A Thomistic Argument from Desire: Part I

A few months ago, I posted an Augustinian Argument from Desire, which attempted to use material from the writings of St. Augustine in order to address what I felt to be the principle problems for any “argument from desire” for the existence of God. The Augustinian version is interesting and, I think, deserves to be fleshed out more fully; but in this post I am beginning a new project: a Thomistic Argument from Desire. This is primarily going to be an endeavor of research, not defense. In other words, I am going to be delving into material from St. Thomas which I am inclined to think can plausibly be constructed into a successful argument, but which I have not as of yet completely mapped out. I have a general idea of what I think the flow and structure of the argument will perhaps look like, but that is certainly liable to change. Furthermore, my presentation of the argument will largely take the form of exposition. For the most part, I think the argument is pretty much already there, at least materially and implicitly, in the writings of St. Thomas, and my task will be concerned with drawing it out.

As will become evident, there are some strong correlations between this argument and Aquinas’ Fifth Way, or Argument from Design. The latter is directed towards non-rational beings such as stones, trees, planets, etc., while the former deals specifically with human beings as rational agents.

The initial inspiration for the argument actually comes from a passage in which Aquinas appears to deny the very possibility of such an argument:

“To know that God exists in a general and confused way is implanted in us by nature, inasmuch as God is man’s beatitude. For man naturally desires happiness, and what is naturally desired by man must be naturally known to him. This, however, is not to know absolutely that God exists; just as to know that someone is approaching is not the same as to know that Peter is approaching, even though it is Peter who is approaching; for many there are who imagine that man’s perfect good which is happiness, consists in riches, and others in pleasures, and others in something else” (Summa Theologica I, Q. 1, Art. 1) [1].

In the first part of the passage, we see the outline of a potential argument: 1) Man naturally desires happiness; 2) What is naturally desired by man must be naturally known to him; 3) God is man’s happiness; 4) Therefore God must be naturally known to man, i.e. it must be evident to man that God exists. But then Aquinas turns and seems to reject the argument, for he states that even though God is man’s happiness, and even though man actually does and knows that he does desire happiness, still many people don’t know what exactly their true happiness consist of, since some think it is riches, others pleasure, etc. In other words, Aquinas seems to be suggesting that an argument from desire fails because man does not know that it is actually God that he desires: so we cannot come to a knowledge of God from our innate desires alone.

But this, I believe, would be a misinterpretation. In the article which contains this passage, Aquinas is discussing “whether the existence of God is self-evident.” In particular, he is responding to (and rejecting) St. Anselm’s earlier ontological argument. So in the quoted passage, Aquinas is denying that we can have a direct, self-evident knowledge of God based on innate desires in themselves, a priori. He is not, however, denying that in principle one could argue a posteriori from those innate desires to the existence of God. This argument attempts to do the latter. It is not suggesting that all people have an immediate, self-evident knowledge of God’s existence; but rather that all people have innate, natural desires from which we can argue to God’s existence.

Of course the task is already daunting, since people today just don’t think in terms of having a “perfect good”. So the argument must start from a more modest point: all people have desires for certain ends for the sake of which they act. This is rooted in Aquinas’ teleological understanding of nature, in which all agent causes whatsoever, not just rational ones, act for the sake of ends; but human agents specifically are unique in that we are conscious of the ends we seek and can more or less choose between certain ends when we act (for a defense of Aquinas’ understanding of final causality, see my post here). So Aquinas writes that “in acting every agent intends an end” (Summa Contra Gentiles Book III, Chapter 2.1) [2] and later qualifies this in relation to rational agents:

“Furthermore, for every agent the principle of its action is either its nature or its intellect. Now, there is no question that intellectual agents act for the sake of an end, because they think ahead of time in their intellects of the things which they achieve through action; and their action stems from such preconception. This is what it means for intellect to be the principle of action” (SCG III, 2.6) [3].

