“If a man’s crop is spoiled on the threshing-floor, the rain did not fall for the sake of this…
It is plain then that nature is a cause, a cause that operates for a purpose.”
Aristotle, Physics
The other day at dinner my sister-in-law offered an interesting reflection: there are at least two things in life that are simply outside of our power—the march of time, and the weather.
Weather really is remarkable in a number of ways—its beauty, its power to nourish, and its power to destroy. But perhaps especially in its changeability and unpredictability.
We have tried to make forecasting weather into a science. While we can be grateful for what meteorology is able to do, we are also very familiar with its limitations. And in any case, predicting weather certainly does not amount to determining or controlling it.
Learning to live with weather is a daily aspect of human life. What will the weather be like later today? Or tomorrow or this weekend? Or in two months when we have a wedding…with an outdoor reception on our front lawn…?
How many times have our hopes or plans been dashed by inclement weather. It can tempt us to think that there is an arbitrary power behind weather—one that can never quite be trusted.
Aristotle’s philosophical reflection on rain is remarkable. He always has an eye for order and purposiveness in the natural world. Indeed, in his mind any other view of nature is simply failing to see what is there. The fact that rain nourishes the earth and causes things to grow is anything but accidental; it is a prime instance of intentionality in nature.
Some will accuse Aristotle of anthropomorphizing, of assigning to nature a beneficence it does not have, or of seeing in the natural world only what he wanted to see in it. But there is a good case that this later accusation applies more to his detractors than it does to him.
Given what to Aristotle is the obvious teleology, or purposiveness, of rain, he wonders aloud: but what about when the rain falls on your harvested grain and ruins it? In his brief treatment he reaffirms his basic insight: clearly, the rain did not fall for the sake of ruining your grain, as this is not the usual effect of rain. Nevertheless, it certainly did ruin it.
I think that implied in Aristotle’s whole approach is a further insight. That in the usual working of nature ‘accidents’ do happen is actually not a design flaw. Somehow it is part of a deeper ordering. How can we not notice—especially at this time of year!—the astounding, intricate and ever-surprising ways that the purposiveness of natural things interact and interweave?
The person who learns to find meaning in the surprising twists and turns of the natural world is neither a stoic enduring misfortune, nor an eternal optimist closing his eyes to reality. It is a person rather who has learned how to see, and who is now able to receive the more subtle gifts of nature—such as the gift of weather.
Aristotle (384-322 B.C.), student of Plato, tutor of Alexander the Great, has been considered by many to be the greatest ancient philosopher.
Husband, father, and professor of Philosophy. LifeCraft springs from one conviction: there is an ancient wisdom about how to live the good life in our homes, with our families; and it is worth our time to hearken to it. Let’s rediscover it together. Learn more.
I always thought that destructive natural phenomena remind us that nature, too, suffers the consequences of original sin. Perhaps this is how Christians can complete Aristotle’s beautiful insight.
Mrs. Bee, You raise a great point. But I think we need to be careful. Matters of just how original sin affected nature can be complicated. Christian theology definitely holds that the natural world too is affected by the original sin of man. But just how and to what extent can be hard to determine. For instance, would it be unreasonable to hold that there would still be some ‘destructive natural phenomena’ prior to the fall, such as that a tree falling over would crush other living things? So I think we should be ready to see how even in an ‘unfallen’ natural world there can still be some surprising interactions of things, wherein the greater good is achieved. Or put otherwise, some of what appears to us as the vagaries of the natural world still might simply be how it was supposed to be. Thank you for your comment.
I just heard this hymn this evening, rounding out nicely the day after reading your blog this morning…
“There’s not a plant or flower below
but makes your glories known;
And clouds arise and tempests blow
by order from your throne;
while all that borrows life from you
is ever in your care,
and everywhere that man can be,
you, God, are present there.”
I Sing the Mighty Power of God, verse 3. Hymn by Isaac Watts, 1715.
Wow. How perfect. Thanks Malia!
Dr Cuddeback:
The scientists would deny teleology altogether, telling us that the rain doesn’t have a purpose but rather that the plants evolved to take advantage of it. It’s a boring way to look at the world, but one that needs an answer. How do you typically respond?
Thanks so much,
Tom,
You ask a great, and difficult, question. It can be addressed in different ways. One of the key aspects of ‘responding’ to such views is to try to understand the principles behind those views, and then, as appropriate or possible, to try to address those principles. I’ll offer a couple of brief thoughts.
You mention the assertion that plants have ‘evolved’ to take advantage of the rain. Let’s just consider what is involved in that assertion. It already takes for granted that living things have a deeply teleological orientation. Plants and animals do indeed ‘strive’ to survive. This is teleological nature at work. Let us then step back: ‘evolution’ understood in any reasonable way is definitively not a basis to deny teleology—the ‘end’ oriented-ness of nature. To present evolution as a sort of replacement for teleology in nature–as it is often presented–is to render evolution internally problematic.
Another quick point: it is noteworthy that teleology-denying thinkers, and this includes many though certainly not all adherents to modern science, almost universally take for granted certain regularities in the natural world that they term ‘laws.’ They allow themselves the liberty of taking these laws for granted while assuming that such laws presuppose no intentionality whatsoever. But this is already to make a philosophical misstep. Unfortunately, they never look back, leaving this unexamined error at the foundation of their thinking. Aristotle would point out that such regularities themselves are deeply significant. Why do things happen ‘this way’ rather than ‘that way?’ That things happen with remarkable regularity is part and parcel of the intricate and interwoven end-orientedness of the natural world.
I know these thoughts are just teasers. Give me a little time, and I will come back here and make a couple suggestions for further reading on the topic. Thanks for the question.
Thank you, Dr., for your thoughtful and insightful reply. I would indeed appreciate any reading material you suggest.
Your reflection on weather reminds me of something in C.S Lewis’ That Hideous Strength. Denniston says: “We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather… Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Haven’t you ever noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children–and the dogs. They know what snow’s made for”
How delightful! It’s fascinating to think: just what about weather appeals to children? Perhaps they are not afraid to experience how things are out of our control. Thanks so much for sharing, Miriam.