, with respect to the willing and creation of lesser goods than his own goodness, God is determined to be not-determined. His nature determines that the divine will’s act with respect to certain specified objects, such as the creation of this particular world, is not necessary, and therefore, is perfectly free.

Thus is resolved the problem of God’s nature “determining” his choice.

How God's Eternity Relates to the Temporal World

Finally, while God’s general relation to the created world is a topic far too vast for this article, the question logically arises as to how an eternal, unchanging God can cause the dynamic, changing world we inhabit – without being subject to change himself.

God is utterly outside the created world -- existing in timeless eternity. But, according to Christian revelation, the world had a temporal beginning. Moreover physical creation is subject to constant change and motion. Indeed, that very coming-to-be is the starting point for the most famous proof for God’s existence, St. Thomas’ First Way.⁶

Some argue that every change in the temporal world requires a change in God to initiate that new causation that changes the world. For, how can one thing initiate new motion in another without itself changing in the very act of “sending forth” its causal influence to the world?

Such reasoning may make perfect sense to a mentality mired in philosophical materialism. But, it makes no sense at all in existential metaphysics. Physical agents change as they cause effects. But to think that this also applies to spiritual agents is absurd and illogical.

Since whatever is in motion or is changed must be moved or changed by another, maintaining that a cause cannot cause change without itself changing would entail an infinite regress among simultaneous caused causes and make impossible an Uncaused First Cause. This is because it would mean that every cause would be an intermediate cause in need of a prior proper cause. If every cause has a prior cause, any causal regress among proper causes would have to regress to infinity. But, I have shown elsewhere that an infinite regress among simultaneous proper causes is metaphysically impossible. For one thing, the sufficient reason for the final effect would never be fulfilled. Therefore, it is manifestly false to claim that every cause must itself change in order to cause a change in another.

Causality in metaphysics is simply a subdivision of the principle of sufficient reason. The notion of causality arises from metaphysical analysis of the effect, not of the cause. If every being must have a sufficient reason for its being or coming-to-be, then either a thing is completely its own reason for being, or else, to the extent that it does not completely explain itself, something else must. That “something else,” or extrinsic sufficient reason, is what we call a “cause.”

Thus, the causality principle states that every effect requires a cause. What is changing or in motion fails to explain its own coming-to-be, and hence, needs a cause. Nothing in this explanation of causality logically implies a change in the cause as causing – only something happening to the effect.

God Remains Immutable as Temporal Events Unfold

Furthermore, since change takes place in the effect, not in the cause as such, there is no problem with God being eternally unchanging, while the world could have a beginning and events unfold sequentially in it throughout time.

God, in a simple eternal act of will, causes all events in physical creation to take place at their appointed times. All beginnings and changes take place in creatures, not God. Indeed, time and space themselves are part of the world’s created limitations. If Christian belief that the world began in time is true, God simply willed the creation of the world to be with a beginning in time – again, something happening to the world, not to its timeless Creator.

This article is not the whole of natural theology. And yet, it does explain how God can be changeless and eternal, while still having a free will through which he causes the sequential unfolding of events in a temporal world of which he is not part – but reigns as its sole and timeless Creator.

According to the First Vatican Council, the existence of God can be known with certainty by the natural light of human reason through those things that have been created. (De Fide)¹ Pope Pius X specified this statement more exactly by affirming that God’s existence can be known “as a cause is known with certainty through its effects, from those things that have been made, that is, by the visible works of creation….” (Sententia fidei proxima).²

Since every being must have a sufficient reason for its being or coming-to-be, an effect is properly defined as any being whose sufficient reason is not totally within itself. To the extent that a being fails to fully explain itself, some other being must be posited which supplies that reason which remains unexplained by the effect. That extrinsic sufficient reason is called a “cause.” Thus, while every cause is a sufficient reason, not every sufficient reason is a cause. God is his own sufficient reason, but it would be absurd to say that he is his own cause.

Since all human knowledge begins in sensation, it is reasonable that all proofs for God’s existence must begin with data taken from sensible creation. This starting point is then shown to be an effect of a cause – with a possible chain of intermediary causes leading back to an uncaused first cause, which can subsequently be demonstrated to be God.

Efficient Causality in St. Thomas' First Way

 
While St. Thomas Aquinas’ famous five ways to prove God’s existence, as presented in his Summa Theologiae,³ employ more than just the efficient, or making, cause (for example, the fifth way is clearly focused on the final cause), demonstration of God’s absolute simplicity can be accomplished by focusing exclusively on efficient causality.

The first way begins with the observation that “it is certain and most evident to the senses that some things are in motion.” As has been proven in an earlier article, “whatever is in motion must be being moved by another.” That “other” is a cause of motion or coming-to-be (causa fieri), which cause may be either an efficient, or making, cause – or, it may be a final cause. While modern readers of the argument from motion quite naturally tend to think of the movers as efficient causes of motion, it may come as a surprise to some to learn that Aristotle had in mind also final causes – so that his unmoved first mover moves things in motion by means of attraction, not efficient causality.

The modern understanding of causality as it takes place in motion tends to be influenced by David Hume -- so as to think of it as sequences of “events” in which prior ones causally influence subsequent ones. But, such “causality” does not meet metaphysical criteria, since a delay of even a nanosecond between cause and effect would entail that the cause might be non-existent by the time the effect is produced. Clearly, an effect, which is deriving some existential perfection from an efficient cause, cannot be receiving it from a non-existent cause. Hence, the cause as causing and the effect as being effected must be simultaneous. Thus, efficient causes of motion must be simultaneous with the motion they cause in another.

In both the first and second ways, St. Thomas affirms the principle that there can be no infinite regress among intermediate causes, which is evident in that no intermediate cause is a fully sufficient reason for its own effect, which is the reason it is called an “intermediate cause.” Were all causes intermediate, then, regardless of number, the complete sufficient reason for the final effect would never be fulfilled – which is impossible. The impossibility of an infinite regression among proper causes has also been demonstrated in an earlier article.

Moreover, motion entails the production of “new existence” with respect to the thing being moved, so that it is not merely “motion” that the unmoved first mover causes, but the very existence of the new perfections of existence manifested by any change in being. The unmoved first mover is an efficient cause of new existence in all things in motion, even if that new existence is merely in the order of accidental being in the Aristotelian sense. The need for a “universal donor” of new existence has also been demonstrated in an earlier article.

Moreover, potency is what is able to be, but is not; act is what actually exists. Thus, motion is the progressive actualization of potency. Since things in motion must be moved by another, and since no infinite regress of moved movers is possible, there must be a first mover in which no motion occurs. But the total absence of motion means that the unmoved first mover acts to cause motion, and yet has itself no potency being progressively actualized, that is, it is pure act as the efficient cause of motion in things.

This unmoved first mover must also the “universal donor” of new existence, since both entities have the identically same role in accounting for the coming-to-be of all the new existence manifested through motion in the world.

Efficient Causality in the Second and Third Ways

 
While the first way deals with causes of coming-to-be (causa fieri), the second way deals with causes of being (causa esse). Since modern physics tends to challenge the simultaneity of macroscopic examples of such causation, suffice it to point out that (1) unless simultaneity existed in causes of motion, no motion could occur, since a “past” mover cannot “presently” move something, and (2) it is possible that the second way immediately enters the metaphysical order with causes that sustain existence which immediately transcend the physical order. As shown in a previous article, the very existence of the cosmos requires an infinitely powerful Creator.

Whether we consider efficient causes of coming-to-be or of being, it really does not matter, since what is absolutely evident is that, unless causes exert causation through immediate and direct influence on the effect, no effect can be produced at all – for the same reason that an effect needs a cause in the first place, namely, an existential need in the effect must be met here and now by an actually acting cause.

In a proof for the eternity of God that is found in his Summa Contra Gentiles, St. Thomas takes as his starting point things whose existence or non-existence is possible. He argues, “But what can be has a cause because, since it is equally related to two contraries, namely, being and non-being, it must be, if existence accrues to it, that this is from some cause.”⁴

The third way of the Summa Theologiae is far too complex to treat in detail here, but I have explained it more fully elsewhere.⁵ It is not an argument from the contingent to the necessary, as it is so often mischaracterized, but rather an argument from the possible and necessary to being per se necessary. Using the notion of the possibles as expressed in the Contra Gentiles, it is evident that not all beings can be merely possible beings, since possible beings are caused beings and no infinite regress among proper causes is possible, as has been shown. There must be an uncaused first cause in any regression of possible beings, and that first cause cannot itself be another possible being, since all possible beings are caused.

