Order

The First Cause and the Origin of Distinction

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Earlier we discussed why there is something rather than nothing. We then considered why some things are distinct from another, but only with respect to formal distinctions. And even the discussion of formal distinctions did not really get to the root of the question, since it was based on the idea of opposites, and opposites are already distinct from one another.

The real question about distinction is why it exists at all, whether formal or material, and why reality is not simply one in every way, as Parmenides held.

Previously we discussed the order of the concepts distinction, unity, whole and part, many, first and second, origin, and cause. Some things that follow from these discussions:

  1. When two things are distinct, each of the two is in some way one.
  2. The two things themselves exist in some way as a whole and as one, and each of the two is a part of that whole.
  3. The two in some way have an order of first and second.
  4. The second is in some way from the first.

But it does not follow that one of the two is the cause of the other. The reason for this is that causality adds explanation, and the order of first and second in step four here may simply be arbitrary. I have two hands, and one of them must be first when I count them. But I could count them in the opposite order and nothing would be lost. Thus the specific order here does not add to understanding my hands, and so one hand is not a cause of the other.

We can consider possible answers to the question about distinction:

First, someone could say that since distinction is a being of reason, it does not exist in reality. Therefore every statement involving distinction is false: it is false that the chair in my room is not the table, and true that the chair is the table. This would basically be the position of Parmenides, and violates common sense in the deepest possible way. The violation of common sense is sufficient reason to reject this explanation.

Second, someone could say that since distinction is a being of reason, it has nothing positive in itself, and therefore it needs no explanation. This position would admit that it is true that one of my hands is not the other hand, but would assert that there simply is no reason why it is not. This would be somewhat akin to Bertrand Russell’s position that there does not need to be any explanation for the world. This position seems rather unlikely. It makes some sense that there could be a necessary being that is intelligible in itself, and this is necessary to respond to the question of why there is something rather than nothing. But this answer to the question about distinction implies that there is non-being which is either intelligible in itself, or intelligible in no way, yet truly is present in the world. This makes much less sense, and would likely result in depriving the world first of intelligibility in general, and consequently of other kinds of meaning such as purpose and the good.

Third, someone could admit that distinction requires an explanation. This implies that distinction has causes. The material cause, of course, is the beings themselves that are distinct, while the formal cause is the not-being-the-other that each of them possess. But in order to get a full explanation, we need an efficient cause and a final cause. And since two distinct beings seem to be distinct by their very nature, the only way to get an efficient cause is for at least one of the two beings to have an efficient cause itself.

These answers seem to be exhaustive. Either distinction is truly present in the world or it is not; and either it needs an explanation or it does not. The third answer seems by far the most reasonable one.

It is easy to see that accepting this third answer implies accepting that there is one first efficient cause which is the cause of everything else in reality, and corresponding to this, one ultimate end of all things. For we have already argued that causality always implies a first. But if first efficient causes are many, then they will be distinct from one another, and by this argument at least one of them will have an efficient cause, which is a contradiction. Therefore first efficient causes are not many; and thus there is only one.

It should be noted that if one makes this argument in the context of Catholic theology, the first cause that the argument arrives at would not be God the Trinity, but the person of the Father. For the argument explains all distinction, and therefore it would also explain the distinction between the persons of the Trinity. This also has some bearing on the different terminology used by the East and the West in relation to the divine persons. St. Thomas discusses this difference:

The Greeks use the words “cause” and “principle” indifferently, when speaking of God; whereas the Latin Doctors do not use the word “cause,” but only “principle.” The reason is because “principle” is a wider term than “cause”; as “cause” is more common than “element.” For the first term of a thing, as also the first part, is called the principle, but not the cause. Now the wider a term is, the more suitable it is to use as regards God, because the more special terms are, the more they determine the mode adapted to the creature. Hence this term “cause” seems to mean diversity of substance, and dependence of one from another; which is not implied in the word “principle.” For in all kinds of causes there is always to be found between the cause and the effect a distance of perfection or of power: whereas we use the term “principle” even in things which have no such difference, but have only a certain order to each other; as when we say that a point is the principle of a line; or also when we say that the first part of a line is the principle of a line.