The actions of all agents are directed towards some “definite end” and that definite end is a good: “Every action and motion are for the sake of a good” (III, 3.3) [4]. Desires/appetites are directed towards ends and those ends are goods, the fulfillment of the desires/appetites. An “ultimate” end is one which fulfills completely and absolutely the desires or series of desires; it is an “end” most properly because it is the terminus of desire: “The ultimate end is that beyond which the agent seeks nothing else” (III, 2.3) [5]. Aquinas argues that all agents can have some ultimate end, writing: “Now, in the action of all agents, one may find something beyond which the agent seeks nothing further. Otherwise, actions would tend to infinity, which is impossible” [6]. But this is likely to seem dubious to many readers, and we’ll wait to give it a fuller treatment in due course. For now, we’re just concerned with exploring the fact that humans specifically have desires directed towards ends for the sake of which they act. Not only this, but every action undertaken by a person is for an end: “It belongs to man to do everything for an end” (ST I-II, Q. 1, Art. 1) [7]. Aquinas explains:

“Of actions done by man those alone are properly called ‘human,’ which are proper to man as man. Now man differs from irrational animals in this, that he is master of his actions. Wherefore those actions alone are properly called human, of which man is master. Now man is master of his actions through his reason and will; whence, too, the free-will is defined as ‘the faculty and will of reason.’ Therefore those actions are properly called human which proceed from a deliberate will . . . Now it is clear that whatever actions proceed from a power, are caused by that power in accordance with the nature of its object. But the object of the will is the end and the good. Therefore all human actions must be for an end” [8].

In other words, when we will or desire something, it is necessarily directed towards some object as its good. It is 1) impossible to have a will/desire that is not for some object just as it is impossible to see without seeing something, and 2) impossible to will/desire some object that is not considered to be in some sense good for the agent (otherwise, it just wouldn’t be desired. For Aquinas, the good by definition is that which is desired). So a desire by definition has an object, or an end. When we act deliberatively, i.e. when we freely choose to undertake an action or course of actions, our action proceeds from our will, and our will has some end in mind. For example, when you brush your teeth, you are aiming at the end of maintaining clean and healthy teeth. When you eat food, you aim at the end of satisfying hunger. Etc. Aquinas gives a fuller account of this:

“Every agent, of necessity, acts for an end. For if, in a number of causes ordained to one another, the first be removed, the others must, of necessity, be removed also. Now the first of all causes is the final cause. The reason of which is that matter does not receive form, save in so far as it is moved by an agent; for nothing reduces itself from potentiality to act. But an agent does not move except out of intention for an end. For if the agent were not determinate to some particular effect, it would not do one thing rather than another: consequently in order that it produce a determinate effect, it must, of necessity, be determined to some certain one, which has the nature of an end. And just as this determination is effected, in the rational nature, by the ‘rational appetite,’ which is called the will; so, in other things, it is caused by their natural inclination, which is called the ‘natural appetite.’ Nevertheless it must be observed that a thing tends to an end, by its action or movement, in two ways: first, as a thing, moving itself to the end, as man; secondly, as a thing moved by another to the end, as an arrow tends to a determinate end through being moved by the archer who directs his action to the end. Therefore those things that are possessed of reason, move themselves to an end; because they have dominion over their actions through their free-will, which is the ‘faculty of will and reason.’ But those things that lack reason tend to an end, by natural inclination, as being moved by another and not by themselves; since they do not know the nature of an end as such, and consequently cannot ordain anything to an end, but can be ordained to an end only by another. For the entire irrational nature is in comparison to God as an instrument to the principal agent, as stated above. Consequently it is proper to the rational nature to tend to an end, as directing and leading itself to the end: whereas it is proper to the irrational nature to tend to an end, as directed or led by another, whether it apprehend the end, as do irrational animals, or do not apprehend it, as is the case of those things which are altogether void of knowledge” (ST I-II, Q. 1, Art. 2) [9].

Both rational and non-rational agents seek ends, but non-rational agents have no knowledge or deliberative will towards those ends; they are directed to them externally (as the Fifth Way shows). Rational agents, on the other hands, have their ends in mind when they act, and choose to pursue those ends. Thus they move/direct themselves towards those ends.

