Plato, Aristotle, and the Existence of God

Before I say anything else on the subject, I feel I ought to answer the question of why I ought to bother writing out an argument for God’s existence. I have often felt that this subject gets too much attention from Christian thinkers as it is, considering that the great majority of people believe in the existence of the supernatural already, and those among the minority of staunch atheists are unlikely to find our arguments convincing. While it is important that people have exposure to arguments that show belief in God to be reasonable rather than the idiotic superstition it is sometimes made out to be, there probably are more pressing issues with which the Christian apologist should concern himself.

The truth is, I have developed this argument less out of interest in convincing skeptics (I doubt it would be much good for that) than as an exercise in applying some philosophical ideas. It is a way in which I can see how a particular framework of thought fits together with my Biblical worldview. Moreover, if God is in fact the ultimate center of all reality, ways in which our understanding can logically connect with and affirm his existence will give us possible insights into the nature of the universe which is both our habitat and his creation. I call this argument ‘the argument from universals and particulars in dialogue’, or, in its alternative form, ‘the argument from laws and entities in dialogue.’

I want to begin by briefly giving an overview of the philosophical systems of Plato and Aristotle, particularly on the subject of form, matter, universals and particulars. For Plato, the elevation of form over matter and of universals over particulars is central. He understood reality to consist of two realms: the physical realm of particulars which we experience through our senses, and an idea realm of universals which we attain through our minds. He believed that the physical world was an imperfect copy or dim reflection of the ideal world of the forms.

This form-matter dichotomy has made Platonic thought popular among Christians and other theists for thousands of years. It seems to clearly express the idea that this material world is not all there is; that it is the product of something greater than itself. It fits nicely with the idea that there is both a physical realm and a spiritual realm, that a spiritual God created the physical world, and that although it still reflects his design, it does so in a lesser, tarnished way.

Aristotle, who was dissatisfied with Plato’s conception of form, advanced his own. According to Aristotle, form was not something existing universally on some higher plane distinct from all physical reality. To him, form was to be found within the particulars of our earthly experience. He defined form as the essence which gives particular things their own nature. For example, the form of redness is to be found in all red objects. The form of sphericality is to be found in every ball. This sort of form, of course, is not something aloof and heavenly. It refers simply to qualities manifest in particular things, not existing apart from them.

In short, Plato saw the forms and universals to presuppose the existence of substances and particulars, whereas Aristotle saw substances and particulars to be the host of forms and universal qualities, and therefore, to presuppose them. All of this, of course, is nothing at all new to anyone who is familiar with Plato and Aristotle. However, more interesting considerations emerge when we ask “who was right?”

Taking each of their understandings separately, they both seem very logical, but put them in dialogue, and they seem to disprove each other; that is to say, unless a third element is introduced that unifies them and provides an escape from what seems to be a contradiction.
Let’s take a few examples. First, let’s consider ‘redness’. Let us ask the question “where does redness come from? Do particular examples of red things derive from a universal form of redness, or is the universal form of redness merely a distillation of the nature of all particular red objects?” Looking at the question from Plato’s point of view, the truth of the first statement is apparent. After all, how is it possible for anything to be red unless the concept of red already existed? It is hardly feasible to suppose that the color red itself was one day inaugurated into existence when the first red thing spontaneously appeared. Particular red things must be presupposed by the existence of the color red.

But let’s not stop there. Where does this property we call ‘redness’ come from? According to Plato, it exists in the non-physical world of the forms. But this is problematic, because redness is by its very essence a physical property. Not only this, but it seems a bit silly to suggest that ‘red’ can exist by itself apart from any particular red thing. It seems as though it must necessarily be resident in either a particular object or else in a creative mind capable of thinking up such things. The alternative is that there are in fact properties which exist by themselves, which, to use an analogy from grammar, is like having adjectives all by themselves without any subject or object. In fact, one could quite possible make an argument for God’s existence simply off of the idea that there are certain properties which we take to be real, such as perfect goodness, whose existence only make sense if they are the in fact properties of something, or in the case of goodness, someone.

Of course, ‘redness’ seems to be a bit of a trivial example, and using it as such brings in the complication arising from the fact that color is an essentially physical quality, which distances it somewhat from Plato’s concept of form. Perhaps a more meaningful case to examine would be the concept of justice.

First of all, with a nod to Plato’s system, it needs to be recognized that to talk about particular acts of justice without some universal standard is meaningless. The form of justice must have an existence above and beyond individual acts, since these are obviously presupposed by a larger framework into which they fit. But then, with a nod to Aristotle, it seems equally nonsensical to speak of a universal quality of justice simply hovering in an abstract thought realm apart from being manifest in particular actions, or especially persons. How can we have thoughts without a thinker? Or again, to use our analogy from grammar (and grammar is the verbal expression of the logic that undergirds our thinking) we might point out the foolishness of talking about justice as a concept independent of any just being or any being in whose mind justice exists. We might put it this way: nobody can be just unless there is first such a thing as the quality of justice, and yet, there can be no such thing as the quality of justice if nothing or nobody has ever possessed it.