Hence, some being must exist whose existence is not merely possible to be or not be, but rather must necessarily exist. St.Thomas then traces from necessary beings that receive their necessity from another to that being which is necessary through itself, namely, God – again, since “it is impossible that one should proceed to infinity in necessary things which have a cause of their necessity, as has been already proved in regard to efficient causes.”⁶ This necessary being must account, not only for its own necessary existence, but also for the existence of all other things – both necessary and possible, as defined in the third way.

All of the above has been intended simply to show that some of the classical proofs for God’s existence demonstrate that an uncaused first cause must exist and, as St.Thomas observes, that that first cause fulfills the nominal definition of the classical meaning of God. Moreover, this first cause must cause the very existence of the cosmos – in both the substantial and accidental orders.

Just how well this uncaused first cause fulfills the classical definition of God depends upon our understanding of its nature.

Proof of Divine Simplicity

 
The purpose of this paper is to determine whether the first cause meets one of the essential attributes of the classical meaning of God, namely, the divine simplicity. Divine simplicity means that God is not composed of parts, principles, or things.

The critical importance of establishing that God is the absolutely first cause, not only of the coming-to-be of things, but of their very existence, is that being a first cause of existence precludes any form of composition in God.

St. Thomas makes two clear points here. First, God is truly and absolutely simple “because every composite is posterior to its component parts, and is dependent on them; but God is the first being” and second, “because every composite has a cause -- for things in themselves different cannot unite unless something causes them to unite. But God is uncaused, … since he is the first efficient cause.”⁷

As the first efficient cause, God can have no prior cause to combine any principles, parts, or things in order to make him a composite whole. Since a composite presupposes the prior component parts that make it up, the composite would then depend on those prior parts. God, as absolutely first cause, can depend on nothing prior to himself. Hence, he cannot be a composite of any type.

Again, any composite requires some principle of unity. If that principle comes from without, then the composite cannot be the first cause, since something is prior to it. If either component part accounts for its correlative component part, then they cannot be distinct parts – since nothing can give what it does not have – in which case there would be no composition, but only identity.

Moreover, what is composite is made up of diverse components, and diverse things can only be united by some causal agency. But, God, as the first cause, has no cause. Therefore, composition in God is impossible.

Meaning of Divine Simplicity

 
This means that God cannot be a composite of any potential principle and active principle, such as primary matter and substantial form, or substance and accident, or essence and existence.

The deepest truth about divine simplicity is that in God essence and existence are identical. God cannot have an essence to which is added existence, for whatever is found in anything either flows from its essence or comes to it from some extrinsic cause.⁸ But God is the first cause, and so, his existence cannot come from some extrinsic cause. The only alternative is that his existence comes from his very essence. But nothing can give what it does not have. Therefore God’s essence must already contain its very existence. His essence is identical with his existence. This is as simple as any being can be, since in all created things, existence is caused – meaning that existence is something added to essence. But in God this is not the case. He simply is his own act of existence.

God is a pure act of existence – infinite in virtue of that act being received and limited by no essence – Pure Act limited by nothing at all. Pure Existence limited by nothing constitutes the Infinite Being.

This means that God is not composed of form and matter. Hence, he is not a material body. In him, there can be no composition of substance and accident. Whereas in man, will is distinct from substance; in God, they are one. Nor is intellect distinct from substance. But if God’s will and intellect are identical to his substance, then his intellect is also identical to his will. So, too, his acts of willing are identical to the divine substance which is identical to his acts of knowing, making his willing and his knowing to be one and the same.

The various distinctions between substance, faculties, and acts found in man arise because of the composite nature of his being. First, as a creature, we are composed of essence and existence. As a material being, we are composed of substantial form and quantified primary matter. Having accidental qualities that change through time, we are composed of substance and accidents. Our powers are distinct from their operations. And potency is distinct from act in each of these composites.

But, in God -- as the absolutely first cause of all things, who himself is caused by nothing – who is his own sufficient reason for existing and being what he is in every way possible – in the one true God, all these creaturely distinctions are obliterated.

That is the meaning of the divine simplicity: Pure Existence, with no limiting essence and no real distinctions in God between principles, parts, or things.⁹

There are many other divine attributes, such as God’s perfection, goodness, infinity, immutability, eternity, omniscience, omnipotence, and so forth, which cannot be treated of in this short article, and would therefore be off topic for consideration here.

Acceptance of God’s existence is conditioned for many on whether or not a convincing proof thereof can be presented to them. But for others, it is not a problem of proving that God exists, but rather questions about whether the  concept of a Supreme Being is even coherent. Many atheists or agnostics simply find the classical conception of God to be unintelligible. God is said to be omnipotent, omniscient, eternal, all good, omnipresent, and so forth. But to many it is not at all clear how these divine attributes can either be proven as real or, more importantly, how they make any sense or can co-exist in one and the same entity or in relation to the world around us. Skepticism of the classical notion of God is evident in the tendency among atheists to deny the existence of “any gods,” rather than of just the one “God.”

Moreover, even if one accepts that the classical proofs for God do demonstrate an Unmoved First Mover, an Uncaused First Cause, a Necessary Being, and so forth, how can we prove that these are even the same being—or that this being possesses the properties associated with the classical conception of God assumed by most Western philosophers?

This article will not attempt to prove God’s existence. His reality is merely assumed for present purposes. I have previously offered arguments for God’s existence on Strange Notions here and here. Still, St. Thomas Aquinas presents the best proofs for God, as found in his opuscula, De Ente et Essentia (On Being and Essence), chapter four, his Summa Contra Gentiles I, chapters 13 and 15, and his famous quinque viae (Five Ways) of his Summa Theologiae I, q. 2, a. 3, c.—these, taken together with their interpretations by classical and modern commentators. Also, I do not intend herein to show how the divine attributes are coherent, consistent with each other, and consistent with the created world in which we find ourselves.

The present enquiry’s sole purpose is to show how the human mind can come to know the nature of God, once his existence is demonstrated. If any particular divine attribute is mentioned, it will be primarily to illustrate the methods being explained and not to attempt a full explanation or defense of that attribute’s existence or coherence.

Classical metaphysics attains knowledge of God’s nature by means of an interpretation, mostly taken from the Christian Neo-Platonist Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (c. late fifth century) known as the via triplex or three-fold way. This entails (1) the way of causality (via causalitatis), (2) the way of remotion or negation (via remotionis), and (3) the way of eminence (via eminentiae). It is only by understanding how these three methods work and how they interface with each other that it is possible to begin to establish a realistic and coherent understanding of what can be correctly said about the divine nature.

#1 - The Way of Causality

According to the Platonic doctrine of participation, creatures participate in the “pure forms” of heaven by way of imitation. Thus, an earthly horse reminds us of “horseness-in-itself” eternally existing in a spiritual pure form. Christian thinkers transformed this “participation” from mere imitation into real causality, where participation’s etymology (cipere – to receive, pars – a part) became ontologically real. Now, in virtue of preexisting formal perfections in the Creator, the creature is directly caused to have its own proper intrinsic form—thus making it to be, say, a horse.

Employing the basic metaphysical principle that non-being cannot beget being, it is self-evident that a being cannot give what it does not have. Certain proofs for God’s existence, for example, the second of St. Thomas’ five ways, show that he is the Uncaused First Cause. As such, he cannot cause qualities or perfections in creatures which he does not possess. Therefore, any perfection we find in a creature must somehow preexist in God. If a creature lives, then God must be alive. If a creature has intelligence, then God must be intelligent. If there is goodness in creation, then God must be good. If some creatures are persons, then God must be personal. The principle is evident. Still, considered alone it does not give us the full picture of how we form a coherent notion of God.