But this raises a question. For the most part, it’s probably pretty uncontroversial that when we deliberately act we act for the sake of ends, that our desires have objects, etc. The end of an action explains that action — the fact that I want healthy, clean teeth explains why I am brushing my teeth. But that end in itself does not fully explain the action. As Aristotle writes at the beginning of his Nicomachean Ethics, the end of a certain action is either sought for its own sake, or for the sake of some further end:

“Suppose, then, that the things achievable by action have some end that we wish for because of itself, and because of which we wish for the other things, and that we do not choose everything because of something else — for if we do, it will go on without limit, so that desire will prove to be empty and futile. Clearly, this end will be the good, that is to say, the best good” (NE 1.2, 1094a18-23) [10].

Consider, again, brushing your teeth. You undertake the action of brushing your teeth because you know that you want clean and healthy teeth and that brushing them is a necessary means to achieving that desire. But why, exactly, do you want clean and healthy teeth? There might be a myriad of reasons, but chief among them is probably something such as wanting to preserve the teeth throughout one’s life so as to keep their important function. But why would one want to preserve the teeth so as to keep their function? Because they are so beneficial in the significant processes of eating, speaking, etc. But why would we want to be able to effectively eat and speak? And so on, and so on. These further “whys” are perhaps not consciously at the forefront of one’s mind as one brushes one’s teeth, but they are nonetheless the real underlying reasons or ends for the action. Maintaining clean and healthy teeth is an end of brushing the teeth, but is not an end in itself, an ultimate end; no one would brush their teeth just for its own sake if it weren’t necessary, or if they did, it would be because of some additional pleasure derived therefrom. Every action directed towards an end is either for its own sake, or for the sake of some further end; the vast majority of all our actions fall into the latter category. But is there some actions which are legitimately undertaken for their own sake? Is there really a “best good” as Aristotle termed it, which is sought for no other reason than itself? If so, is there just one such best good?

Aquinas answers these questions affirmatively. He writes that “it is contrary to the nature of an end to proceed indefinitely. Therefore it is necessary to fix one last end” (ST I-II, Q. 1, Art. 4) [11]. Why so?

“Absolutely speaking, it is not possible to proceed indefinitely in the matter of ends, from any point of view. For in whatsoever things there is an essential order of one to another, if the first be removed, those that are ordained to the first, must of necessity be removed also. Wherefore the Philosopher proves (Phys. viii, 5) that we cannot proceed to infinitude in causes of movement, because then there would be no first mover, without which neither can the others move, since they move only through being moved by the first mover. Now there is to be observed a twofold order in ends—the order of intention and the order of execution: and in either of these orders there must be something first. For that which is first in the order of intention, is the principle, as it were, moving the appetite; consequently, if you remove this principle, there will be nothing to move the appetite. On the other hand, the principle in execution is that wherein operation has its beginning; and if this principle be taken away, no one will begin to work. Now the principle in the intention is the last end; while the principle in execution is the first of the things which are ordained to the end. Consequently, on neither side is it possible to go to infinity since if there were no last end, nothing would be desired, nor would any action have its term, nor would the intention of the agent be at rest; while if there is no first thing among those that are ordained to the end, none would begin to work at anything, and counsel would have no term, but would continue indefinitely” [12].

So in our teeth brushing example, imagine that suddenly, for some reason, you stopped desiring to keep clean and healthy teeth. There would now be no reason to brush them. A desire is only explicable in relation to its object/end. Where the end is removed, so is the desire. But as we’ve seen, desires exist in ordered series, where ends are directed towards further ends. A particular desire in an ordered series might have an end, but if the further ends in that series have no end themselves, then that particular desire becomes futile/empty, as Aristotle put it. Suppose we have this ordered series: you desire to go to the park because you want to run; you want to run because you want to get in shape; you want to get in shape because you want to be healthy; you want to be healthy because you want to live a long life (and suppose wanting to live a long life is the only reason for desiring to be healthy). But now suppose that you suddenly stop desiring to live a long life, then there is no reason to be healthy. And if there’s no reason to be healthy, there’s no reason to get in shape. And hence there’s no reason to go on a run, and finally no reason to go the park. If the ultimate cause in the series is removed, the first desire itself is frustrated.

