Ontological Argument and Apophatic theology

May 4, 2025 | 4,527 words | 22min read

Recently, I had a conversation with a friend about the ontological argument, during which I realized that I do not fully understand it. In this article, I want to explore the argument further—though in a specific direction, selectively rather than exhaustively—and show how this can lead to apophatic theology, a tradition in which one approaches the divine through negation rather than by ascribing positive attributes to it.

1. Ontological Argument

The ontological argument can be explained quite intuitively as follows: Imagine a thing—it could be anything: a shoe, a horse, or something else entirely. But let’s stick with the shoe for now. Now, imagine a shoe that would be greater—where “greater” means better in some way—than the original shoe you thought of. Perhaps this greater shoe is made of a softer, more elastic material, or maybe it has new, impressive properties or abilities, like automatically moisturizing the soles of your feet.

We can continue this line of reasoning indefinitely: always imagining an even better shoe. Eventually, we may arrive at a concept of a shoe that is omniscient (all-knowing), omnipotent (all-powerful), and so on. At the end of this process stands the greatest possible being—what we might call God.

Now, the argument goes: this greatest being must also possess the property of existence, because a thing that exists is greater than a thing that does not exist. Since we are imagining the greatest being, it must include all properties that would make it greater—including existence.

But this leads to a surprising implication: God exists. Why? Because we defined God as the greatest being, and said that existence is one of the properties that makes something greater. If God did not exist, then existence would not be one of the properties of the greatest being. But we did say it is—therefore, God must exist.

That’s the ontological argument in a nutshell. It can be formalized as follows (among other versions):

1. Definition: God is the greatest conceivable being.
2. We can conceive of such a being.
    2.1. If what we conceive is not the greatest yet, we can always imagine something greater.  2.2. This progression of greatness must eventually converge.
3. A being that exists in reality is greater than one that exists only in the imagination.
4. If the greatest being exists only in the imagination, then we can imagine a greater being—one that also exists.
5. But we cannot imagine a being greater than the greatest conceivable being.
6. Therefore, the greatest conceivable being must exist in reality.
7. This being is what we call God.

Importantly, this line of reasoning depends on the assumption that we can always imagine something greater, until we arrive at the greatest possible being.

Naturally, this argument has been criticized in many ways. One might challenge its premises: for instance, by arguing that the concept of a “greatest” being is ill-defined (what does it really mean for one being to be greater than another?). Or one might reject the idea that the progression of greatness must converge—that is, perhaps there is no maximal being, just an endless hierarchy. Others might argue that the human mind is incapable of conceiving such a being in the first place.

But that’s not the angle I want to pursue. I want to go a bit deeper: why does this argument work at all? Could we, for example, replace “greatest being” with “all-powerful being,” or even with something like a unicorn or an island?

Let’s examine two common criticisms of the ontological argument.

1.1 The “Perfect Island” Argument

This argument, originally proposed by the monk Gaunilo of Marmoutiers, goes as follows:

1. Imagine the most perfect island: “that island than which no greater island can be conceived.”
2. It is greater for this island to exist in reality than only in the imagination.
3. If it exists only in the imagination, then a greater island (one that exists) can be conceived.
4. Therefore, the perfect island must exist in reality.

Clearly, this seems absurd. Just because we imagine a perfect island doesn’t mean such an island actually exists.

1.2. The “Imperfect Being” Argument

Now let’s suppose someone defines God not as the greatest conceivable being, but simply as an all-powerful (omnipotent) being—without requiring omniscience or moral perfection. This could be called the “imperfect being” argument:

1. God is defined as an all-powerful being.
2. If an all-powerful being did not exist, then it would lack the power to exist.
3. Therefore, an all-powerful being must exist.

Again, this feels wrong. Just because something could have the power to exist doesn’t mean it does exist.

So why don’t we accept these arguments, but are sometimes tempted to accept the original ontological argument for God?

To address this, I want to draw two important distinctions that show why the ontological argument, as presented above, ultimately falls short:

1. The difference between contingency and necessity.
2. The homogeneity of the divine nature. i.e. Divine Simplicity

These distinctions help show why a perfect island (which is contingent) or an imperfect being (which is not fully divine) do not fit the same logical structure as the God of classical theism.

But then, I want to take things one step further—and argue that, in the end, these distinctions, while intellectually interesting, don’t actually matter.

2. Contingency vs. Necessity

Very broadly, we say a thing is contingent when it could have been otherwise—that is, it does not have to exist or could exist in a different way depending on circumstances. In contrast, a thing is necessary if it could not have been otherwise—its existence is required in all possible circumstances.

If we imagine the existence of multiple possible worlds or universes, then a thing is necessary if it exists in all of them. A necessary being exists independently; its existence depends on nothing outside of itself. A contingent being, by contrast, exists in some possible worlds but not others. For instance, there might be a parallel universe in which television was never invented—thus, the TV is contingent. Its existence depends on historical and material conditions.

On the other hand, in all possible worlds, 2 + 2 = 4. This mathematical truth is often considered necessary—although even that is not entirely uncontroversial (see here).