#2 - The Way of Remotion

What about things we find in creation that do not manifest perfections, but imperfections? Creatures are finite. Does that mean God is finite? There is evil in the world. Does that mean God is evil? Our intellects often make mistakes. Does God make mistakes? There is pain and suffering in the world. Does God suffer pain? The world is constrained by time. Does God exist in time? And in particular, how can a spiritual First Cause create material being? How can that which lacks matter cause matter to exist? These and many other questions arise in which it appears that God is causing problematic effects.

The key to resolving such enigmas is to remove from God any negation, imperfection, limitation, non-being, or evil found in the creature. For any creature to exist, God must create every extent of being or perfection of existence found within it. But non-being needs no cause. Hence, causality need not imply that God causes anything that entails limitation or imperfection in creatures.

Perhaps, the most challenging question would be, “How can God cause material things when he lacks it himself? If he cannot give what he lacks, how can God, who lacks materiality, give materiality to physical beings?”

And yet, being material simply isn’t all that great! It entails being extended in time and space, which also means to be limited by time and space. Being limited in time means not to possess the quality of being present to all time at once. Being limited in space means not to be present in all places at once. Still, such lack of being in these various respects self-evidently requires no direct causation from God. Moreover, Being material means to be composed of form and matter, which necessarily entails the possibility of decomposition and, thereby, destruction. The alternative would be to create no physical beings at all.

But cannot material beings impact other material beings? Yes, but so can God—merely by creating or uncreating whatever existential qualities are needed to change a thing.

God can create material being because he pre-eminently contains all the existential perfections contained within it, but without the corresponding defects that come with being an actual material substance.

Similarly, the very notion of a finite thing is that it possesses some perfections of existence and lacks others. God is needed to cause what being or perfection is present, but need not be the cause of what is lacking to a finite being. “Finitude” is not a name for the perfection of a being, but a reference of its very lack thereof.

Likewise, evil is not absolute non-being, since that would not exist at all. The proper metaphysical definition of evil is the lack of a due perfection, that is, the absence of some property or quality that ought to be in a given nature. For example, having a “cold” is the lack of the good health we should enjoy. Yet, the “cold” itself is caused by the multiplication of a virus in us. From the standpoint of the virus, having a “good” cold means the virus is thriving, while we are not!

Moral evil is the performance of an act that deviates from what a human being ought to do so as to attain his last end in God. It is performed to attain a good of some sort, but by a means that is lacking proper ordination to human nature’s true end. Again, God is the cause of all that is good in creatures, but moral evil is the result of a use of free will contrary to the good intended by God for human nature. That is to say, the lack of proper ordination of human free acts is caused by man’s misuse of his free will, not by an action of God himself. Thus, the moral evil is man’s responsibility, not God’s. Without addressing all the complexities of the problem of evil itself, the general principle is to remove from predication of God’s causality anything in a being that constitutes a mere lack of what is proper to its nature. The nature itself needs God’s creative causality; the lack does not.

Always focusing on the being of things makes clear what actually needs a cause and what is merely the lack of what ought to be, as measured by the nature of the thing. The challenge in each case is to determine precisely what positively requires a cause of existence versus what is merely a negation or lack of being. While God is needed to cause the perfection of a nature, its defect or lack need not be attributed to God as the ultimate cause of the thing itself.

What has no need to be caused, namely a lack of being, need not be said of God as its cause—since there is nothing to be explained by a cause. Thus, being is predicated of God; finitude is not. Goodness is predicated of God; evil is not. Intelligence is predicated of God; mistakes are not. Suffering is found in creatures, but not in God. Creatures are constrained by time and space; God is not. Some creatures are material; God is strictly immaterial, which is the proper meaning of “spiritual.”

One can see the nature of remotion or negation in the very way we speak of God as opposed to creatures. We say God is infinite, immutable, uncaused, non-contingent, immaterial, and so forth. In each case, we find a quality of creatures that mark their “creatureliness” and negate its application to God. Each term has a prefix indicating negation, followed by a term marking the finitude of the creature. Thus, we render a judgment that affirms that God possesses some perfection, but in a manner absent the limitation of that same perfection as it is found in the creature.

For example, we do not directly know what the “infinite” in itself may mean, but we do know that God’s way of existing is not limited the way that creatures are limited beings.  Because of the negative form of the prefix involved, the etymology of some of these attributes may make them sound as if they were something negative. Still, we should remember that such attributes express in fact a positive content.

Some have been deceived by such “indirect naming” into thinking that it is impossible to form any concept of God, saying that he is so ineffable that nothing can be known of him at all. Nothing could be further from the truth, since a term, such as “infinite,” actually affirms the infinite perfection of God’s being.

#3 - The Way of Eminence

Finally, we consider the way of eminence, which is manifest from the conclusions of St. Thomas’ proofs for God given in the fourth of his Five Ways and in his De Ente et Essentia argument. These proofs conclude to God as greatest in being, a being which is its very act of existing. That is, God is found to be that Supreme Being whose essence and act of existence are absolutely identical.

These arguments show that all the lesser perfections of existence that are found in creatures must be found in God in a manner that is identical with his very essence. Thus, whatever perfection is found in creatures is said to be preeminently contained in God. And, since God’s being is infinite, this means that any perfection found in creatures must be found in God as infinitely expressed. We sometimes illustrate this by saying that while man has intelligence or goodness, God is intelligence or goodness itself.

This again follows from the idea that creatures participate in the divine perfections – receiving, as it were, a part of the divine reality itself.

Here we see a certain conflating of the via triplex with the doctrine of analogy. Metaphysical analogy is based on a relation between creatures and God which expresses a real similarity or proportion, but not the exact same meaning of terms used to describe the subject. It is unlike univocal predication. When we say a tiger is an animal and a dog is an animal, the meaning of “animal” is exactly the same. This is univocal predication. But when we say man is a being and God is a being, the term, “being,” does not express the same formal identity. The predication is analogous. For in creatures, existence, or being, is received into a nature from which it is distinct. In the proofs of God’s existence, creatures are revealed to be effects of God’s creative act, which means that they receive their act of existence (esse) from God.

In fact, that need to receive existence from an external cause is why the creature needs to be created. But, in God, his very nature is to exist. His existence is identical with his essence. Indeed, every perfection of existence which is found in creatures must exist in God in a manner identical with his infinite essence or nature. Thus, each perfection found in creatures in a limited manner is found in God infinitely expressed, which is precisely the meaning of the way of eminence.

Conclusion

I have not directly intended to explain or defend the divine names or attributes in this article. Yet, by studying the conclusions of the various arguments to God’s existence, one can come to see the necessary properties of the divine essence. Thus, through understanding the logical implications of God being the First Mover, First Cause, Necessary Being, Supreme Being, and Ultimate End, knowledge of the various divine attributes, their internal and relational coherence, as well as the intelligibility of God’s relation to the world becomes possible. All the while, it remains true that in God these various divine names refer to one and the same identical reality.

While many discussions and disputes arise concerning the coherence of God’s nature, the primary purpose of this article has not been to defend that coherence, but rather to show the proper method for investigating the divine attributes—the project which logically follows after having discovered that God actually exists.

Therefore, the above explanation is not the end of man’s exploration of God’s nature, but simply the key to its proper beginning and methodology.

NOTE: Today we continue an occasional series of exchanges between Catholic theologian Dr. Michael Augros, author of Who Designed the Designer?: A Rediscovered Path to God's Existence (Ignatius Press, 2015), and various email interlocutors. Enjoy!
 

 
Dr. Augros,

Your response to Mark's question of why the First Cause still has to be with us today was much anticipated, but unfortunately, left some of us disappointed (e.g., the will causes the body to act by moving the paint brush). You simply made the assertion that God is causing my will to exist in the here-and-now and to have its causal power, etc.

I desperately have been trying to understand the metaphysical/philosophical argument that God is sustaining and continuously causing *in the present* in order to overcome the argument that The First Cause/Mover is like a clockmaker who created everything and let it run.

Thank you,
Joe

Greetings Joseph,

Before trying to address your question, permit me to make a few preliminary remarks that might help avoid or remove certain confusions.

