The Proof from Formal and Final Causality

Things bear the impress of their efficient cause in two notable ways. They manifest its power and skill and, in a sense, its character, in their formal structure, their being considered formally or as such. And they manifest its purpose in the way they work. In the first of the three arguments here to be presented we view creatures in the light of what may, at least analogously, be called their formal cause. Many authors prefer to see in this argument a further application of efficient causality (and indeed this is not to be denied) with a tinge of exemplar-causality. In the second and third arguments we view creatures in the light of the end or goal for which they are made and to which they tend; in a word we see them in the light of their final causality. a) PROOF FROM GRADES OF PERFECTION By the perfection of a thing we mean its thorough making. The word perfection comes from the Latin per and factum which, freely rendered, means “made through and through.” A thing is perfect or has perfection when it is all that it ought to be, when no item or element that should be present in it is lacking. Of course, there is a pedantic quibble about the propriety of speaking of grades or degrees of perfection; it is sometimes asserted that a thing is perfect or it is not perfect, and that nothing more may be said of it. In other words, it is said that perfect is an absolute term, not admitting comparison; it is a positive without comparative or superlative. Now, this is true enough when one considers a single thing, or a single essence in the abstract. A reality either measures up to the full stature of what it should be, or it falls short. But when we contrast things essentially different, it is manifest that one fulness may be less than another fulness; as the stone, for instance, is less in the order of fulness of being and activity than the plant, and in that sense is less perfect than the plant. The same is true of contrasted qualities like wisdom and goodness and virtue and beauty. Outside all the individuals and the classes of which such qualities may be predicated there is some absolute standard, which the mind perforce conceives, and with which it compares the individuals and classes and rates them as lesser and greater in perfection as they share less fully or more fully the impress of the absolute standard. Thus the argument about the terms perfect and perfection appears to be one for grammarians and purists rather than for philosophers; for, whatever the requirements of diction and pure style, the thought or idea that is expressed by the phrase degrees of perfection is quite clear and quite valuable. Perhaps, however, it would be wiser (and certainly it would silence the grumbling of the pedants and pundits) if we were to leave the words perfect and perfection and use some such words as good and goodness; there can surely be no quibble about the meaning of good and better. And indeed St. Thomas Aquinas uses this very set of terms (with others) in his presentation of the argument under discussion. “We find in things,” he says, “degrees of more and less, and they are called more or less good, more or less true, more or less noble, and so on. But more or less is predicated of things inasmuch as they bear reference to a most ” In other words, there must be a supreme standard, which is not itself subject to measurement by comparison with a further standard (for it is supreme). Things are more or less (good, noble, true, etc.) by a kind of measurement; a measure is applied to them in a manner analogous to that in which a yardstick is applied to a piece of cloth and which is found to be more or less than a yard. But the first source and standard of measurement cannot conceivably be measurable itself. The things that have more or less may be said to share or participate in a limited measure what the ultimate standard possesses simply and unshared in a measureless and absolute way. Things, therefore, which have degrees of good and better; more noble, less noble, etc., require the existence of that which is measurelessly most, best, truest, noblest, as the ultimate source and standard of their shared goodness, truth, nobility. We may set the argument in this form: If there are real degrees of more and less in things about us in this world, there must exist a most, a maximum, a greatest, not only in a relative sense as the greatest in a certain order, but in an absolute sense as boundlessly greatest. Now, as is manifest, there are real degrees of more and less in things about us in this world. Therefore, there exists a most, a maximum, a greatest, not only in a relative sense, but in an absolute sense. This Greatest we call God. Therefore, God exists.