What this means is that if all of our desired ends are for the sake of some further end, and no desired end whatsoever is for its own sake, then the ordered series of our desires would be entirely empty. There must be some ultimate, final end to all our desires, which underlies all our desires and points/directs them to itself, which we desire for its own sake and for the sake of nothing else.

What is this ultimate/best good? Aristotle, Augustine, and Aquinas all thought it was happiness.



[1]. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologica. 1265-1274. Trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province. Coyote Canyon Press, 2010. ebook.

[2]. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Contra Gentiles. Translated as On the Truth of the Catholic Faith by Anton C. Pegis, James F. Anderson, Vernon J. Bourke, and Charles J. O’Neil. New York: Hanover House, 1955-57. Edited, with English, especially Scriptural references, updated by Joseph Kenny, O.P. Accessed online at <http://dhspriory.org/thomas/ContraGentiles.htm&gt;.

[3]. Ibid.

[4]. Ibid.

[5]. Ibid.

[6]. Ibid.

[7]. Aquinas. Summa Theologica.

[8]. Ibid.

[9]. Ibid.

[10]. Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Terence Irwin. 2nd edition. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1999.

[11]. Aquinas. Summa Theologica.

[12]. Ibid.

Header Image: Philipp Veit [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons



An Augustinian Defense of Hell

Of all Christian doctrines, the doctrine of Hell is seemingly the easiest to attack, hardest to defend, and most shied away from by theologians, philosophers, and apologists. It’s seen as an outdated, despicable, morally horrendous scare-tactic that is a significantly embarrassing blot on the claim to believe in a perfect, loving, good God. It’s rarely discussed in a serious philosophical setting, except in the brief work of skeptical writers presenting arguments against its moral justification. Christians may offer some general responses to the sentiment behind these arguments, but for the most part are just content to pass by and focus on other, “easier” and less taboo topics. It is now somewhat standard fare for people to assume that Hell is a settled issue; it’s often just taken for granted that Hell is indefensible and morally repugnant and hence that it’s almost not even worth critiquing or defending.

Much of this makes sense. After all, the doctrine of Hell is about as serious an issue as one could possibly discuss. It makes us uncomfortable, and it should make us uncomfortable. At heart it is a claim not just that a good many people are going to experience incomprehensible suffering, but, even worse to the modern mindset, it is a claim that that a good many people, and indeed all people, actually completely deserve such suffering. It would be one thing for some offshoot religious fanatic to shout out that he believes in a cruel God who hates humanity and will delight in their suffering; it’s quite another, more unsettling thing to be told that there’s a perfect, loving, good God who loves humanity but whose eternal punishing of them is essentially an act of merited justice. The first claim makes God into the villain; the second makes us the villains. Of course, the typical response is that eternal torment of such kind is in principle unjust and wicked; that it could never be morally defensible. Thinking to this effect usually takes the form of arguments contending, for instance, that the finite acts of finite agents such as humans, even extremely evil acts, could never warrant infinite guilt or infinite punishment. To purposefully inflict eternal torment on human persons seems to us to be the utter opposite of anything “loving” or “good” (perhaps because, as C. S. Lewis notes, we moderns have confused “love” proper for simple “kindness” or lack of conflict). And indeed, even many Christians have felt the force of such arguments, to the point that “annihilationism” (the doctrine that the damned are not eternally tormented but rather completely destroyed or “annihilated”, i.e. their souls are not kept in existence but pass out of being) and universalism (the doctrine that all humans are eventually saved) are increasingly accepted.

