All art is but imitation of nature; therefore, let me apply these statements of general principles to the things which have to be made by man.
A statue, for example, has afforded matter which was to undergo treatment at the hands of the artist, and has had an artist who was to give form to the matter. Hence, in the case of the statue, the material was bronze, the cause was the workman. And so it goes with all things—they consist of that which is made, and of the maker.
The Stoics believe in one cause only—the maker; but Aristotle thinks that the word "cause" can be used in three ways:
"The first cause," he says, "is the actual matter, without which nothing can be created. The second is the workman. The third is the form, which is impressed upon every work—a statue, for example." This last is what Aristotle calls the eidos. "There is, too," says he, "a fourth—the purpose of the work as a whole."
Now I shall show you what this last means. Bronze is the "first cause" of the statue, for it could never have been made unless there had been something from which it could be cast and molded.
The "second cause" is the artist; for without the skilled hands of a workman that bronze could not have been shaped to the outlines of the statue.
The "third cause" is the form, inasmuch as our statue could never be called The Lance-Bearer or The Boy Binding his Hair, had not this special shape been stamped upon it.
The "fourth cause" is the purpose of the work. For if this purpose had not existed, the statue would not have been made.
Now what is this purpose? It is that which attracted the artist, which he followed when he made the statue. It may have been money, if he has made it for sale; or renown, if he has worked for reputation; or religion, if he has wrought it as a gift for a temple.
Therefore, this also is a cause contributing towards the making of the statue; or do you think that we should avoid including, among the causes of a thing which has been made, that element without which the thing in question would not have been made?
A statue, for example, has afforded matter which was to undergo treatment at the hands of the artist, and has had an artist who was to give form to the matter. Hence, in the case of the statue, the material was bronze, the cause was the workman. And so it goes with all things—they consist of that which is made, and of the maker.
The Stoics believe in one cause only—the maker; but Aristotle thinks that the word "cause" can be used in three ways:
"The first cause," he says, "is the actual matter, without which nothing can be created. The second is the workman. The third is the form, which is impressed upon every work—a statue, for example." This last is what Aristotle calls the eidos. "There is, too," says he, "a fourth—the purpose of the work as a whole."
Now I shall show you what this last means. Bronze is the "first cause" of the statue, for it could never have been made unless there had been something from which it could be cast and molded.
The "second cause" is the artist; for without the skilled hands of a workman that bronze could not have been shaped to the outlines of the statue.
The "third cause" is the form, inasmuch as our statue could never be called The Lance-Bearer or The Boy Binding his Hair, had not this special shape been stamped upon it.
The "fourth cause" is the purpose of the work. For if this purpose had not existed, the statue would not have been made.
Now what is this purpose? It is that which attracted the artist, which he followed when he made the statue. It may have been money, if he has made it for sale; or renown, if he has worked for reputation; or religion, if he has wrought it as a gift for a temple.
Therefore, this also is a cause contributing towards the making of the statue; or do you think that we should avoid including, among the causes of a thing which has been made, that element without which the thing in question would not have been made?
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 65
The analogy of a sculptor and his sculpture is employed in all sorts of philosophical traditions to help us understand the nature of causes, and I honestly don’t know where or when it made its first appearance. I suppose it isn’t that important who may have thought of it first, as it is such a perennial image, reflecting the power of the mind to infuse beauty into matter.
Just as the artist molds and shapes his medium with the order of his design, so all change is informed by a maker, all motion begun by a mover, all creatures produced by a creator. Wherever there is any activity, there is the presence of purpose, and wherever there is purpose, there is the intention of intellect. This is as true for the humble artisan in his workshop as it is for Providence and the laws of Nature.
All analogies, of course, will be somewhat imperfect, because they proceed by a likeness instead of an identity, but what we see in the example of the relative is a mirroring of its source in the absolute. Once I perceive the very origin of a thing’s particular existence, that which generated it and made to be as it is, I am now closer to more fully grasping the parts in the relationship of the whole.