1. The business about painting is only meant to serve as an illustration of a few points, not to be a free-standing argument for the existence of a first being that is the cause of the being of all things. It is intended to illustrate that when causes operate together, not one after another in time (e.g. this generation has kids, then that generation has kids, etc.), then such a series has the following properties: the prior cause is more a cause of the final effect than the subsequent causes are, there must be a first in the series, and if the first cause stops acting then everything stops, including the final effect (there is no longer anything “being painted,” even if the painted canvas continues to exist).

2. The illustration is an example of a cause of something coming to be, not of its being, if we are thinking of the painting as the ultimate effect and the painter as the “first cause.” I cause it to come to be, not simply to be, which is why it can continue to be without my continued action. But if we consider its coming to be, of which I am a cause, that cannot continue without my continued action. And that is a general rule. To whatever extent one thing is the cause of another, the other cannot be without the one. So if I cause the painting’s coming into existence, then its coming into existence cannot continue without me. Similarly, if one thing causes another thing’s existence, then that other thing’s existence cannot continue without the action of the cause.

3. In point of fact, God is causing my will to exist and to have its causal power for so long as it exists, and so my will, while it is a first cause of my painting among created things, is not a first cause absolutely speaking. This is far from obvious just from the illustration, but then the illustration was not meant to prove any of that. The same goes for other kinds of causes that might be first in this or that category of things, but that are not first simply and absolutely. There might be first causes in the natural world, for example, with no prior natural cause—perhaps a star is the first cause of its own light, and there is no prior cause in nature that is making the star exist and enabling it to produce light. If there is a cause prior to such a natural thing at all, then it must be the cause of the existence of the natural thing, since the natural thing already exists and is not coming into existence. But one needs a reason to suppose that there is such a cause.

So now let’s think about your question. How does one see that there is a cause of the very existence of my will, or of material things, even after they have come into existence? One way to go about it is in these steps:

[a] Show that there must be at least one “first being,” a thing that can exist and act all by itself, without help from any other thing.

[b] Show that there can be at most one first being—from which it follows (together with [a]), that there is exactly one such thing. And from this it follows that anything other than that one unique thing must derive its existence (and not just its coming into existence) from something else.

[c] Show that nothing with parts and nothing changeable can be the first being.

Step [a] is the conclusion of chapter 1 of Who Designed the Designer?.

Step [b] is the conclusion of chapter 2 of Who Designed the Designer?.

Step [c] is the conclusion of chapter 3 of Who Designed the Designer?.

From these things it follows that no familiar thing—not you or me, or anything in the whole world of nature, or the universe itself—can have its existence (and power of acting) just by itself. There is only one thing like that, if steps [a] and [b] are correct, and that thing cannot be anything having shape and size, nor can it be anything susceptible to change if step [c] is correct.

I myself, for example, am a thing with parts and susceptible to change. So I cannot exist and act entirely by myself, and consequently I must have my being and action with dependence on another thing. That other thing either is the one and only first cause, or else it is something else which (consequently) also is not an independently existing thing, which therefore relies on a prior cause of its existence. By the argument behind Step [1] this must terminate in the first cause anyway, and it follows that I derive my existence from the first cause, whether mediately or immediately.

(Now an aside: I do not derive my existence from the first cause through a bunch of intermediate causes, but immediately. There is not some created thing that is giving me my existence as long as I exist. Without going into all the reasons for that, I will say this: When a creature like me acts, it presupposes a thing to act on. I cannot paint a picture, for example, without paint and canvas. In my case, that is because I act by a kind of physical contact with things, and so unless there is something already there for me to contact, I cannot act and cannot produce any effect. And this means I will not be the cause of the sheer existence of things, but only of a new thing coming into existence in a pre-existing material—and this is also true even of other non-corporeal causes besides the first cause, but for reasons I will not get into here. I can also cause the existence or continued being of things that are mere properties or movements, of course. For example, I can cause the motion of the brush not just to begin, but to continue. And I can cause the glass in my hand not only to come to be in a certain place, but to remain there, if I am holding it up. But I cannot be the cause of the existence of a more substantial thing, like a painting, or a house—I can only cause such things to come into existence. In short, if the effect we are talking about is motion or change or quality, there might be a series of causes acting in concert, but if the effect we are talking about is the very existence of a substance, the “series” is very short, since it goes right from the effect to the first cause.)

Perhaps a quick explanation of step [c] is in order here. In the book, I try to explain mainly why a changeable, movable thing cannot be the first cause. Here I will try to sketch out a reason why nothing with parts can be the first being. Whatever has parts cannot be unless its parts exist. A whole sphere cannot exist unless its hemispheres exist, for example. And it is possible at least in some cases for the parts of a whole to exist without the whole existing, as the parts of a car can exist before the car exists, and while the car exists, and after the car exists. But in no case can a whole exist without its parts existing. So the existence of the parts always has a certain priority to the existence of the whole. No whole, then, can be the first being, a thing to which existence belongs of itself and independently of existence belonging to anything else, since existence belongs to it only because existence belongs with a certain priority to its parts. And the same goes for them, if they have parts. If we come to the points in a body that are in no way distinguishable into different parts, and which therefore have no size, these things do not exist of themselves and independently either, since they are more like properties of a thing than things in their own right. The tip of a pencil is (roughly) a point, but it cannot exist without the pencil, even if the pencil can exist without it. So nowhere in a whole can we find independent existence, and consequently we must look outside the whole for the source of its existence (and not just its coming into existence).

One could also say that a whole cannot exist unless its parts are together. But why are the parts together? Not just because they are distinct things outside each other, since not all things of that description are joined into a whole. Then for some other reason. And whatever that is, it will be a cause (of some kind) of the existence of the whole. So the existence of the whole is caused, and does not belong to it simply of itself. If we now turn our attention to the parts themselves, we can repeat the argument in their case. Therefore nothing that is composed of parts (whether they are physically separable or not makes no difference to the reasoning) can have its existence of itself. Therefore it has it from another. And this whole reasoning is about existence, not merely coming into existence. In fact, if we suppose that there is a whole which has always existed (as Aristotle thought was true about the “sphere of the fixed stars,” for example), this reasoning shows that such a thing would have always derived its existence from an outside cause, and continues to do so, even though it never came into existence at all. In a similar way, the Fifth Postulate causes the Pythagorean Theorem to be true even though the Pythagorean Theorem never began to be true at some point. Or the number 2 causes all other even numbers to be even, although they never began to be even.

Sometimes people imagine that once a thing exists, it should need no cause of its staying in existence, as if there could be a kind of “ontological inertia”—as though the easiest thing to do is to stay in existence, so no cause is needed to sustain that. I will mention two reasons why that thinking is defective.

First, it simply ignores the arguments showing that there is a cause of the existence of something (such as the argument outlined above showing that anything with parts or anything changeable needs a cause of its existence). Suppose I show that I depend on Euclid’s Fifth Postulate (his so-called “parallel postulate”) not just to come to know the Pythagorean Theorem, but also to know it (which is the case, by the way). Then as long as I know the Pythagorean Theorem, my knowledge of the Fifth Postulate must be at work, too, and cannot have just disappeared. If someone imagined that there might be such a thing as “intellectual inertia,” so that I could just continue to know something after coming to know it, without relying on any prior knowledge anymore, this is simply denying (contrary to fact and without evidence) that there is a cause of my knowing the Pythagorean Theorem. That is ignoring the real relationship between the Theorem and the Postulate—the Postulate does not just cause me to come to know the Theorem, but to know it. So as long as I know the Theorem, my knowledge of the Postulate also exists and operates. Similarly, my desire for health causes my desire for surgery—and it does not merely cause my desire for surgery to begin to be, but simply to be. If my desire for health and life go away before I have surgery, then my desire for surgery will go away, too. To suppose I might have some kind of “appetitive inertia” by which I simply continue to desire things after I have begun to desire them, independently of any influence from any other desire, is simply to ignore the way in which my desire for something like surgery depends on my desire for something like health. The one depends on the other for its being, not just for its coming into being. The same goes for the first cause. The argument outlined above establishes that there is only one thing that has existence of itself, and therefore everything else has existence (and not just coming into existence) from another thing. As long as anything besides the first cause exists, then, the existence that it has is an effect coming forth from the first cause.