Now, I am certainly not trying to downplay the significance of the difficulties involved in the idea of Hell. Nor am I here attempting to offer a complete defense of it. In this post, I just want to offer a few brief thoughts taken from St. Augustine’s City of God which suggest that not only is the doctrine of Hell justifiable and morally defensible, but that it might even be morally necessary and superior to a position such as annihilationism (I won’t here be interacting with universalism at all). The doctrine of Hell is complex and there are much more in depth defenses of it (see, for instance, philosopher Ed Feser’s recent series of blog posts on the topic here, here, and here), but in this post I’m just going to be skimming the surface of one possible vein of thought.

St. Augustine’s City of God is a massive treatment of various philosophical, theological, political, and historical issues centered around the idea of there being two distinct and opposed “cities”: the City of God and the City of man. As such, the work is replete with discussion of the nature of man, man’s “fall”, the sin of man, man’s guilt, and the deserved punishment of that guilt. In all of this there is a wealth of material that could be used to construct a defense of the Christian doctrine of Hell, but I want here to focus on a single aspect. Book Nineteen is all about order and peace in the context of comparing the Christian view of virtue and happiness with that of other classical philosophies. For St. Augustine, order and peace are inextricably linked; there cannot be the latter without the former. Everything naturally desires and seeks peace, which is necessary for ultimate happiness/fulfillment, and order is requisite for attainment of that peace: “Just as there is no one who does not wish to be joyful, so there is no one who does not wish to have peace” [1]. Peace requires order because peace just is a right ordering of things:

“The peace of the body, therefore, lies in the balanced ordering of its parts; the peace of the irrational soul lies in the rightly ordered disposition of the appetites; the peace of the rational soul lies in the rightly ordered relationship of cognition and action; the peace of the body and soul lies in the rightly ordered life and health of a living creature; peace between mortal man and God is an ordered obedience, in faith, under an eternal law; and peace between men is an ordered agreement of mind with mind . . . The peace of all things lies in the tranquility of order; and order is the disposition of equal and unequal things in such a way as to give to each its proper place” [2].

Indeed, for Augustine there is a hierarchy of order and peace: a man must first be at peace with himself, then with his household, then his city, then his nation, then the world, then God. To order something rightly seems to be to allow lower ends which are naturally directed towards higher ends to be subordinated to those higher ends. For example, in humans the ends of the body should be subordinate to and ruled by the ends of the soul (or mind), the ends of an individual should be subordinate to and ruled by the ends of the common good of a community/society, etc. And, of course, the ends of all created things must ultimately be subordinate to and ruled by God Himself, the Creator and Sustainer of all things. As such, sin, which is a disordered will, is incomprehensibly serious. Sin is a turning away of the will from God, its proper end, towards lower things, and ultimately towards the individual self. Sin is thus a rebellion of order and a destruction of peace, without which there can be no happiness. Sin is a result of pride (the turning of the will towards the self) which is “a perverted imitation of God” [3]. How so?

“For pride hates a fellowship of equality under God, and wishes to impose its own dominion upon its equals, in place of God’s rule. Therefore, it hates the just peace of God, and it loves its own unjust peace; but it cannot help loving peace of some kind or other. For no vice is so entirely contrary to nature as to destroy even the last vestiges of nature” [4].

How does this relate to Hell? C. S. Lewis has a famous quote (coming from the mouth of his fictional portrayal of the writer George MacDonald) which states that “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says, in the end, ‘Thy will be done'” [5]. The idea is that the damned are damned precisely because they desired things other than God, and so in the end God gives them what they want: life apart from Himself. But since He is the only Good, life apart from Him is misery. For St. Augustine, however, this is not the whole story. The damned may “get their way” in the sense that they desired separation from God and they receive it, but they don’t entirely get their way.

On St. Augustine’s view, God is Being Itself, that from which all other things derive their existence. Total separation from God, even for a single moment, would just be to cease existing, to pass out of being. This would be annihilationism, and would be, St. Augustine, argues, actually unjust for God to allow, for several reasons.