The Stoics thought it sufficient to distinguish between the active cause, in the broad sense of agency, and the passive matter, that which is the occasion for such agency, though Aristotle, as is peculiar to his method, made further divisions in his presentation of causality.
Having been trained in the whole Peripatetic and Scholastic tradition, I do appreciate such a clarity of detail, and I have found his “Four Causes” to be remarkable aids for unraveling most any problem of life, both in theory and in practice. As we shall see, they can also be of benefit to the Stoic, as long as all aspects to answering the question of “Why?” can still be reduced to a unified and pure principle of origin.
As a teacher, I have employed all sorts of ways to explain the Four Causes, and made all sorts of claims about their importance, but here I limit myself to the quick version:
The efficient cause tells me what something was made by, such as the sculptor.
The material cause tells me what something was made from, such as the bronze.
The formal cause tells me what something was made into, such as the defining shape of the sculpture.
The final cause tells me what something was made for, such as the beauty of art being intended to elevate the soul.
The first and the second are already a part of the Stoic model, while the third and the fourth further flesh out the elements of the form which the agent stamps upon the matter, and the end for which the agent designed it.
Were the Stoics neglecting these latter components? I would suggest that they were not, as should be evident from the way Seneca already includes both the imprinting of the form and the direction of purpose in his account of agency.
It takes an Aristotle, however, to explicitly isolate all the critical components, and I must remember how the Four Causes are not somehow four separate things, but four angles, so to speak, from which I can look at a single thing.
The analogy of a sculptor and his sculpture is employed in all sorts of philosophical traditions to help us understand the nature of causes, and I honestly don’t know where or when it made its first appearance. I suppose it isn’t that important who may have thought of it first, as it is such a perennial image, reflecting the power of the mind to infuse beauty into matter.
Just as the artist molds and shapes his medium with the order of his design, so all change is informed by a maker, all motion begun by a mover, all creatures produced by a creator. Wherever there is any activity, there is the presence of purpose, and wherever there is purpose, there is the intention of intellect. This is as true for the humble artisan in his workshop as it is for Providence and the laws of Nature.
All analogies, of course, will be somewhat imperfect, because they proceed by a likeness instead of an identity, but what we see in the example of the relative is a mirroring of its source in the absolute. Once I perceive the very origin of a thing’s particular existence, that which generated it and made to be as it is, I am now closer to more fully grasping the parts in the relationship of the whole.
The Stoics thought it sufficient to distinguish between the active cause, in the broad sense of agency, and the passive matter, that which is the occasion for such agency, though Aristotle, as is peculiar to his method, made further divisions in his presentation of causality.
Having been trained in the whole Peripatetic and Scholastic tradition, I do appreciate such a clarity of detail, and I have found his “Four Causes” to be remarkable aids for unraveling most any problem of life, both in theory and in practice. As we shall see, they can also be of benefit to the Stoic, as long as all aspects to answering the question of “Why?” can still be reduced to a unified and pure principle of origin.
As a teacher, I have employed all sorts of ways to explain the Four Causes, and made all sorts of claims about their importance, but here I limit myself to the quick version:
The efficient cause tells me what something was made by, such as the sculptor.
The material cause tells me what something was made from, such as the bronze.
The formal cause tells me what something was made into, such as the defining shape of the sculpture.
The final cause tells me what something was made for, such as the beauty of art being intended to elevate the soul.
The first and the second are already a part of the Stoic model, while the third and the fourth further flesh out the elements of the form which the agent stamps upon the matter, and the end for which the agent designed it.
Were the Stoics neglecting these latter components? I would suggest that they were not, as should be evident from the way Seneca already includes both the imprinting of the form and the direction of purpose in his account of agency.
It takes an Aristotle, however, to explicitly isolate all the critical components, and I must remember how the Four Causes are not somehow four separate things, but four angles, so to speak, from which I can look at a single thing.
—Reflection written in 7/2013
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