Second, this way of thinking overlooks the radical nature of causing the very existence of a substance. If something is causing my very being, and causing the being of everything that is in my substance, then what is there in me that is not being caused by such a thing? What is there in me that is not from this cause? Nothing, of course. So what is there in me that might receive and retain the donation of that cause once that cause has stopped acting? Again, nothing. But nothingness has no power of retaining anything, or any power of any kind. All there is in me is what is from the first cause, so if the first cause stops causing, stops giving, there is nothing left of me. So as long as there is something left of me, the first cause must also be in existence and acting.

I hope that this has been of some use to you, Joseph. Your question is one that I know many people have, and it is a deep and difficult one to which it is impossible, really, to do perfect justice in an online exchange. Nonetheless, I thought it would be better to say something rather than nothing. On the other hand, I judged it wiser to stick to more basic points in the book, since a shorter book that provokes important questions and outlines some answers is probably better than an insufferably long one that no one will read!

Yours,
Michael

Richard Dawkins believes that if the universe began to exist—it was caused by nothing. In a debate with Cardinal George Pell in 2012 he asserted:

"Of course it's counterintuitive that you can get something from nothing! Of course common sense doesn't allow you get something from nothing! That's why it's interesting. It's got to be interesting in order to give rise to the universe at all!"

He was right about at least two things: to get something from nothing is both counterintuitive and in opposition to common sense. But in light of mounting evidence for an absolute beginning to the universe, such confidence in nothing is reflective of the radical measures taken by atheists—such as Dawkins, Steven Hawking, Lawrence Krauss, Peter Atkins and others—to avoid postulating a divine Designer as the kick-starter of our finely-tuned, expanding universe.

Atheists know that anything which begins to exist must have a cause of its existence. This expectation drives scientific research. But in the case of the origin of the universe there seems to be an extreme aversion to the basic philosophical principle that "out of nothing, no thing comes". Thus atheists object to Lucretius' ancient maxim: "Nothing can be created from nothing". Science is founded on the principle that "things cause things". But wouldn't it seem equally true that "no thing causes no thing"? Yet, as we've seen atheists will make an exception, postulating nothing as a cause, in order to avoid the God conclusion (although it seems that often their description of "nothing" is a description of some thing leaving the question of the ultimate cause of things still open and unanswered).

Indeed such reasoning could make a first-year philosophy student cringe—not to mention professional philosophers such as Dawkins' fellow atheist, Michael Ruse, who once remarked, "I think Dawkins is ignorant of just about every aspect of philosophy and theology and it shows". Regardless, Dawkins and others continue to persist in this line of philosophically problematic thinking—what G.K. Chesterton might have called "uncommon nonsense"—while nonetheless enjoying strong influence on their atheist followers.

In an interview with PBS Dawkins was asked to comment on the hypothesis that God is the designer of whole evolutionary system. His negative answer reflects the same key principle he uses to deny God as the Big Banger of the universe:

"You start with essentially nothing—you start with something very, very simple—the origin of the Earth. And from that, by slow gradual degrees, as I put it "climbing mount improbable"—by slow gradual degree you build up from simple beginnings and simple needs easy to understand, up to complicated endings like ourselves and kangaroos."

Thus, such atheists postulate "nothing" as the cause of the universe because, on their view, nothing is "very, very simple" and God is not. And according to Dawkins and company the Big Bang (and the subsequent forward-moving evolutionary processes) must reflect a transition from the simple to the complex. From a simple molecule to a more complex molecule; from a single-celled organism to a multi-celled organism; from absolutely nothing to a universe. Therefore, on their view, simple nothing is preferable to a complex god as the Grand Cause of things; God is too complex to be the cause of the simple beginnings of the universe and the biological processes contained within.

But I want to point several important considerations in regard to this atheistic objection that God is too complex to be the cause of the universe (and the processes within):

First, the complex God they reject is not the God of Christianity. They might have ruled out a god of complexity, but not the God of simplicity proposed by Christian theists. This error is often committed by skeptics when they paint God with a suspicious similarity to themselves while failing to factor in His most essential supernatural characteristics; and a problematic creation of God in man's image and likeness results.

Dawkins' language betrays this tendency in his PBS interview:

"For one thing, if I were God wanting to make a human being, I would do it by a more direct way rather than by evolution."

Albert Einstein, a deist (and perhaps this sheds some light on why he remained so), says something similar:

"When I am judging a theory, I ask myself whether, if I were God, I would have arranged the world in such a way" (Einstein: His Life And Universe, Walter Isaacson, p. 551)

These men are placing themselves into the shoes of God, assuming they would know how an all-powerful, all-knowing Creator of the universe would act. Though they might be men of great intelligence, they are not all-knowing nor all-powerful; nor are they eternal or supernatural. God is in this sense wholly other than man; therefore God may very well have reasons for setting things up as he has; and such reasons may be beyond what our limited intellects can grasp.

Furthermore, they reject a complex God; but the God of Christianity is inconceivably simple. Therefore the god they reject on the basis of over-complexity is not the Christian God.

Second, God has no parts and is therefore more simple than anything in nature. God is pure spirit, by definition. He is completely non-physical. Eminent philosopher from the University of Notre Dame, Alvin Plantinga, has pointed out that by Dawkins' own description of God as a spiritual Being he has, perhaps unknowingly, admitted the simplicity of God as a pure spirit devoid of parts.

The atheist case fails to make key distinctions between a mind and its ideas. As philosopher William Lane Craig has clarified:

"Certainly such a mind may have complex ideas—it may be thinking, for example, of the infinitesimal calculus—, but the mind itself is a remarkably simple entity. Dawkins has evidently confused a mind's ideas, which may, indeed, be complex, with a mind itself, which is an incredibly simple entity."

Third, the basic Christian definition of God is simple enough to be accepted by non-Christian religions. Antony Flew, the influential 20th century atheist philosopher (who eventually became a deist) writes:

“This strikes me as a bizarre thing to say about the concept of an omnipotent spiritual Being. What is complex about the idea of an omnipotent and omniscient Spirit, an idea so simple that it is understood by all the adherents of the three great monotheistic religions – Judaism, Christianity and Islam?” (There Is A God, p. 111).

In his Summa Theologica, St. Thomas Aquinas shows five ways we can know "the absolute simplicity of God" as understood from a Christian perspective. (see also Karlo Broussard's article here).

Fourth, the creation event is not a natural event. Therefore any rule observed in nature (such as the proposed "simple to complex" rule) does not necessarily apply to the origin of the universe.

All of nature (time, space, matter, energy) and its laws came into existence with the Big Bang. Any cause before the beginning of the universe would not be a natural cause; it would be a supernatural cause. The "simple to complex" principle may apply to natural events, but an event that involves a transcendent, supernatural cause—a divine intervener—cannot be analyzed (and restricted) in the same way as natural events. The boundaries of science limit it to the physical world of time, space, matter and energy; in other words, science is limited to the moment of and after the Big Bang, but not before it. We must, therefore, look to other methods of acquiring knowledge—such as philosophy or perhaps even theology—in order to find good answers to questions such as "Why did the universe begin to exist?"

Fifth, the "simple to complex" rule may have exceptions. Oxford mathematician, John Lennox, has offered this possibility in his debates with Richard Dawkins and Peter Atkins. Lennox offers the example of a book and its author. The design of a book suggests a designer. But the designer of the book—the author—is much more complex than the book itself. Therefore it seems in some cases that a thing may have a cause more complex than itself.

Sixth, an effect cannot be greater than its cause. Boston College philosopher, Dr. Peter Kreeft, writes:

"But doesn't evolution explain everything without a divine Designer? Just the opposite; evolution is a beautiful example of design, a great clue to God. There is very good scientific evidence for the evolving, ordered appearance of species, from simple to complex." (from "Argument From Design")

The evolutionary process seems to know where it's going. Thus the order and intentional nature of such an evolutionary system appears to point towards a cause greater than itself—which would be congruent with the basic philosophical principle that an effect cannot have more in it than its cause. Kreeft admits that there is very good scientific evidence for the evolving, ordered appearance of species, from simple to complex; but if such a "simple to complex" process exists then what set it in motion? And furthermore, what mechanism keeps it on course?