b) PROOF FROM GOVERNMENT OF THE WORLD This proof is sometimes called the teleological argument, the term deriving from the Greek telos which means “end,” that is, in the present use, “goal, aim, purpose.” Sometimes the proof is called the argument from design, since things in the world are manifestly made and designed, planned and built, to do a certain thing, that is, to achieve a certain end. Now, when we speak of the teleological tendency of things, or of their design in structure and function, we are necessarily speaking of how things are governed in their being and their operations, and of how they are guided to their end or goal. For this reason we keep the older name for this argument and call it the proof from the government of the world. The proof is an appeal to final causality; it calls attention to the fact that things are made for an end; it points to their final cause. The world as a whole, and all things in the world taken in groups or classes, and all members of all classes, manifest the most amazing arrangement and design, harmony and balance. Be they lifeless or living, great or small, bodily creatures are structurally and functionally fitted for certain definite activities, and these they tend, by a resistless bent of nature, to exercise and fulfill. They are subjected to definite laws of being and activity, laws which they could not have imposed upon themselves. Their manifest arrangement, balance, harmony of parts, direction of effort, mark them as suited for an end (that is, for the doing of a definite thing), as made for an end, designed for an end; and their activities or operations show them steadily tending to the end for which they are fitted and designed, and so show them as governed to their end. Consider the structure and the operations of the simplest plant. Notice that it is made of various parts, yet its life is one force which holds the different parts in a compact and active unity; it feeds them all, drawing sustenance from alien substances and turning this into the very substance of the plant itself; it directs and unifies, it builds up and maintains the interrelation and interdependence and the sympathy of all the parts. Surely here is order, balance, government.

Surely here is an object built and arranged for a purpose. And the plant manifests and achieves its purpose by growing to full stature and maturity and becoming fruitful. Or consider the pebble by the roadside; its activities are not vital, but they are none the less real; it holds its elements (even its accidental elements of quantity) in unity by the law of cohesion; it obeys the laws of inertia and gravitation. Or look out into the vast reaches of the firmament where the countless heavenly bodies move in their ordered procession with almost unimaginable speed and with split-second precision. Ask the sciences of chemistry, botany, biology, physics, mechanics, to reveal to you their secrets, and they will show you a litany of “laws,” all of which are man’s recording of order, harmony, direction, purpose, government, observed in the universe. Read these words with the marvellous human eye, and as you read, consider the delicate balance and structure of the organ of sight, and ask yourself whether this most complicated and delicate structure is made and designed for a particular service or not so designed. There can be no doubt about the answer. Now, where there is design, there is an end to be served by the thing designed; there is a thing for it to do. And where there is an end, there is a direction to the end. And where there is direction to an end there is government. Government is manifest in the world. Deny the government of the world, deny design and purpose in things, deny structural and functional direction and tendency, and you assert a theory of chance. Now, chance is, by definition, an unforeseen or incalculable circumstance observed in an effect; chance is never, even conceivably, a cause. To posit chance as cause is, therefore, to be guilty of an absurdity. Besides, the more of complexity and detail, together with harmony and balance, we find in a thing, the more we know that the thing had not only a cause (which is manifest of all creatures) but that its ultimate or supreme cause foresaw and planned this effect, and meant it to do the thing which its involved and delicate structure fits it to do. A man might throw scraps of metal from the window of his workshop, and, after the lapse of weeks, be astonished to find that the heap of refuse had grown to such unexpected proportions. But a man could not conceivably throw bits of metal into a case and presently be astonished to find that he had a splendid time-piece ticking merrily away. And the design of the finest chronometer is, in comparison with that of a cell or of the universe, like the pencil-drawing of a threeyear-old compared with a most intricate and detailed piece of expert draughtmanship. Plan, design, direction to an end, government— these are facts in the world, and the sane mind accepts them. More: the sane mind must and does realize that where there is a plan, there is or has been a planner; where there is a design, there has been a designer ; where there is direction, there is one who di- rects; where there is government, there is a governor. And ultimately there is, and must be, a First Designer, a First Planner, a First and Almighty Director; a First Lawgiver and Governor. Let us read the simple, direct, and unanswerable language of the great Aquinas, speaking on this point: “Lome things have no knowledge yet they work towards an end, and usually work in a way that is suited to obtain what is best for them. Hence is it clear that they reach their end, not by chance, but by intention. Since, however, the things here in question are without knowledge, it cannot be their own conscious intention which directs them but the conscious intention (that is, the knowledge) of some other being. They reach their end because they are directed to it by a knowing and intelligent Being, even as the arrow is sent to the mark by the knowing activity of the archer. There must be, therefore, an Intelligent Being who directs all natural things (that is, creatures that lack knowledge) to their end. This Being we call God.” In the face of the wondrous order, the government to an end, which we find in the world, the objection that some have found in apparent irregularities, and in things which appear to be out of line with the general management of the universe, fades into utter insignificance. Were it here our province, we might offer abundant evidence for the original Fall, that is, for the fact that man has made a wreck out of his earthly residence; and yet, in spite of the evil man has wrought, the ruins are still so noble and beautiful, that the original design is manifest; and even the harsh details of the wreckage have their place and purpose in the present adjusted design. Father Koch (translated by Dr. Charles Bruehl) remarks in his A Manual of Apologetics, “Much that seems to disturb the course of nature serves to warn man against pride and recklessness, to sharpen his intellect, to strengthen his will, and to give him an opportunity to practise patience, mercy, and charity.” Thus the very irregularities, the so-called “imperfections” of the world, are a revelation of purpose and design and government. We may present our argument in this essential outline: If the world exhibits a most wonderful and constant order and design, and is directed, in itself and in its parts, to an end, it has an intelligent designer and governor, and, ultimately, a First Designer and First Governor who can be no other than the First Necessary Being or God. Now, the world does exhibit a most wonderful and constant order and design, and is directed, in itself and in its parts, to an end. Therefore, the world has an intelligent designer and governor, and, ultimately, a First Designer and First Governor who can be no other than the First Necessary Being or God. Therefore, God exists. C) PROOF FROM MAN’S ULTIMATE GOAL