According to our treatment the Greeks were right in wishing to use the term “cause.” Cause is indeed narrower than principle, but only by implying explanation, and this is found in the Trinity. It does not imply diversity of substance, while the meaning of “dependence” in St. Thomas’s text here is unclear. Nor does causality, according to our discussion, imply a distance of perfection or power. It is true that the first part of a line is not necessarily the cause of the line, but only insofar as the fact that it is first lacks explanatory value. Insofar as it has such value, as by being a material cause, it also has causality.

Division Into Two

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I pointed out in the last post that Parmenides is mistaken in maintaining the absolute unity of all being. But the refutation was simply from experience. One can still ask about the real reason for this. Why is being not absolutely one in the way he supposed?

Distinction consists in the fact that one thing is not another. But why is it not the other? We can find two kinds of distinction in things, material and formal.

Material distinction consists in the fact that one thing is not another, even though the things are of the same kind. Thus one man is not another man. Formal distinction consists in the fact that one thing is not another thing because they are different in kind, as for example a dog is distinct from a man, or as blue is distinct from green.

It is quite difficult to understand the existence of material distinction, and I will not try to explain it at this time. But formal distinction always happens because of some opposition between the forms in question. And opposition results from things that are opposite to one another, while opposites come in pairs. Consequently formal distinction always results first into a division into two, although the things which are divided into two may possibly be divided again.

We can illustrate this with the way that St. Thomas divides a text into parts. For example, in his commentary on the Gospel of St. John, discussing the wedding at Cana, he says:

Above, the Evangelist showed the dignity of the incarnate Word and gave various evidence for it. Now he begins to relate the effects and actions by which the divinity of the incarnate Word was made known to the world. First, he tells the things Christ did, while living in the world, that show his divinity. Secondly, he tells how Christ showed his divinity while dying; and this from chapter twelve on. As to the first he does two things. First, he shows the divinity of Christ in relation to the power he had over nature. Secondly, in relation to the effects of grace; and this from chapter three on. Christ’s power over nature is pointed out to us by the fact that he changed a nature. And this change was accomplished by Christ as a sign: first, to his disciples, to strengthen them; secondly, to the people, to lead them to believe (2:12). This transformation of a nature, in order to strengthen the disciples, was accomplished at a marriage, when he turned water into wine. First, the marriage is described. Secondly, those present. Thirdly, the miracle performed by Christ. In describing the marriage, the time is first mentioned. Hence he says, “On the third day there was a wedding,” i.e., after the calling of the disciples mentioned earlier. For, after being made known by the testimony of John, Christ also wanted to make himself known. Secondly, the place is mentioned; hence he says, at Cana in Galilee. Galilee is a province, and Cana a small village located in that province.

Every division here is into two except when he talks about the description of the marriage, saying, “First, the marriage is described. Secondly, those present. Thirdly, the miracle performed by Christ.” But it is easy to see that he divides into three here in order to omit a distinction that would not be very helpful, namely the division between describing the background to the miracle and describing the miracle itself. The background is then divided once again into the marriage and into those present.

Thus, in theory every formal division is into two. But in practice in can happen that it is sometimes useful to divide into three, and in rare cases larger numbers. This happens first of all when some divisions are obvious and can be skipped over, as is the case here with St. Thomas. Second, the division into beginning, middle, and end is usually best left as a division into three, even though in principle the beginning can be divided against the rest. Finally, cases which consist of a list are best left as such, as when I mention seven interesting things that happened to me yesterday. Basically such cases are cases of material distinction, not formal; here is one interesting thing, here is another, and here is still another.

For additional illustration, we may divide the above paragraph:

  1. Statement of the theoretical principle: every formal division is into two.
  2. Discussion of practical exceptions.
    1. General statement regarding exceptions: sometimes it is useful to divide into larger numbers.
    2. Consideration of various cases.
      1. Consideration of cases which in fact contain formal distinction.
        1. The general case in which some divisions are omitted.
        2. The special case of beginning, middle, and end.
      2. Consideration of cases in which material distinction is involved instead.
        1. Description of such cases: situations where we basically have a list.
        2. Explanation of such cases: the fact that they consist in material distinction.

Someone may argue that such an explanation of a text is artificial, and that the author was not thinking of such a breakdown of his text, and consequently that it cannot be a true explanation. But the reality is that it does not matter whether he was thinking of it or not. If his text is in fact coherent, it will have such an explanation, and one that is basically most correct, in comparison to others which are less correct or incorrect.

This is true not only of texts, but of any whole which is coherently divided into parts based on formal distinctions.