What can we conclude from this? That we have built a system of metaphysics which relies on two seemingly undeniable yet contradictory propositions? How can have a view of reality which rests on a foundation of circular reasoning? We can’t. (Or at least, shouldn’t. This advice hasn’t stopped some thinkers.) But the good news is that there is a way out. This approach to metaphysics has been built upon a necessary polarity between universal forms and particular entities, but so far we have erroneously built a false dichotomy between them. The answer to the riddle can only be found in some sort of entity which is both universal and particular; a being which possesses, if you will, absolute particularity. It is the sort of being who can think up the color red out of nothing, so that there is both a universal form of redness, and also a real example of it in its creative output. It is the sort of being who is innately just, such that justice itself becomes a universal quality, and yet is truly manifest. This was, I deem, a mistake of Plato’s: he supposed that whatever was greatest in the universe must be universal, and not particular, when in fact what is logically necessary is a being who is particular; who can be a singular point of origin for all else and an entity in which qualities can be manifest in a real way, and at the same time be itself the universal standard of these qualities. Of course, such a being is God: a being who is both personal and absolute, whose mind may contain what Plato calls the world of the forms and yet satisfy Aristotle’s requirement that a form must be a quality which is manifest in an actual, particular entity.

To make this argument perhaps more clear, we might rephrase it into another set of terms. Just as we have already divided the universe into the categories of universals and particular as well as forms and substances, we may also divide it in terms of laws and entities. An entity is something which may be in some general way spoken of as a ‘thing’. We speak this broadly because we want to have a category that includes both physical objects and also allows for the possibility of non-physical beings. The other category, law, refers to activities of entities. It refers to the whole consideration of motion, energy, and why things behave and interact the way that we do. Like before, we might arrange the categories of law and entity into a self-contradictory dichotomy.

Let’s start with entities. It is obvious enough that laws, under our broad terms, are necessary to make sense of the world of particular entities. Without it, nothing is defined. All interrelations become impossible. Matter doesn’t stick together. All that we have are particles of nondescript ‘stuff’ floating randomly through space. This makes it clear that laws must presuppose entities; in fact, it seems as though laws must in a sense be a creative force behind the formation of entities.

However, let’s look at it from the other direction. Let’s take seriously the idea of laws presupposing entities. Is it possible to have laws without the objects to which laws refer? Conceivably, yes. But this also seems very counter-intuitive. What is the point of having laws if there is nothing for them to govern? That would be like getting to be king of the north pole: you would have a fancy title and theoretical authority, but without any subjects, your reign would be fairly meaningless. Not only this, but laws depend on entities to be able to operate. Let’s take the law of gravity, for instance. Can the law of gravity make someone fall all by itself? No; what we need is the force of gravity. There’s a difference. A law is a principle which describes reality and determines the way it behaves, and a force is an interaction of particles between objects (in the case of gravity). In this case, the law of gravity, which is itself nonphysical, takes effect through the force of gravity, which is a physical relation. While entities depend on laws, laws also require entities as their tools to take affect in the physical world.

In this way, it seems as though laws, while being in some sense above material entities, don’t make any sense without them. We might put it this way: laws relate to entities causatively; entities relate to laws indicatively. In other words, while laws are the “creative authority”, if you will, behind entities, entities are invariably referred to, or indicated by, the existence of laws. Even if one is above the other, the two must go together in order to make sense of each other.
Again, this seems like a situation of necessary self-contradiction. (“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” “Yes!”) We have two seemingly necessary threads of logic which work well enough on their own until they meet at a seemingly necessary impasse. But this may not be necessary after all. We can’t have laws without entities and we can’t have entities without laws. One cannon unilaterally create the other. But we can have a being who somehow encompasses both of these spheres so as to be an appropriate originating point for both. This being would be of such a nature that his very word would be law, and yet would be a personal entity himself; just the sort of entity whose governing laws were integrally manifest in his own nature. Again, we would of course call a being like this God.

So, what does all of this show? To the atheist, perhaps not much, because he or she probably doesn’t think too much of the whole Plato/Aristotle tradition in the first place. However, I believe that this argument shows that the universe is constructed in such a way that it doesn’t make nearly as much sense without God. If in fact the universe consists of a dialogue between form and substance or between laws and entities, there must be a mediator: a single, organic, point of origin for both who keeps these two polarities of existence in relation with one another and yet distinct.