If an ordered process like evolution exists, so must a more-ordered and intelligent—or in God's case perfectly ordered and omniscient—cause of the evolutionary system. Dawkins admits that:

"Darwinian natural selection can produce an uncanny illusion of design." (from "Big Ideas: Evolution")

He writes that evolution's "guiding force is natural selection". But if this is true: what guides natural selection? If he says nothing—then the guiding force called Natural Selection begins to look rather similar to a transcendent, intentional and intelligent cause camouflaged in a scientific-sounding name.

Final Thoughts

Nobel Laureate in physics, Dr. Richard Feyman, has expressed that "you can recognize truth by its beauty and simplicity". On this, I think, theists and atheists can agree. I also think it is clear, based on the considerations proposed, that the Christian God is not the complex deity commonly rejected by atheist scientists. God, as he really is, is pure simplicity which is reflected in His name: I Am.

Indeed science must proceed for the sake of the Christian apologetic. For as we unfold the natural mysteries of the universe through scientific discovery, the reality and necessity of God for explaining the universe and all it contains will continue to be more clearly revealed. As the theoretical physicist Paul Davies, an agnostic, admitted in his Templeton address: "Science can proceed only if the scientist adopts an essentially theological worldview".

The God of absolute simplicity we propose is not the "God of the gaps"; at least not the God of the scientific gaps. We might say, however, that God is the God of the limitless gap that lies beyond the confines of the universe (or universes if you prefer). He is the explanation that fills the void beyond the boundaries of time, space, matter and energy and thus provides a explanation for those things that cannot be explained by science. Truly, science and theology fit together exquisitely as the history of science forcefully testifies. But sadly for those who continue to reject the existence of God, nothing will remain the explanation of everything—and the supernatural gap beyond the universe will remain unfilled.

For more on the same topic read Cows, Quarks and Divine Simplicity by Brother Athanasius Murphy, O.P.

In this age of scientific and empirical reductionism, when we hear the word “grammar” we are likely to think of what takes place in an elementary classroom. Education in the modern age is a mere shadow of an authentic education. Its constituent parts have been hollowed out and husks are dangled in front of students followed by an assessment of temporary recall of quickly fading shades. Grammar has been reduced to a mere empty shadow of its former self as well. It used to be the primary liberal art by which to begin to cultivate the inner landscape. Grammar today is a mimic of a sort of atomized applied linguistics. When Moliere said “Grammar, which knows how to control even kings,” he was not speaking about grammar as we understand it today.

The word “grammar” comes from the Greek “grammatikí̱” (γραμματική) meaning “the art of letters,” but in its deepest sense it signifies literacy or the reading of things as they actually are. It is both an art and a science. It is complicated to master literacy and all its guiding principles. The ancient grammarians mastered the arts of grammar, logic, and rhetoric in order that they might teach. If we compare what the grammarians considered grammar in ages past with what people call grammar today, the difference may be shocking.

Dionysius Thrax, (170–90 BC) an ancient Greek grammarian, outlined the hierarchical structure of grammar from the least important components to the greatest. He begins with prosody, followed by an understanding of literary devices, followed by considerations of phraseology enhanced by etymology. At the upper reaches of grammar we find analogy and metaphor followed by the highest aspect of grammar, the art of exegesis. Exegesis has its etymological roots in a word that means “to demand” from a written work what it is most deeply trying to convey, considering its origins, the authors intentions, the validity and value of its assertions, as well as the range, breadth, and depth of its knowledge. This understanding of grammar has long since disintegrated in the public schools.

Grammar has suffered the same fate as theology and philosophy in the age of scientism. Grammar has been cut off from its transcendent and philosophical roots. Grammar ought to embody the rules for the structure of language, which intend to reflect the hierarchical structure of the universe, but it no longer does. Prosody, the lowest level of grammatical concern for the ancients has become the highest concern in the modern school. Prosody generally means “the defining feature of expressive reading that comprises all of the variables of timing, phrasing, emphasis, and intonation.” A little longer reflection on this lowest level of grammar will reveal that it lends itself to measurable observation.

To add insult to injury, prosody has gone under the knife of dissection to the point that literacy has become a sort of pseudo-linguistic analysis of the written word. The ancient grammarians’ concerns have been replaced by the constituent parts undergirding prosody we now call morphology, syntax, semantics, pragmatics, phonology, and phonetics. Added to these considerations are superficial nods to various parts of speech and reduced versions of some of the ancient grammarian’s categories. Grammar, like the frog in the science lab, lies dissected in the laboratory of the modern school empirically mapped out, but dead to its vital concerns.

If we are concerned with living a full life in consideration of the fullest developments of our intellects and wills, then we must begin with a recovery of the true nature of grammar. Grammar has its roots in eternity and its arrangement of categories signifies the rules of existence as well as words can. In identifying the grammar of existence, there are two primary considerations, that of space and time, which correlate to our two categories of being and doing. Being and doing are reflected by our speech categories we call nouns and verbs. In the entirety of language, we can notice that all our linguistic constructions revolve around particulars articulating general things and what they do (nouns and verbs). Just so, we understand our lives in terms of being and doing correlated to space and time. All of our considerations revolve around what we are and what we do, in that order.

A cursory glance at Part I, the first 26 questions of St. Thomas Aquinas’ masterwork, the Summa Theologiae, demonstrates a proper understanding of the grammar of existence simply in the organization of its initial topics. The universal subject is “God and His Perfections.” Question one deals with the Queen of the sciences, theology and question two asks the foundational question “Does God exist?” For the next 24 questions Aquinas demonstrates the hierarchical order of the grammar of existence by dealing with the two universal topics of God’s existence (being) and The Divine Operations (doing). He begins with being as it is primary and goes from universal to particulars in questions 3-13. This is followed by doing, which necessarily proceeds from being in questions 14-26.

St. Thomas Aquinas’ considerations on the existence and nature of God are presented in a way that not only reflects the hierarchical structure of properly understood grammar, but also echoes the hierarchical structure of the Cosmos as dictated by our Creator. Language has the twofold purpose of conveying truth in the service to the other. It should be self-evident that the grammar of human language ought to properly reflect the grammar of existence, if not, than what are we ever talking about?

This is part two of a two-part series, adapted from Stephen Bullivant's new book, The Trinity: How Not to Be a Heretic (Paulist Press, 2015). Read part one here.

"A time to speak"

I ended my last post in this short series with the apparent affirmation that silence is the only appropriate mode for Christian thought and prayer. This is what is known as apophatic theology, the “negative way”, or – as I like to call it – the via Alison Krauss-a.

Far be it from me to denigrate this manner of adoration: it has a long and distinguished history within the Christian tradition. The angel Gabriel, for example, prescribed Zechariah some silent time in preparation for his important task of raising John the Baptist (Luke 1:20). Moreover, popular piety has long imagined the “holy night” of the first Christmas to have been a “silent night.” Throughout Christian history, there have been holy men and women who, singly or together, have devoted themselves to long periods—sometimes even whole lifetimes—of silence. Shorter spells of silent prayer or meditation are practiced by many Christians, of many different stripes, throughout the world on a daily or weekly basis.

Silence certainly has its place, and being “lost for words” is undoubtedly a fitting expression of wonder and gratitude before the One who is “majestic in holiness, awesome in splendor” (Exodus 15:11). We human beings are pretty special ourselves, and our intelligence and language are among our greatest glories. Yet it’s still worth remembering sometimes that we ain’t all that. “So do not become proud, but stand in awe” (Romans 11:20).

On its own, though, silence is, in more ways than one, nothing much to shout about. Christianity just doesn’t work as a completely wordless religion. Some Christians can keep silent all of the time; all Christians should keep silent some of the time; but all Christians can’t (and mustn’t) keep silent all of the time. There may indeed be “a time to keep silence,” but there is also “a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7). Here we return to a point made earlier. Scripture itself is full to bursting with human words and ideas—our very own, flawed, not-good-enough-for-God words and ideas—about God. More to the point, it insists, time and again, that we should be so too:

"Praise the Lord! Praise God in his sanctuary; praise him in his mighty firmament!
Praise him for his mighty deeds; praise him according to his surpassing greatness!...
Let everything that breathes praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!" (Psalm 150:1-2, 6)

That is, I think you’ll agree, not exactly “shaddap you face.”