Now, let’s return to the Perfect Island argument:

1. Imagine the most perfect island: “that island than which no greater island can be conceived.”
2. It is greater for this island to exist in reality than only in the imagination.
3. If it exists only in the imagination, then a greater island (one that exists) can be conceived.
4. Therefore, the perfect island must exist in reality.

So why doesn’t this argument work? Why does it fail to prove the island’s existence, while the ontological argument for God might succeed (assuming you find it sound)?

The answer lies in the distinction between necessity and contingency. In the ontological argument, God is defined as the greatest conceivable being—a being that possesses all great-making properties to their maximal degree. Importantly, this includes necessity. God is not just great; God must exist. Nonexistence would be a logical contradiction for a necessary being.

By contrast, islands are, by their nature, contingent. An island depends on physical materials (like sand and landmass), on specific geographical and environmental conditions. There is no reason to think that a “perfect island” must exist in all possible worlds. Its nonexistence is not a contradiction. Therefore, the perfect island argument fails: it tries to apply the structure of the ontological argument to a concept that is inherently contingent.

In summary, the ontological argument only works when the nonexistence of the thing in question is logically incoherent. God, as a necessary being, meets this criterion; a perfect island does not.

With that clarified, we now understand why the ontological argument doesn’t apply to everyday objects. But what if we narrow the scope of the argument—not to show the existence of the greatest being in every respect, but rather the existence of a being whose only maximized attribute is power? For example, a being that is omnipotent but not necessarily omniscient or morally perfect.

Would such an argument work? Would this being be necessary—or just powerful but contingent?

That’s what we’ll explore next.

3. Divine Simplicity

Let us now turn our eyes toward the Imperfect Being argument. To recap, the argument goes as follows:

1. God is defined as an all-powerful (omnipotent) being.
2. If an all-powerful being did not exist, then it would lack the power to exist.
3. Therefore, an all-powerful being (i.e., God) must exist.

There are two ways this can play out:

1. This being requires existence in order to be all-powerful.
2. This being does not require existence to be all-powerful.

The second option is easier to dismiss. If the being does not require existence in order to be all-powerful, then premise 2 becomes false. In that case, the argument fails, and this “imperfect” being does not necessarily exist.

Let’s now consider the first case: the being does require existence to be all-powerful. I would argue that once you accept this, the being must also possess all other maximal properties (e.g., omniscience, omnipresence, necessity). In other words, a being that is omnipotent but not omniscient is metaphysically incoherent—it defies the logic of what it means to be maximally great.

In that case, the only being that can be omnipotent is the greatest being—what we would call God.

We can formalize the argument like this:

1. Assumption: A being P is omnipotent but lacks other maximal properties.
2. Then P is composed of two aspects: “omnipotence” + “something non-maximal.”
3. Therefore, P is dependent on this non-maximal aspect.
4. This non-maximal aspect is changeable (since only maximal aspects are necessary and unchangeable).
5. If a part of P can change, then P itself can change.
6. If P can change, it could lose its omnipotence.
7. Then it might not be omnipotent in the future.
8. But an omnipotent being must have power over all things at all times, including the future.
9. Therefore, P was never truly omnipotent.
10. Conclusion: True omnipotence is only possible if all attributes are maximal.

You might challenge steps 7 and 8, arguing: “Just because a being might lose omnipotence in the future doesn’t mean it isn’t omnipotent now.” That’s fair—but this leads to further problems.

Let’s spell it out more precisely:

1. Assumption: A being P is currently omnipotent.
2. It is possible that P might lose its omnipotence in the future.
3. Since P is omnipotent, it must also have complete knowledge, including of its own future.
4. Therefore, P must already know that it will lose omnipotence.
5. A being that can lose omnipotence is not omnipotent in all possible worlds.
6. But true omnipotence must be necessary—it must exist in all possible worlds.
7. Conclusion: P is not truly omnipotent.

Put differently: if a being knows it could lose power in the future, then it is not absolutely powerful. Absolute power means power that is neither dependent on anything else nor susceptible to limitation. If it can be lost, then it is not maximized. And if power isn’t maximized, then it wasn’t omnipotence to begin with.

This brings us to an important idea: necessary existence is a built-in part of what it means to have truly maximal properties like omnipotence or omniscience. It’s not enough to be all-powerful at a moment in time—true omnipotence includes eternality, immutability, and necessity.

This line of reasoning leads to something deeper. Once we recognize that omnipotence requires omniscience (and vice versa), and that both require necessity, we begin to see that all these so-called “great-making properties” are interdependent. You cannot isolate them in different beings or imagine them in fragmentary ways.

Taken together, this insight underpins the doctrine of Divine Simplicity—most notably formulated by the theologian Thomas Aquinas.

According to Divine Simplicity:

• God is not composed of parts.
• God’s attributes (e.g., omnipotence, omniscience, goodness, necessity) are not separable or independent.
• These attributes are not things God has, but things God is.

There can be only one being with this nature. Any being that falls short in even one respect is not God, but something lesser. Thus, Divine Simplicity does not just preserve God’s uniqueness—it demands it.