The Indifferent Universe of Richard Dawkins

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Richard Dawkins says at the end of chapter 4 of his book River Out of Eden, “The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.”

The phrase “at bottom” is likely intended to exclude the interpretation which would deny the existence of purpose and of good and evil in the obvious sense of such a denial. In other words, denying these things by asserting that there is no purpose at all in human life, and that nothing anyone does or accomplishes is good or evil. It would not even be necessary to argue against such a position. It is sufficiently plain to common sense that this position is false, and even apart from this, the moral reasons to believe it is false would be compelling. And in any case Dawkins clearly believes in the existence of evil in this plain sense.

Nonetheless, there are problems with the claim even in the “at bottom” sense. In order for it to be reasonable for him to maintain his position, he should at least be able to answer these two questions:

(1) If there is no good and evil “at bottom”, why is there good and evil on the surface?

(2) Why do things tend to get better over time?

Developing the first question, why do human beings care about their own good and the good of humanity, if the universe at bottom does not? After all, human beings are a part of the universe. If the universe does not care, it would seem that human beings would not care either.

Or again: even if we can explain why human beings care about their own good, why do apples taste good? Apples could be good for health, and human beings could care about their health, without apples tasting good. It is almost as if the apples themselves cared about humanity.

Dawkins would likely attempt to respond to such questions by giving an evolutionary explanation. But while such explanations are surely a part of the truth, attempting to give a full response to such questions with such an explanation is bound to fail, because in the end it is a question of the working of human mind, and evolution cannot fully explain this.

As an example, consider the question about apples. If apples did not taste good, Dawkins might say, people would not eat them, and consequently they could not contribute to human health. And if similarly people did not eat any healthy foods, they could not survive. Evolution selected for people who could survive, and therefore for people who like the taste of health foods, including the taste of apples.

This may be all very well as far it goes, but the question has not yet been adequately answered. For we can still ask:

(1) Why do people eat things that taste good to them, instead of things that taste bad to them? If people normally ate things that taste bad to them, and rejected things that taste good, then evolution would have selected for people that eat healthy things that taste bad, and all healthy food, including apples, would taste bad to people.

(2) Why does food have any taste at all? Evolution could have easily selected for people who ate tasteless healthy food.

It is fairly evident that no evolutionary explanation will suffice to answer these two questions. The first question, about why people tend to eat things that taste good, rather than things that taste bad, is basically asking why people tend to do what seems good to them, rather than what seems bad. If people simply tended to do what seems bad to them, life would be like a dangerous roller coaster, where you are being “pushed along” on a path that you fear or dislike. But it is completely possible to imagine a life like this. It is not intrinsically absurd, and evolution is fully capable for selecting for such a thing, if it is possible at all. So the fact that this is not how things are, at least for the most part, is evidence that some explanation is necessary besides the fact of evolution.

The second question is similar, in the sense that it is asking why people’s tendency to do things is related to something known to them, rather than being unconscious. Our heart beats without there being any conscious intention for it to do so. Why could we not equally well eat without any conscious intention and without noticing any taste?

There is a debate about whether philosophical zombies are possible. But this debate may well be a red herring, because it may simply be a distraction from the true issues. It is likely impossible for such a zombie to exist, but the entire argument for this conclusion consists in the fact that human beings are in fact conscious. No explanation has been given for why this must be so, except the explanation suggested by St. Thomas: that the generosity of God requires that form be present in every disposed matter. In particular, it is evident that evolution cannot explain why we could not do everything we do, without being conscious, because exactly the same selective pressures would have been at work throughout the entire process.

To put this in another way, if philosophical zombies are impossible, this is because the universe is not indifferent to mind. And what is not indifferent to mind, is not indifferent to good and evil.

Aristotle describes the progress of the knowledge of causes among the ancient Greek philosophers:

From these facts one might think that the only cause is the so-called material cause; but as men thus advanced, the very facts opened the way for them and joined in forcing them to investigate the subject. However true it may be that all generation and destruction proceed from some one or (for that matter) from more elements, why does this happen and what is the cause? For at least the substratum itself does not make itself change; e.g. neither the wood nor the bronze causes the change of either of them, nor does the wood manufacture a bed and the bronze a statue, but something else is the cause of the change. And to seek this is to seek the second cause, as we should say,-that from which comes the beginning of the movement. Now those who at the very beginning set themselves to this kind of inquiry, and said the substratum was one, were not at all dissatisfied with themselves; but some at least of those who maintain it to be one-as though defeated by this search for the second cause-say the one and nature as a whole is unchangeable not only in respect of generation and destruction (for this is a primitive belief, and all agreed in it), but also of all other change; and this view is peculiar to them. Of those who said the universe was one, then none succeeded in discovering a cause of this sort, except perhaps Parmenides, and he only inasmuch as he supposes that there is not only one but also in some sense two causes. But for those who make more elements it is more possible to state the second cause, e.g. for those who make hot and cold, or fire and earth, the elements; for they treat fire as having a nature which fits it to move things, and water and earth and such things they treat in the contrary way.