The first reason has to do with his privation account of evil (see my posts here and here for more on this). Evil has no positive existence in itself; rather it is the privation or perversion of goodness. When a person sins, they are ultimately seeking escape from God’s order, which is evil. But total escape from God’s order, and hence total evil, would just be complete non-existence, since God’s order includes everything that exists. And so, to allow the sinner to pass out of existence would just be to give him what he wants, to allow the sin to have its way, as it were. But this would leave the sin entirely unpunished and hence would be to fail to achieve actual justice.

But there’s an even more fundamental reason. Augustine crucially held that a sinner is a being with an evil will, but not an evil nature. Every nature that exists, qua creation of God, is intrinsically good. Evil is not a nature in itself, but is only a privation/perversion of good in some nature which itself is good. This is why he says, in the quote above, that “no vice is so entirely contrary to nature as to destroy even the last vestiges of nature”. And elsewhere he declares: “There cannot exist a nature in which there is no good. Hence, in so far as it is a nature, not even the nature of the devil himself is evil. It is perversion [of the will] that makes it evil” [6]. The being, the existence, the substance of the devil is good in itself, precisely insofar as it was created and is sustained in existence by God; but the will of the devil, which is given freedom by God, is so entirely perverted that it can never achieve actual goodness.

So here is the problem: the will of the sinner is really evil and hence really deserving of punishment. But the nature in which that will necessarily exists is not in itself evil, and hence not deserving of punishment. Furthermore, that evil will seeks escape from God’s order and rule, but total escape therefrom would be non-existence. To annihilate the sinner would be to allow the sinner a power and sovereignty over God’s creation that is totally improper to it; it would, in effect, allow the sinner a victorious and absolute rebellion against God which would vindicate the sin itself. But this would be the height of injustice. In fact, the injustice would be threefold: First, it would leave the sin unpunished; Second, it would allow the sinner a victory and sovereignty over God’s order which effectively vindicates the sin; and Third, to annihilate the whole sinner would be to punish the nature rather than the will of the sinner. For God to destroy the good nature of the sinner would be for God to punish something that in itself is innocent, good, and undeserving of punishment. It would be for God to destroy His own good creation; or, rather, it would be for God to allow the sinner to ruin God’s creation, thus further allowing the sinner an entirely inordinate power, sovereignty, and vindication. So St. Augustine writes:

“Thus, the devil did not abide in the truth, but he did not escape the judgement of the Truth. He did not remain in the tranquility of order, but he did not thereby avoid the power of the Ordainer. The good imparted by God, which the devil has in his nature, does not remove him from God’s justice, by which his punishment is ordained; nor does God punish the good which He has created, but the evil which the devil has committed. Moreover, God does not take away everything that He gave to that nature. He removes something, yet He leaves something also, so that there may be something left to feel pain at what has been taken away. And this pain itself testifies to both the good that was taken away and the good that is left; for, if there had been no good left, there could be no grief for the good which was taken away. He who sins is in a worse condition still if he rejoices in the loss of righteousness; but the sinner who suffers grief, even though he acquires no good thereby, is at least grieving at the loss of salvation. For righteousness and salvation are both goods, and the loss of any good is a matter for grief rather than rejoicing . . . It is more fitting, therefore, for an unrighteous man to grieve over his punishment than to rejoice in his fault. Hence, just as the delight in forsaking good which a man takes when he sins is evidence of a bad will, so the grief which he feels at the loss of good when he is punished is evidence of a good nature” [7].

In short, a sinner is a good nature with an evil will. God thus must punish the evil of the will but not the good of the nature. On the classical understanding, the nature of the soul of man is immortal. Therefore, to destroy the nature would be to punish it, and this would be gravely unjust, since the nature is essentially good and undeserving of punishment. But the will must be punished, for the will has sought escape from God’s order. Thus, in fulfilling justice, God allows the will to escape from the peace of His order without escaping His actual order itself. A will is naturally directed in desire to some good. A proper will is directed towards the ultimate Good, God Himself. An evil will is directed inordinately to lower/lesser goods, seeking them as its false ultimate good. But precisely because an evil will is inordinate, it falsely perceives these lower goods as fulfilling and so delights in them. So to punish the evil will, God must show the will that it was wrong to seek these lesser goods in place of the True Good. In short, he must allow the evil will to experience the pain, torment, and misery of not grasping the True Good. He must teach the will that it really was bad for it to choose not to have the True Good; he must force it to grieve at the loss of its salvation and the ruination of itself. If He did not, the evil will would never know that it was wrong, it would never know its own evil.

