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 It’s seen as an outdated, despicable, morally horrendous scare-tactic that is a significantly embarrassing blot on the claim to believe in a perfect, loving, good God.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].

 

Notes

[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

First Conference Paper Presentation: The Metaphysical Possibility of Creation Ex Nihilo

This past weekend I had the opportunity to present a paper at the undergraduate Mid-Atlantic Philosophy Conference, hosted by Prometheus Journal (an undergraduate philosophy journal) at Johns Hopkins University. It was an incredible experience, and I am extremely grateful to have been able to attend and present. In addition to getting the valuable experience of presenting a paper, I was also able to listen to some great and thought provoking papers from fellow students.

My paper should be published on Prometheus’ online journal at some point in the near future. When it is, I’ll provide a link. Until then, I’ll post the abstract of my paper below, as well as an (admittedly low quality) video of my presentation and the commentary and question and answer session afterwards. The title of my paper was “The Metaphysical Possibility of Creation Ex Nihilo.” Here’s the abstract:

This paper seeks to examine two seemingly contradictory concepts, one a metaphysical principle, the other a theological doctrine, as well as their historio-philosophical backgrounds and contexts, and attempts to discover whether or not they are reconcilable, i.e. whether they can be held together. The concepts in question are that of ex nihilo nihil fit, and that of creatio ex nihilo, respectively. The former was a principle deeply embedded in the process of Greek natural philosophy, and it led nearly all Greek philosophers to conclude that matter could never have come into being from nothing. On the basis of this Greek understanding of the principle, the first half of this paper will formulate an argument that summarizes the metaphysical problem of creatio ex nihilo. The paper will then argue that Aquinas’ analysis of creation, set within his metaphysical framework, offers one possible solution to that problem. In particular, this paper will emphasize that Aquinas’ distinction between the causal powers of finite beings as opposed to that of infinite being is the key to defending the metaphysical possibility of creatio ex nihilo.

As some readers may notice, the thrust of my paper was very much directed against certain arguments for naturalism which I’ve written about briefly before on this blog (see the Epicurean Cosmological Argument or the argument for naturalism from Material Causation and Creation Ex Nihilo), but treat in much more depth in the paper.

Here’s the video (Commentary/Q&A begins at around 39:41):

I was extremely grateful for the commentator from Prometheus who was exceptionally kind and engaging with my paper, as well as the others who asked questions afterwards. I’d like to provide a few more responses here, after having had some time to think about the questions more in depth:

The commentator’s first point was to bring up Heraclitus as a possible counter example to a pretty strong claim I make at the beginning of my paper: that until the birth of the modern period, the “ex nihilo nihil fit” principle was unchallenged and universally accepted. The commentator admitted that this was a relatively minor issue, but I think he was right to bring it up, since my claim was pretty strong, so strong, in fact, that even just one example would suffice to falsify it. The commentator referenced a discussion between Heraclitus and Cratylus in Book 4 of Aristotle’s Metaphysics. He says that this discussion seems to indicate a “tension” between their view and the view which I take as firmly established in the Greek tradition, namely that something cannot come from nothing. Here’s the full passage from Aristotle:

“Because they [earlier Greek philosophers} saw that all this world of nature is in movement, and that about that which changes no true statement can be made, they said that of course, regarding that which everywhere in every respect is changing, nothing could be truly affirmed. It was this belief that blossomed into the most extreme views above mentioned, that of the professed Heracliteans, such as was held by Cratylus, who finally did not think it right to say anything but only moved his finger, and criticized Heraclitus for saying that it is impossible to step twice into the same river; for he thought one could not do it even once” [1].

I do not take this as an explicit denial of the ex nihilo nihil fit principle, nor do any commentators that I can find; nor, indeed, does Aristotle himself seem to. The broad context of the passage is in Aristotle’s extended defense of the principle of non-contradiction, which he associates with a refutation of the belief that all things are perpetually in motion. He understands Heraclitus to hold this latter view, and says that such a position forces Heraclitus to hold that something both is and is not at the same time, which is a denial of the principle of non contradiction. One might argue that Heraclitus’ position implies or requires an ultimate denial of ex nihilo nihil fit, but Heraclitus himself never asserts this–indeed we have writings from him in which he claims that the universe is eternal and uncreated (which I quote in my paper). Here the issue is not ex nihilo nihil fit, but rather the principle of non contradiction.