The sciences of Ethics and Psychology set forth, with full panoply of proof, the fact that man tends, by the whole force of his rational nature, to lay hold of and endlessly possess the Supreme and Infinite Good, and to find therein his supreme happiness. We cannot pause to offer proofs for this truth here, but we may justly take it as a postulate, that is, as a truth definitely established and certainly known and demonstrated in another department of philosophy than that in which we are now engaged. It is one of the most striking and depressing facts about this age of sentimentalism in which we live that it believes itself an age of stern realism and unsentimentality. We hear the crisp dogmas that business is business and has no place for sentiment; we hear of go-getters go-getting after hard facts; we hear of machine-like precision of methods in everything from medicine to education; we are surrounded neck-deep with deep-green filing-cabinets which, presumably, contain “the facts.” No time is wasted, no moment is allowed for emotion to expend its force. The business letter comes to a sharp point, even when it is a pointless point. The executive says that time is money, even when he wants money only to make more money, and not, as might be expected, to enable him to have a time, not to say a high old time. And yet this age and this country, in the most poignantly realistic moment of its recent history, solemnly pondered the propriety of calling its soldiers “Sammies” ! Is there any need to go further in proof of the incurable and even maudlin sentimentality of the age? If there is, we need not look into the learned writings of wise men; we may find all the evidence we require in advertising columns, or catch it by air from our radios. Was ever an age so apt to grow lyrical over such trivial things, such as brands of mayonnaise or of toilet soaps? Was ever an age so determinedly set upon calling things by sentimental names, one might even say pet names? We no longer content ourselves with saying a simple word like “food”; we must say “breakfast food” or “luncheon menu” or “items for the dinner.” Nor may we even speak of breakfast food (that abysmal mystery in a world that wants the facts) without caressing it with some sort of baby-talk like “Mush-Mushies” or “Tweet-Tweeties.” Yet this is the age, and this the land, in which it is considered soft and sentimental to speak of happiness, and to say that man has a natural desire to be happy. A popular lady author who has achieved a degree of “publicity” (saddest and maddest of sentimental things) that claims for her lightest word,—and some of these are extremely light,—a reverent attention, has recently inveighed against the common custom of wishing a newly married couple happiness. She doesn’t like it. She says the young man and his bride are in for hard work and possibly hard knocks, and,—such is the sentimental muddle of her mind,—she cannot see how these things are compatible with happiness.

