Both Descartes’s argument and Anselm’s argument posit a specific metaphysical relationship between ontological perfection—“being perfect”—and existence. Specifically, both arguments maintain the following: Existence is among the dimensions of meaning that allow human observers to determine ontological perfection, and to be perfect as to existence is to exist rather than not exist. I don’t think this metaphysical relationship can be justified. But before examining it in detail, let’s zoom out, momentarily, to the argument’s form.
What does it mean to call X perfect? I think it means that, in the observer’s view, X is perfect along every dimension that matters to perfectibility. Perfection is, in this sense, a superlative category. If any dimension of X is not perfect, then X is imperfect—by definition. So, for example, if I claim that the Mona Lisa is a perfect painting, I am making a composite claim: I am claiming that along dimension A—say, “expressiveness”—the Mona Lisa could not be improved upon; I am also and simultaneously claiming that along dimension B—say, “artistic skill”—the Mona Lisa could not improved upon; I am also and simultaneously claiming that along dimension C—say, “sacral power”—the Mona Lisa could not be improved on. And so on. If I am wrong about any of these dimensions, my claim fails. If the Mona Lisa is perfect with respect to its expressiveness, and perfect with respect to its artistic skill, but not perfect with respect to its sacral power, then the Mona Lisa is imperfect.
I’ve just made up these dimensions of meaning on the fly. The list is neither comprehensive nor, necessarily, cogent. We could debate which characteristic comprise the meaningful dimensions of art. There are undoubtedly legions of sallow Ph. D’s, in universities across the globe, who spend their days doing precisely that. My point, however, is more formal. I mean to call attention to the triple-maneuver of claims about perfection. To claim that X is perfect is (a) to generate a (tacit) theory about what dimensions of meaning are relevant to perfection, (b) to posit, for each dimension of meaning, what it is to be perfect along that dimension, and finally (c) to argue that X, as a matter of fact, meets the criteria of perfection for each dimension of meaning.
Descartes and Anselm both describe God as a “perfect being.” This proposition is not argued for; it is axiomized. Supposing—arguendo, as Montana likes to say—that “perfect being” is the proper appellation for God, the question is what it means to be perfect. Of what dimensions of meaning does a claim about ontological perfection consist? And along each dimension, what does it mean to be perfect rather than imperfect?
Per the foregoing analysis, we can disperse ontological perfection into many discrete dimensions of perfection. The force of the ontological argument rises and falls on its claim that existence is one such dimension. Having stipulating this, the ontological argument proceeds by arguing that to be perfect along the dimension of “existence” is to exist rather than not exist. In this sense, the ontological argument involves the same kind of triple-maneuver as my claim about the Mona Lisa.
(1) “Existence” is a meaningful dimension of ontological perfectibility
(2) To be perfect along the dimension of existence is to exist
(3) God meets the criteria, as a matter of fact, of perfection along the dimension of existence—that is, God exists.[1]
The fallible points in this argument are maneuvers one and two. The burden lies with ontological argument enthusiasts to prove their cogency. I regard that task as a fool’s errand, because I don’t think any arguments can be offered, one way or the other. Which is to say, propositions (1) and (2) are not wrong; they are simply without evidence to their cause. They are articles of faith.
Let’s start with (1). Suppose a friend, Tommy, says to me, “Describe the perfect romantic partner for you.” And I do. She has {X, Y, Z, …} qualities. Then Tommy says, “You didn’t list ‘existence’ in that set of qualities.” Tommy continues, “So, in fact, there is a more perfect partner for you; she would have all those qualities and she would exist.” What do I say to this? Three responses come to mind.
The first response is that Tommy’s intuition about perfection being related to existence is wrong. The partner I described is perfect for me. Whether she actually exists in the world is simply a different question. If she did exist, she would be no more perfect; she would just be present.
The second response also pertains to Tommy’s intuition about perfection’s relationship to existence, but more radically. Namely, Tommy is right that my partner does not exist, and he is right that existence is related to perfection, but his view is exactly backwards: she is perfect insofar as she doesn’t exist. The first response denies the basic coherence of adding “she exists” to {X, Y, Z, …}. This response is different. I can countenance the addition of “she exists” to {X, Y, Z, …}, but I deliberately wouldn’t make that addition. In fact, then, I should apologize to Tommy for being imprecise; I should have included “she does not exist” in my initial list.
The final response is that Tommy’s diagnosis of my partner’s non-existence is wrong. Even if I haven’t met this partner, and even if I never meet her, she still exists—precisely as an ideal. She is a formal entity, like one of Plato’s famous “forms,” and that formality is constitutive of her existence.[2]
I find all three responses coherent. (1) and (3) can be synthesized, and so can (2) and (3), if we draw a distinction between ideal existence and material existence. The (2)-(3) synthesis is the best approximation of my own view. I like response (2) because I think it captures the anxious dialectic of presence and absence that makes human experience rich and worthwhile. When we speak colloquially of “the grass being greener,” we gesture at metaphysical depths that far outstrip the laziness of the speech act. Experientially, absence is often constitutive of perfection, and presence of imperfection, in ways that have the capacity to drive us crazy, but also to maintain the social force-field of eros. It is entirely unclear to me why one would expect a relationship with God, in particular, to be metaphysically distinct from other relationships between beings. Religiosity, like love, is an erotic affair.
Of course, there is also a fourth response to Tommy. I could agree with him. I could say that he’s right, if she were perfect, she would exist. And from there, I could sulk about her apparent non-existence. I could try, even, to develop a proof that she does exist, by dint of my ability to conceptualize her existing.
This fourth view, too, is coherent. All four views are coherent. But how, then, would the proponent of one persuade the proponent of another? This question goes nowhere, and cannot be made to go anywhere. We can try to persuade others—if such persuasion seems important—by appealing to experience. That is all. And that’s what I’ve tried, in brief form, to do. I believe, if one reflects on the social experience of cathexis—the ways in which beings invest themselves, mentally and emotionally, in other beings—one must conclude that perfection is confined to the realm of the un-instantiated; that to become too fully integrated into the world is to be rendered imperfect by association; that only the detached being—and perhaps even the infinitely distanced being—can be truly blessed.
But that is a reflection, quite baldly, of my experience. There are other possible accounts, based on other possible experiences, of what it is for beings to interrelate, and how those relationships condition perfection. My point is simply that there are no independent criteria for determining the link between perfection and existence. We can only introspect. And because we can only introspect, we ought to remain neutral about the way different people understand that link.[3]
In that spirit, I am entirely neutral toward Montana’s view of the relationship between perfection and existence, just as I am neutral, more fundamentally, to Montana’s experience of what it is for beings to interrelate. But I would caution him against thinking that he is doing more than reporting on that experience.
[1] In Anselm’s version—and maybe Descartes, I can’t really tell, as he seems to make no argument—(3) is related to (1) and (2) by a reductio, not a deductive, argument. This procedural difference is immaterial to my point.
[2] Never having bothered with such distinctions, I can’t say for sure, but I think this is the view of most “idealists.”
[3] This might raise alarm bells, as it is often difficult, for moral and political reasons, to stay neutral about other peoples’ experiences. But the fact that we can—and should—object to other peoples’ moral views doesn’t mean that we should object to their ontological views. This distinct is often overlooked, to the detriment of much adult conversation. Alas.