When these men and the principles of this kind had had their day, as the latter were found inadequate to generate the nature of things men were again forced by the truth itself, as we said, to inquire into the next kind of cause. For it is not likely either that fire or earth or any such element should be the reason why things manifest goodness and, beauty both in their being and in their coming to be, or that those thinkers should have supposed it was; nor again could it be right to entrust so great a matter to spontaneity and chance. When one man said, then, that reason was present-as in animals, so throughout nature-as the cause of order and of all arrangement, he seemed like a sober man in contrast with the random talk of his predecessors. We know that Anaxagoras certainly adopted these views, but Hermotimus of Clazomenae is credited with expressing them earlier. Those who thought thus stated that there is a principle of things which is at the same time the cause of beauty, and that sort of cause from which things acquire movement.

Thus, according to Aristotle, the philosophers came to the knowledge of an agent cause that intended the goodness and beauty found in things. And they came to this conclusion because the universe they observed did not have “precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference,” but properties which would be much more likely to be observed if the universe is, at bottom, not indifferent to mind, and not indifferent to good and evil, despite the random talk of Richard Dawkins.

Origin and Cause

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Yesterday’s account of before and after allows us to explain the ideas of origin and cause.

Something first is said to be the beginning, principle, or origin of the second, and the second is said to be from the first. This simply signifies the relationship already described in the last post, together with an emphasis on the fact that the first comes before the second by “consequence of being”, in the way described.

When we ask why something is the case, we respond by giving an account or explanation for the thing. There are then two orders in our understanding: the order of time, where first we saw something and then, second, we asked about it, and the order of understanding. In the order of understanding the explanation is the reason for the thing, and is said to come before it, basically for the same reasons that we said that first comes before second in the previous post.

“Cause” and “effect” simply signify that the cause is the origin of the effect, and that the effect is from the cause, together with the idea that when we understand the cause, we understand the explanation for the effect. Thus “cause” adds to “origin” a certain relationship with the understanding; this is why Aristotle says that we do not think we understand a thing until we know its cause, or “why” it is. We do not understand a thing until we know its explanation.

Aristotle sets out four kinds of causality, matter, form, agent and end. The basic division here is between causes that are intrinsic to a thing (or viewed as such) and causes that are extrinsic (or viewed as such.) Each of these divisions is itself divided into a material and formal aspect: that which causes, and why or how it causes. Thus intrinsic causes are divided into matter and form. Wood is the material cause of the chair, and it causes by having the shape of the chair, the formal cause. Likewise the carpenter is the agent cause of the chair, and he causes for the sake of sitting, the final cause and the “why” for which he causes.

Defining Order

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Earlier I discussed Aristotle’s senses of before and after. Using yesterday’s discussion of one and many, we can now find a more exact definition of the same terms.

We can define “second” as the formal part of something two, namely the part by which the two is two.

Thus “first” is the part of something two which is not the second. This way of defining first and second may seem backwards, but it is analogous with how we defined the unity of a thing by negating division.

Something first, as such, implies the existence of something second, and likewise something second implies the existence of something first. However, the existence of two implies the existence of one (as a part), while the existence of one does not imply the existence of two. This corresponds to the difference in the definitions of first and second given above. The second is the part by which two is two, while the first is a part, but not the part by which two is two. If first and second are considered only with respect to what is formal in them, then, as “not that by which two is two”, and “by which two is two”, then according to this consideration the first does not imply a second, but the second implies a first.

From this we can see that being before by nature, or as Aristotle says, “what does not reciprocate according to consequence of being,” if not the first thing to which the words before and after are applied, is nonetheless first in the nature of things to possess the before and after.

We can also see that this sense of before and after must be found in some way in all other senses, for every case of before and after will involve something first and something second.

