The disjunction I provided was certainly based on the continuum inocente provided. He seemed to be suggesting that each of the numerous possible Unmoved Movers would be some composite of good and evil. Perhaps this would entail that you could have an Unmoved Mover 75% good and 25% evil, or perhaps 65% good and 35% evil. That, I think, is incompatible with the demonstration of the Unmoved Mover as Pure Act.
I suppose I’m questioning whether evil exists, not in a traditional sense of “evil as privation” but whether
all is not good, including that which we call evil. This is similar to Alexander Pope’s statement (cited to a different purpose) that “whatever
is, is right.”
Life is good – death is good. Pleasure is good – suffering is good, insofar as all were willed to exist. As a human being, I’m of course not capable of seeing it that way (emotionally)–I prefer certain things to others --but nature itself seems more “spacious” about things, than my limited human understanding. Nietzsche explored this idea when he talked about affirming all of life, saying “yes” to all of life. He wrote at one point, “if you don’t have any pleasure left to give me, Life… Well then! You still have suffering.” A life of suffering is still a life; if it is better to exist than not to exist (existence contains actualized possibilities) then a suffering life is still preferable to non-existence, and gives a quality of experience that pleasure
lacks. Beautiful and ugly; pleasurable and painful – all are affirmed, all encompass this “Yes” spoken to all of existence. What ugliness gives, beauty cannot. What pain gives, pleasure cannot. What the experience of dying gives, the experience of living cannot.
The book of Ecclesiastes at least tinkers with these ideas, the contemplation of which is both comforting and disturbing, even somewhat painful: “to everything there is a season… A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up… A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to get, and a time to lose… [a time to come together (attraction) and a time to move away from each other (repulsion)] A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.” Of course, he grants that there is a
right time and a
wrong time for such things, as in the rhythms of nature – death in old age, for example, would be a “right” time, whereas death in youth would be a “wrong” time. Yet both occur – young life and elderly life, young death and elderly death – as if all possibilities are exhausted, as if all possibilities
wanted to be exhausted (Marcus Aurelius wrote somewhere, “It loved to happen.”).
To look at it this way is to consider that the unmoved mover, or the first cause,
prefers all of this to be the case, essentially saying, “this is my will – thus I want it, I want everything and its opposite, I want totality, I want *all *possibilities, I want everything to be explored and experienced” – indeed,
all possibilities actualized.
I don’t have answers – I’m just exploring a different way of interpreting “that which is” – but this seems to me a compelling possibility, possibility more “Hindu” in character (Shiva, the creator and destroyer, I believe, just as “positive” and “negative” fulfill a role in physics and in nature; dead leaves fertilize what is reborn from their remains).
A poet like Walt Whitman pretty much expresses this “affirmative” spirit, saying yes to everything (the fragrant blossom and the sharp nettles), in a way that intuitively is more compelling than my more left-brain accounting of it:
"The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies
with my hand.
The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol
has fallen.
The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the
promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the
hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working
his passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in
fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls
restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them—I come and I
depart."
And, “Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.”
These are different perspectives; according to one, the human “elevates” itself above nature, via society, and
this comes closest to God. According to the other, nature itself is an unencumbered glimpse into that much greater spaciousness of God’s existence, encompassing a much greater range of possibilities (again quoting Blake, “The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man.”).