She does not see because she does not know what happiness is; she thinks it is the same as pleasure, which is sometimes something like it, and sometimes quite unlike it, and never identical with it. But it is the lady author, and not the kindly wish, that is soft and sentimental. Now, we are far from feeling or saying that sentiment is never a good thing. We are merely elaborating the fact that, when we use a plain word in its plain meaning, we ought, in all fairness, to be free from the charge of sentimentalism brought by an age and by people that are simply sodden and soggy with sentiment. We shall dare, therefore, to speak of man’s incurable desire to be happy. We shall, all unafraid, proceed to speak of happiness as the supreme subjective end of human activity. And if our critics will not concede us the right; if they find this sort of thing soft and babyish, we shall leave them to hover tenderly over the morning bowl of Wootsie-Tootsies (They Are Vibrant With Vivacious Vitamines) and so fortify themselves for a stern day of unemotional data and unsentimental facts. Man, in every deliberate act, in every free and knowing thought, word, and deed, tends by a connatural bent of his rational being towards something that is conceived as good. And man’s desire or appetite for good knows no limit, he wants all possible good and wants it endlessly. And, as we have seen, a thing is good, or is conceived as good, only when

8z it is the best or has reference towards the best. In a word, man tends, in every human act, towards a Summum Bonum, a Supreme Good. And why does man tend towards good, and towards the Supreme Good? To possess it. And what will its possession mean to man? It will mean happiness. It will mean the satisfaction of all rational desire, the filling up of all rational appetite, the crowning in endless and boundless measure of man’s finest capacities. The objective end desired is the Good; the subjective end, the end inasmuch as it affects the subject attaining it, is happiness in the possession of the Good. Now, does the fact that man is, by nature, a seeker of the Supreme and Boundless Good, and a seeker of endless and perfect happiness in the possession of that Good,—does this fact prove that such a Good actually exists? Yes, it does, if we accept the universe as an ordered universe, as a product of a Wise Designer and Governor. For it would not be a wise design that should create a resistless tendency towards a non-existent object. Just so, to cite a parallel instance, it would not be a wise design that should create the wondrous power and the complicated organ of vision, and then leave the world wrapped in impenetrable darkness in which both the power of sight and the delicate structure of the eye would be meaningless. If the world is an ordered world, a planned and a governed world, there is conclusive force in the present argument that the human tendency towards the Supreme Good is proof that the Supreme Good exists. And we have already shown that the world is ordered, planned, governed. Therefore, the Supreme Good exists. But the Supreme Good cannot be a shared or communicated good; it must be the First and the Necessary Good. In a word, it must be God. We may present the argument in this form: If man, by a resistless tendency of his rational nature, appetizes a Supreme and Infinite Good as his ultimate goal or final cause, such a Good actually exists. Now, man, by a resistless tendency of his rational nature, does appetize a Supreme and Infinite Good as his ultimate goal or final cause. Therefore, such a Good actually exists. And a Supreme and Infinite Good is the one Infinite Being or God. Therefore, God exists.

Summary Of The Article

In this Article we have presented three proofs for the existence of God, drawing them from the principle of formal and final causality. We have shown that the grades of perfection in the world prove the existence of an Absolutely Perfect Being; we have seen that the design and government of the universe demands a supremely wise and intelligent Designer and Governor; we have proved that, in an ordered universe, the existence in man of a connatural bent for the Supreme Good, and for happiness, is conclusive evidence of the existence of such a Good. From the arguments developed in this and in the preceding Article, it is clear that God is the First Efficient and Last Final cause of all things in the world, and notably of man.