So in the end we come to see that annihilation would be injustice, since it would be to punish something intrinsically good and innocent by destroying the nature, and to allow the sinner a power and sovereignty over God’s creation by escape from God’s order and hence a vindication of its sins. God must punish the evil will of the sinner but not the good nature; it would be unjust for Him to allow the sinner to escape completely from His own order over creation. And He must punish the evil will by showing it the natural ends of its own desires: total misery at having departed from the True Good. Only when all things are subordinate to God can there be true order, and hence true peace, and ultimately true happiness. The damned tried to escape the order of God by their wicked wills, but God cannot allow them to do so; they must be subordinate to Him, and so their wills must be punished even as their natures are kept immortally in existence. But their misery is that they are in fact separated from the peace of God’s order, precisely as they intended. And so

“the wretched, however, insofar as they are wretched, are clearly not in a condition of peace. Therefore they lack the tranquility of order in which there is no disturbance. Precisely because of their misery, however, even they cannot be said to lie beyond the sphere of order; for they are miserable deservedly and justly” [8].

There is hope, of course. For there is the City of God, which

“directs that earthly peace towards heavenly peace: towards the place which is so truly such that — at least so far as rational creatures are concerned — only it can be held to be peace and called such. For this peace is a perfectly ordered and perfectly harmonious fellowship in the enjoyment of God, and of one another in God. When we have reached that peace, our life will no longer be a mortal one; rather, we shall then be fully and certainly alive . . . This peace the Heavenly City possesses in faith while on its pilgrimage, and by this faith it lives righteously, directing towards the attainment of that peace every good act which it performs either for God, or — since the city’s life is inevitably a social one — for neighbor” [9].



[1]. Augustine. The City of God against the Pagans. Edited and translated by R. W. Dyson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. XIX.12.

[2]. Ibid. XIX. 13.

[3]. Ibid. XIX. 12.

[4]. Ibid.

[5]. C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce. Quoted here: <http://randalrauser.com/2012/04/c-s-lewis-view-of-hell-and-why-it-doesnt-help-much/&gt;.

[6]. Augustine. City of God. XIX.13.

[7]. Ibid.

[8]. Ibid.

[9]. Ibid. XIX. 17.

Header Image: Sandro Botticelli [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Reading Aquinas On Evil: Is Evil an Entity? (Q. 1, Art. 1)

This is the beginning of a series reading through St. Thomas Aquinas’s work De Malo or “On Evil”.

I’ve interacted in a few posts with several arguments for atheism/naturalism, but have purposefully not yet ventured towards that infamous, so-called “problem of evil”. This is because the question of the relation between evil and the existence of God is massive, complex, and doesn’t fit neatly under the heading of one general “problem”. There are many different arguments and types of arguments which move from the reality of evil (or something which might be categorized under evil, such as pain, suffering, etc.) towards the improbability or even impossibility of the existence of God. Recognizing the immensity and complexity of the various issues involved, I’ve chosen not to delve into it yet, and am doing so now only by way of exposition of Aquinas’ own writings on the subject. There are several reasons for this. First is just that I think what Aquinas has to say is interesting and significant in its own right. Second is that starting this way, by reading and thinking through a single text, narrows the topic considerably, providing a nice pathway by which to broach discussing evil and God generally. Finally, any argument which attempts to appeal to “evil” without establishing a sufficient metaphysical foundation of evil first is just futile. The same, by the way, is true of any theistic arguments which appeal to moral obligation or values. It is simply impossible to take serious any attempt at an argument from evil which does not provide an ontological account of what evil is in the first place. Continue reading

Outlined Version of the Design Argument

Here is an outlined version of Aquinas’s Argument from Design, or his Fifth Way. This is just an outline. The full series of articles can be found here, here, and here. Refer to those for the whole, in depth explanations and defenses of the various premises.