This is the great paradox of theology, indeed of Christian living as a whole. It is no wonder that those who have—or hope they have—received the Holy Spirit, whether as a gentle breath (John 20:22) or “like the rush of a violent wind” (Acts 2:2), feel moved both to “treasure and ponder [these things] in their hearts” (cf. Luke 2:19) and to “glorify and praise God for all they have heard and seen” (cf. Luke 2:20). They have also been positively commanded to “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation” (Mark 16:15). Naturally, it is nearly impossible to do any of these things without words, or ideas, or concepts. And yet...the only words, or ideas, or concepts we have to do them with cannot possibly come close to doing God justice. Tasty though McDonald’s food is, we can’t build a Heston Blumenthal meal out of McNuggets and McShakes. And “very good” though Creation is (Genesis 1:31), we can’t construct an accurate picture of our God out of creaturely categories: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways” (Isaiah 55:8).

Another Parable

Speaking of pictures though, perhaps it is time for another parable—one that might rescue us from the corner into which we (with a lot of help from the scriptures) have painted ourselves.
What, do you suppose, is this?

I have shown this picture to a good number of different audiences over the past several years. Bemused amusement is the normal first impression. After some reflection, most people agree that the antenna-looking object on the right is some form of flower, perhaps a daffodil or something similar. There is little controversy over the two, worryingly large airborne objects: they are presumably butterflies—although, if your love is like one of those butterflies, it might be time to seek a relationship counsellor. But what of the strange figure on the left? I have heard many creative guesses—it is an alien, or a snowman, or perhaps a Peppa Pig—but no one is ever really sure. “They may indeed look, but not perceive” (Mark 4:12).

“But blessed are your eyes, for they see” (Matthew 13:16): it is a drawing of the delightful Norma Bullivant, my mother, by her youngest son, me. Neither of us can remember when it was drawn, though both of us hope it was a very long time ago.
Now, you have probably never met or seen a photograph of my mother. You’ll have to trust me when I say that this is not a perfect likeness of her. In fact, it is a truly terrible one. For example, she has arms, and hair, and eyebrows, and knees. Even in her thirties, when this was probably drawn, her legs were not quite that thin. On any estimation, it is an extremely inaccurate picture of her. If you happen to see my mother walking down the street, I doubt that you’ll now go up to her and ask, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Considered objectively, this picture is an insult to my mother. Imagine she and I were in a modern art gallery, and hanging there was this picture, but painted by some trendy young artist. Suppose I said, “Mom, why is there a photo of you in the gallery?” Or what if I did this picture for her now, in my thirties: “Look mom, I’ve made you this for Mother’s Day. I’m really pleased with it. Don’t you think it looks exactly like you? See how well I’ve captured your nose!?” Perfectly understandably, I think she would find those kinds of comments very hurtful indeed. If that really is the best picture I can draw of her, flowers or chocolates would be a better Mother’s Day gift. For that matter, so would nothing at all.

"You have searched me and you know me"

Why then has she kept this false, insulting image? Why didn’t she screw it up in hurt and anger, and bin it, all those years ago? Why instead has she lovingly kept it?

Most parents, I expect, have a cherished collection of similarly bad artistic efforts by their children. They have kept them because they were delighted to receive them. Infants are not brilliant artists by adult standards, but they put time, thought, effort, and care, into doing the very best job they can. Parents know this. They also know that the resulting pictures are far more than bad representations of what mom or dad look like; they are excellent representations of what their little children’s love and affection for mom or dad look like.

Look again at the image. One day, when I was very small, I decided to draw a picture. Of all the many exciting subjects I could have chosen, I picked my mother. I placed her in a garden, in spring or summer when the flowers are in bloom, and surrounded her with butterflies. I even put what I’m pretty sure is meant to be a big smile on her face. Someone who knew me well at that age—someone “acquainted with all my ways” (Psalm 139:3)—would understand instantly what I was trying to convey with my flawed, faltering, and false pen strokes—which is why she still has it after all those years.

"Queerer than we can suppose"

As we should have learned by now, even the best metaphor or analogy isn’t perfect. They don’t bear too much prodding or stretching, whether you are comparing love to a butterfly, “the LORD the God of hosts” (Hosea 12:5) to fine dining, or religious language to childish scribblings. Nevertheless, they do tell us something.

Our flawed and fragile thoughts and words are not up to the job of giving a full, wholly sufficient description of the Most High. It is God who is the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth (cf. John 14:6, 17), and not our witness statements about him. (Incidentally, this is not a failure specific to religious thinking and speaking. The great British biologist, J. B. S. Haldane, once famously said: “Now my own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose”¹. If that is true of creation, how much more must it be true of the Creator?)

The life of our saintly medieval theologian, Thomas Aquinas, illustrates this point rather well. Thomas wrote book after book of biblical commentary and theology, millions upon millions of words about God. Then towards the end of his life, he had a direct, mystical experience of God himself. After that he laid down his pen, mid-book, and never wrote another word. When asked why, he answered simply: “I can’t.... Everything I have written seems like straw by comparison with what I have seen and what has been revealed to me.”

Those of us who strive to think about, speak of, and pray to God will do well to remember this lesson in humility. “For great is the might of the Lord; but by the humble he is glorified” (Sirach 3:20). In thinking theologically, we are getting better acquainted with who God is—who God has revealed himself to be. But Christians needn’t kid themselves that by the end of this or that book or Bible study program, or even by the end of our lives studying scripture and theology, we’ll know God as well as he knows us. That’s what heaven is for: “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12). For the time being, our sight is hampered by both our own short-sightedness, and the gloriousness of what it is we’re trying to glimpse. As another saintly medieval theologian, Anselm of Canterbury, once prayed:

"The truth is, I am darkened by myself
And also dazzled by you.
I am clouded by my own smallness
And overwhelmed by your intensity;
I am restricted by my own narrowness
and mastered by your wideness."

However, we mustn’t let that stop us trying – and most of our tryings will be done through the medium of words. God is indeed “more than words,” as St Thomas (like Extreme) well realized. But note, too, that God let Thomas write over seven million words about him before giving him writer’s block. After all, “The Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14). God became man, and thought and spoke in human language. And we have it on the Holy Spirit’s authority that the languages of “every nation under heaven” can be used to talk meaningfully “about God’s deeds of power” (Acts 2:5-11).
 
 

 
 
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This is part one of a two-part series, adapted from Stephen Bullivant's new book, The Trinity: How Not to Be a Heretic (Paulist Press, 2015).

A Parable

Here’s a cheerful thought: imagine that the only food you have ever eaten has been bought from a McDonald’s. All your knowledge of eating and drinking, and all your taste experiences have come from Big Macs, McNuggets, McFlurries, and those little carrot sticks you can get with Happy Meals. Every word or concept you have to think, talk, or dream about food is patterned on fries, McShakes, and those strangely alluring oblong apple pies that come in a cardboard sleeve. “Happy are they...” (Psalm 1:1).

Now suppose that, one day, you are whisked away to the restaurant of one of the world’s greatest chefs: Heston Blumenthal, for example. In dish after dish you are introduced to flavors you had never dreamt were possible. Beetroot jelly, bacon-and-egg ice cream, salmon in liquorice, snail porridge...nothing in your previous culinary life could have prepared you for this. You are overwhelmed by these strange, astounding new experiences, like nothing you have ever tasted before. More to the point, they are like nothing you could ever even have imagined tasting.

The meal is wonderful, almost too wonderful in fact. Your senses have been overloaded. You are spent from striving to keep up, from trying to make the most of each new surprise. The coffee at the end of the meal therefore comes as a blessed relief. Chef Blumenthal makes excellent coffee, but so too do McDonald’s. Finally: something you can get your head, and taste buds, around without feeling exhausted.

But here comes Heston, suddenly appearing before you, dressed all in white: “Did you enjoy it? I put a lot of effort into these dishes, and it’s important for me to know how people find them. What was it like?”