This can be illustrated with the order of time, the first thing to which the words before and after are actually applied. At first it might seem that such a before and after are completely separate from the idea of reciprocation according to consequence of being, since one day can exist without another, nor is it evident that the existence of one day implies that another day existed or that another will exist.

If we consider our actual experience of the past and present (since we have no experience of the future), however, we find something different. Our experience of the present includes our memory of the past, and in this respect implies the past existence of the past. But our experience of the past, namely not the present experience of remembering the past, but the remembered experience of the past that was once present, does not include anything of the present. In this way the present implies the past, but the past does not imply the present, and thus according to these considerations the past is before the present even according to consequence of being.

This is not to deny that according to other considerations the present might be before the past. Rather, these considerations show why the past is considered to be before the present, namely because the present seems to build on the past, as though the past were one block of wood, with the present being a second block of wood stacked on top of the first block. We will find that something similar is the case in every way in which we can say that one thing is before or after another thing.

The Progress of Humanity and History

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Pope Francis says in Laudato Si’:

113. There is also the fact that people no longer seem to believe in a happy future; they no longer have blind trust in a better tomorrow based on the present state of the world and our technical abilities. There is a growing awareness that scientific and technological progress cannot be equated with the progress of humanity and history, a growing sense that the way to a better future lies elsewhere.

Here he denies that technological progress is the same as progress for humanity, and elsewhere he criticizes those “who doggedly uphold the myth of progress and tell us that ecological problems will solve themselves simply with the application of new technology and without any need for ethical considerations or deep change.” This criticism seems to be related to the above statement. The Pope is not saying that progress does not exist; the “myth of progress” is not that progress exists, but that it is constituted by “the application of new technology.” In the same way, although he begins paragraph 113 by saying “people no longer seem to believe in a happy future,” he continues by saying that there is a “growing sense that the way to a better future lies elsewhere.” In general, then, the myth may consist in saying that technological growth is sufficient for progress, and that progress is guaranteed without any special effort.

I stated in the previous post that a successful world will in fact tend to grow in goodness. This however does not guarantee that a world will always be successful in this way, and it is clear enough that improvement in one respect, such as technology, does not guarantee improvement overall. So it remains a question whether or not the world we live in is in fact successful, if it is in fact getting better, or not. It is certainly not staying the same, which means that it must be getting better or getting worse, but it could be that overall things are constantly getting worse, or that they go back and forth such that on average it is much the same as staying the same. The following posts will consider this issue.

The Order of the World

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Aristotle gives five meanings of before and after:

1. Before in time. 2:00 PM is before 3:00 PM.

2. Before by nature. The existence of man implies the existence of animal, but the existence of animal does not imply the existence of man, so animal comes first.

3. Before in understanding. The premises of an argument come before the conclusion.

4. Before in goodness. The better thing is first.

5. Before in causality. The cause is before the effect.

The world is ordered in all of these ways, and the various orders have certain relationships. The order of time lines up with the order of nature to some extent, since if a thing implies the existence of something else, it cannot exist temporally before the thing the existence of which it implies. Thus animals existed before human beings, but not human beings before animals. This order is never reversed, but sometimes the order of nature does not also include an order of time. Thus the first bodies must also have been some particular kind of body; there was no temporal sequence there.

For material, formal, and efficient causes, the cause is always simultaneous in time with the effect. However, on account of its causal priority, that which constitutes the cause sometimes comes temporally before that which constitutes the effect, and never the other way around. Thus in this sense the order of the things which are causes to some extent shares in the temporal order in the same way that the order of nature does.

The final cause is sometimes taken as that which is loved, and in this sense it has no definite temporal relation to its effect. Thus sometimes it comes after, as the money which is loved makes a man work for it, and sometimes it comes before, as the wife who is loved makes a man praise her even after her death.

But when the final cause is taken as that which is desired but not yet possessed, it always comes after its effect, assuming that it comes to be at all. This results in a temporal order which is reversed according to final causality, but which corresponds to the order of goodness. What possesses the good is better than what does not possess it, and comes after in time, unless something fails such that the efficient cause which sought the final cause does not succeed in attaining the good it desired.

Thus a successful world is one in which the order of time basically corresponds with the order of causality and the order of goodness. This is what St. Thomas means when he says that the good of the world consists in its order, and that its order consists principally in the fact that one thing is the cause of another, and that one thing is better than another.