  1. In our universe we experience regular cause-effect relationships, where causes have specific, determinate effects
  2. The only sufficient metaphysical explanation of these cause-effect relationships is the principle of finality, which states that causes are intrinsically directed/ordered to determinate effects as ends
  3. In order for a cause to be intrinsically ordered/directed to a determinate effect as to an end, that effect/end must in some sense exist prior to the action of the cause
  4. But an effect cannot exist in real being prior to the action of the cause, because then the effect would be prior to its cause, which is absurd
  5. So the effect/end must exist in the order of mental being, as an idea, prior to the causal action
  6. Hence the ends of all causal actions must exist in some Supreme Intelligence which directs those causes to their ends.
  7. These ends are intrinsic to the nature/essence of the beings which act causally, so what directs the beings to their ends must be likewise the cause of the existence of those essences/natures, which (per the Second Way) must be a Being of Pure Act, or Being Itself
  8. This is what we call God

Aquinas’s Argument from Design Part 3: The End

In the previous post in this series on Aquinas’s Fifth Way, we introduced and briefly defended the reality of final causation as the only possible sufficient metaphysical explanation for the natural order and regularity of cause-effect relationships. We noted that when some being, even a non-rational being, acts, it must have some effect. If it has no effect, then it has not really acted at all. And the effect must be a specific, determinate effect: this effect rather than any other of the infinite number of possible effects. And in order to explain why the action has this specific, determinate effect rather than any other, it is necessary to posit that there is some reason/end towards which the action itself is intrinsically directed. Continue reading

Aquinas’s Argument from Design Part 2: Final Causality

In the first post in this series on Aquinas’s Fifth Way, I introduced and explored several historical examples of different “teleological arguments,” of which the Fifth Way is one. In this post, I will make some final distinctions between the Fifth Way and other teleological arguments, and then begin laying out, explaining, and defending Aquinas’s argument.

For the most part, the majority of teleological arguments make use of what we might call “extrinsic” teleology, whereas the Fifth Way is based upon intrinsic teleology; it is largely for this reason that I think the latter is much stronger and more successful than the former. To grasp this, we might consider an example: Suppose you’re walking along a beach and come across some sticks arranged into a word. The word, qua word, is teleological; it conveys meaning, “points to” some meaning beyond itself. The sticks, on the other hand, in themselves are not teleological, at least in relation to the word. A stick, in itself, does not signify anything beyond itself (what it is), unless such further signification is imposed upon it externally, as in the case when the sticks are arranged to depict a word. So, when you walk on the beach and come across the sticks arranged into a specific word which conveys a meaning, you most likely conclude that some rational agent, some intelligence, some human person, was causally responsible for arranging the sticks. Because sticks in themselves do not convey a meaning beyond themselves, and yet because they have been externally arranged to convey a meaning beyond themselves, you conclude that some intentional and purposeful agent has imposed the meaning.

This is a simplistic example of what many teleological arguments are essentially. Continue reading

An Augustinian Argument from Desire

What follows is, I believe, a novel argument for the existence of God. It is drawn almost entirely from the writings of St. Augustine, but though the line of thought is his, he does not seem to use it as a positive instance of natural theology. It is in this sense that the argument, as I’m using it here, is somewhat new.

Naturally theology is often divided into distinctive branches or types of arguments. These include families such as cosmological arguments, moral arguments, or teleological arguments, along with some other, less common ones as well. Of this latter sort, I’d suggest, there is the branch of “arguments from desire”. I consider these as less common just in relation to professional philosophical work; but, among popular apologetics, they are seen more frequently. Furthermore, they are quite common just in terms of their natural appeal and emotional effectiveness. It seems plausible that a good number of people believe in God and subscribe to some religious tradition on the basis of a kind of implicit, perhaps even subconscious argument from desire within them. Continue reading