***************

The meal was truly amazing, perhaps the peak experience of your life so far. Naturally, you want to tell him what it meant to you (and later, you’ll want to tell everyone you know just how great it was too). However, when you start working out how to put it into words, you realize you’re in trouble. After all, all your ways for thinking and speaking about food come from your experience of the McDonald’s menu.

One thing you could do, of course, is attempt to describe the meal in the terms with which you are familiar. You might say, “That bacon-and-egg ice cream was like a cross between the greatest ever Egg McMuffin and the most perfect McFlurry known to man.” Or you could say the snail porridge was as though “someone had distilled the tastiness of a trillion McChicken Sandwiches into every bite.” Or perhaps you would compare the liquorice salmon to “all the wonderfulness of a Filet-O-Fish sandwich, times infinity, and to the infinite power.”

It strikes you, however, that perhaps Heston may not take kindly to such a compliment. Even expressed in these superlative-laden terms (“the most perfect,” “infinite”), you are still comparing his Michelin-starred cuisine with everyday fast food. You are saying, in fact, that the difference between them is only one of degree. His food and McDonald’s food are effectively in the same league: it is just that Heston’s food is a million (or an infinite number of) places higher up. No matter how delicious McDonald’s food is, Heston might still consider having his food described in terms of it—even in such maxed-up terms—false and insulting. But what else can you do?

Well, you could try changing tack entirely. Rather than likening Heston’s meal to McDonald’s food, why not do the opposite? For instance, you could answer him by saying “That meal was nothing at all like a Supersized Extra Value McNugget Meal,” or “Your snail porridge was the perfect negation of the entire McDonald’s menu.” In stark contrast to your first attempt at describing the meal, this drives a clean wedge between it and your previous food experiences: the two are in no way alike. You don’t have the words or concepts accurately to describe the meal. And yet you still want to say something true about it. So the best you can hope for is to say what it is not.

However, once again, it occurs to you that this might not go down so well either, and understandably so. He has slaved away in a hot kitchen for hours on end, lovingly crafting a mind-bending array of delights, and all just for you...and the best you can do is say “well, it wasn’t like a McBacon Roll.” Seriously?

Now you really are in trouble. Heston Blumenthal stands before you expectantly, puzzled by the pause. You have no words to describe what you have just experienced. You could barely take it all in while you were eating it; you haven’t a hope of talking about it meaningfully and satisfactorily now. And then, suddenly, you realize that that might be the answer.

“Mr Blumenthal... I... I... I’m lost for words.” An awe-filled, reverential silence replaces the awkward one of seconds before. Heston smiles.

You say it best when you say nothing at all.

More Than Words

This parable tells us much—though not quite all—of what we need to know about talking, and not talking, about God.

The basic problem is this. The great bulk of our words, and thus our means of thinking and imagining things, are patterned on everyday, mundane, physical objects-in-space. As such, we find it reasonably easy to describe stuff in straightforward, literal terms. (“The black laptop I am typing on is sitting on a desk. To the left of it are a red pen, an open Bible, and a yellow USB stick,” and so on). However, as soon as we try to talk about more abstract things like ideas, concepts, feelings, or emotions, we swiftly begin to struggle. How often, for example, have we answered a question about how we feel about someone or something with “I’m not quite sure,” “I can’t quite explain it,” or “I find it difficult to put into words”? Certainly, I should find it impossible to fully describe what my wife and children mean to me in literal, direct words. Although I am, undoubtedly, the world expert on my own feelings about my own family (as you are about yours), I simply don’t have the right words to come close to communicating them.

What we often do instead is use figurative, metaphorical, poetic language to give some inkling of what it is we’re trying to talk about.

"Love is like a butterfly,
as soft and gentle as a sigh;
The multicolored moods of love,
are like its satin wings."

Fellow Dolly fans will agree that this does capture something of what love is, or can be, like: beautiful, fragile, and fluttery (although these are all still metaphors, of course). Nevertheless, “love is like a butterfly” is very far from being a direct description. Even as a simile (“x is like y”) the comparison breaks down very quickly: love is not, for example, what the Very Hungry Caterpillar turns into. Note also that this doesn’t just apply to feelings or emotions. The best science writing is full of metaphors and figurative images—unobserved cats in boxes, flies buzzing around cathedrals, computers made from meat, and so on—precisely because we find plain speaking and thinking such hard work.

If this is the case with things like food and feelings and atoms, what hope have we of saying something adequate about the “King of kings and Lord of lords” (Revelation 19:16)? If we struggle when talking about creatures and created things, how dare we speak of the “Creator of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible,” himself?

“God is above whatsoever we may say or think of him”

Maybe there isn’t any problem here. After all, scripture is the word of God, written in human words. And it uses them to tell us about God all the time. Here are just three examples, out of thousands and thousands:

"God is love." (1 John 4:8)

"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty! Who was and is and is to come!" (Revelation 4:8)

"Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond all measure." (Psalm 147:5)

Even more to the point, God appears to be perfectly happy using human words to describe himself:

"For I the Lord do not change." (Malachi 3:6)

"I the Lord your God am a jealous God." (Exodus 20:5)

"No one is good but God alone." (Luke 18:19)

The problem is that our understandings of words like “love” or “almighty,” or “great” are again patterned on our earthly, creaturely experiences. We might have a rough idea of what it means to have a “great cat,” to eat a “great hotdog,” or to be a “great football player” (although there’s still huge scope for disagreement as to what counts as true greatness in any of these areas). Yet surely, whatever it means for a cat, hotdog, footballer, or any other created thing to be “great,” that must fall insultingly short of what it means for “the Lord your God” to be so too. So while we can be sure that God is great, with our finite created minds, and limited earthly experience, we can have little conception of just how God is great, or just how great God is. “God is above whatsoever we may say or think of Him,” as St. Thomas Aquinas once put it.

The danger comes if we forget this. If we imagine that God is great, or loving, or powerful, or jealous in pretty much the same way that, say, a human being might be those things. By doing this, we end up creating a God, or rather an idol or “so-called god” (1 Corinthians 8:5) in our own image. We put ourselves on a pedestal, supposing that God is just like us, but a bit better. Nor can we avoid this by saying that, unlike us, God is super- or omni- or perfectly or infinitely loving or powerful or whatever. This is, remember, exactly what we tried to do in the parable earlier, describing Heston’s food as being like McDonald’s, but infinitely or perfectly or supremely more so. We risk ending up with a God who differs from us mere creatures—“all are from dust, and all turn to dust again” (Ecclesiastes 3:20)—only by degree. It is as though we could simply take the goodness of Creation (Genesis 1:31), and by turning it up to eleven, somehow reach up to the goodness of the Creator himself. Of course, we cannot do that, and scripture itself warns us against thinking we can:

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

"You say it best, when you say nothing at all"?

Since our thoughts and words are doomed to fail us, the highest, most fulsome praise we can give will always fall insultingly short of “the Most High” (Psalm 91:1). Can we then say nothing that is true or accurate about him?

Again, as we learned in our parable, there is something we can say. If all our words and concepts aren’t up to the job of describing God, let us just be honest about it. Why not just go through the dictionary saying what God isn’t? We can start with “God is not aa (a type of Hawaiian lava)” and end up with “God is not zymurgy (the study or practice of fermentation).” And if we get bored a few weeks in, we can even amuse ourselves by doing it Wayne’s World style for a couple of days: “God is a nonagon (a nine-sided shape)... not!”

On one level, this might seem like an improvement. For again, quoting St Thomas, “What God is not is clearer to us than what he is.” We’ve guarded ourselves against describing God in terms that are beneath him: well done us. Yet, on another level, all this feels very unsatisfactory. All we’ve done is given a long litany of God’s non-attributes. Talk about damning with faint praise. Is this really the best we can do?

Perhaps Alison Krauss—or for those of you with poor taste in music, Ronan Keating—was right all along. Maybe we do say it best when we say nothing at all. Rather than “heap up empty phrases” (Matthew 6:7), or tediously list what God isn’t, why don’t we just shut up?

“Be still, and know that I am God!” (Psalm 46:10)

 
 

 
 
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