Next is a question about the relation between essence and form in Aquinas. The commentator understood essence as being “strictly form” within the context of Aquinas’s hylomorphic (matter-form composition) view of reality. From this, I think he derives two distinct questions. The first question is about my use of the phrase “limited essence”, which he asks me to clarify. I could be mistaken, but from what I can tell, I think his question is directed towards why an essence would be “limited” if what is actually limiting is matter. In other words, if a thing is composed of matter and form, then matter is what limits the form, not the other way around. Since he understood essence and form to be identical, I think his question was why I would call the essence limited, rather than the matter. As I’ll explain below (and touched on a bit in the video), Aquinas does not take form and essence to be identical. But even if he did, I think the phrase “limited essence” would still be appropriate, in the sense that the essence would be limited by matter, not that the essence itself “limits”.

But Aquinas distinguishes form and essence, which was the point of the last question. In my paper, I explain that Aquinas has a sort of dichotomy between act potency relationships. On the one hand is the form/matter composition, and on the other is the essence/existence composition. In my paper, I state that in the latter composition, form is the actuality to the potency of matter; and in the latter composition, existence is the actuality to the potency of essence. Since the commentator took essence and form to be interchangeable terms for the same thing, he rightly saw a tension arise: if essence and form are the same, how could it be potency in one sense and actuality in another?

Now, for Aquinas, form and essence are certainly related, but not exactly identical. The essence of a thing includes both its form and matter–since to know what a man is (and hence know its essence) involves knowing that man is a material being, and hence knowing that man has a form instantiated in matter. Aristotle does not quite make this distinction, but Aquinas, drawing from some earlier Islamic thinkers, extrapolates it. This is seen especially in the question of angels. Aquinas held angels to be pure forms, not instantiated in any matter. Since he takes matter to be potency, the question is how angels can actually exist not instantiated in matter. If form is actuality, and angels are pure form, would this not imply that angels are pure act? But only God is pure act. So Aquinas posits that the potency of angels comes not from matter, but from their essence, which is actualized by an act of existing.

The first audience question was how God, being Pure Act, could possibly cause change in the world. This is a substantial objection to the First Way, and I’ve actually written a post devoted exclusively to it, so I’ll just link to that here.

The final question was about interpretation of substance in Aristotelian substantial change. In particular, the question was about an example I used to illustrate substantial change. I think this is a relatively minor issue, however, since the questioner acknowledged that another example I used for substantial change does work, and hence my point on substantial change in general stands.

In all, it was a fantastic experience. Thanks to Prometheus and the philosophy department at Johns Hopkins for making it possible!

Notes

[1]. McKeon, Richard, editor. The Basic Works of Aristotle. New York: Random House, Inc, 1941. Print. Metaphysics 4.5, 1010a6-14.

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

Further Thoughts on Abortion Arguments

A few weeks ago, I posted some thoughts on a few arguments in favor of abortion which I considered to be less than successful. My post was directed specifically to an article by a Mr. Babinski. Babinski kindly responded to my post and then sent me a lengthy counter. That counter will be posted in full throughout the present article. I will divide it into short sections and respond to each in turn. As a preemptive note, Mr. Babinski references several times (when he uses numbers) one of my comments on the previous post. To get a full sense of our discussion, see those comments.

Before I begin, I must reiterate what I explicitly stated in my first post: I was not in that post, nor am I in this post, arguing that abortion is wrong. I certainly believe that, but I’m not arguing specifically for it here. Nor am I making a positive pro-life case. The intention of my previous post was merely to argue that certain types of arguments, which I examined in that post, are either poor or irrelevant in relation to a pro-abortion case, because they simply confuse, mistake, or ignore what is the central and fundamental issue in the abortion debate. Continue reading