4. Why the Two Distinctions in the Ontological Argument Do Not Matter

In the previous two sections, Contingent vs. Necessary and Divine Simplicity, I have argued why it makes sense to think of the nature (ontology) of God as encompassing all properties to the maximum degree and being necessary. Both of these properties of God fall into the category of metaphysics. However, I believe that speaking about God in these metaphysical terms and assigning specific properties to God is erroneous. Instead, I advocate for the notion that it is impossible to describe God’s nature.

Here are three arguments for why I hold this position, and why I instead favor the view that God is beyond all positive description:

1. Jesus’s Perfection Argument – How can Jesus be both imperfect and perfect?
2. Kant’s Division: Noumenal vs. Phenomenal – What can we actually know about God?
3. The Limitation of God – Assigning attributes to God inherently limits God’s power.

4.1 Jesus’ Perfection Argument

This argument is specifically targeted at Christians and does not apply to more general understandings of God. In the Christian worldview, we have the concept of the Trinity, which says that Jesus the Son, the Holy Spirit, and God the Father are one and the same being.

But this creates a problem: when Jesus came into the world, he came in human form. Humans, however, are imperfect beings. For example, we have a tailbone—an evolutionary leftover from when our ancestors had tails. Another example is the recurrent laryngeal nerve, which connects the brain to the larynx (voice box) but takes an inefficient detour around the aorta. These are just two examples of biological flaws, not to mention that our intellect, strength, and emotional capacity are limited. Overall, humans are very limited and far from perfect.

This raises the question: how can Jesus, who is one with God and therefore perfect, be born as a human—a deeply imperfect being?

To expand on this, recall the earlier argument that perfection implies changelessness. If something can change, then it cannot be perfect. A perfect being is always perfect; if it could change, it could become less perfect, thus revealing it was never perfect to begin with.

In other words, our notion of God as perfect cannot change—He cannot “turn into” Jesus, because:

1. A perfect being cannot be imperfect at the same time.
2. A perfect being cannot have the capacity to become imperfect.

One famous attempt to resolve this issue comes from the Scholastic theologian Thomas Aquinas. As Scholastics often do, he introduces a new distinction meant to “fix” the problem: the nature-person distinction. This distinction says that we can differentiate between the nature of a thing—its essence, which defines its properties and limitations—and the person, which refers to the individual that possesses this nature.

If you’re familiar with object-oriented programming, one way to think about this is in terms of classes and instances: the nature is like the class (shared structure), and the person is like an instance (specific identity). Each instance has its own identity, even though it shares the class’s properties.

Aquinas’s idea would go something like this:

 1# The class defines what it means to be God (the nature).
 2class DivineNature:
 3    def love(self):
 4        print("Loving infinitely.")
 5
 6    def know(self):
 7        print("Knowing all things.")
 8
 9# Creating instances gives us distinct persons with the same nature.
10Father = DivineNature()
11Son = DivineNature()
12Spirit = DivineNature()

However, this analogy introduces a new problem: it suggests that we have three distinct objects in memory. But that’s tritheism (a heresy), which Christianity rejects. Aquinas would say that there are not three distinct beings—there is only one.

To align more closely with this idea, we’d need to modify the analogy so that all three names refer to the same object:

 1class DivineNature:
 2    def __init__(self, name):
 3        self.name = name
 4
 5    def act(self):
 6        print(f"{self.name} acts with the same divine will.")
 7
 8# A single shared nature
 9shared_nature = DivineNature("Shared")
10
11# Assigning it to 'persons'
12Father = shared_nature
13Son = shared_nature
14Spirit = shared_nature

But this leads to modalism (another heresy), where Father, Son, and Spirit are just aliases for the same being acting in different roles, not distinct persons. The distinction between class and instance collapses, and the Trinity loses its internal relational structure.

There is another possible solution: say that God is both perfect and imperfect at the same time. But how is this possible? As argued earlier, this is logically impossible.

This brings me to my preferred view of God, which I call the notion of a predicate-free God. In this view, God precedes logic itself. What is logically impossible becomes possible. How can God be both perfect and imperfect? Because God is not bound by logic—He transcends it. God is a compressed core of contradiction.

This perspective also offers a solution to the classic paradox: Can God create a stone so heavy that He cannot lift it? The answer, for a God not bound by logic, is: Yes—He can create such a stone, and He can also lift it. Does this make logical sense? No—but that’s the point.

4.2 Kant’s Notion: Noumenal vs Phenomenal

Kant differentiates between the noumenal world and the phenomenal world. The noumenal world is the world as it truly is—the pure essence and form—while the phenomenal world is how we, as humans, experience the world. But why is there this differentiation? Why don’t we perceive the world as it truly is?

There are many reasons for this. Our sense organs are imperfect: some humans are color blind, others can see better or worse. Even if we had perfect eyes, we would still only be able to see visible light. Animals like bees or dogs can, for example, see ultraviolet light. But it’s not just that our sense organs are imperfect—we also bring biases with us. Our experiences shape what we expect to see, and if parts of the visual field are concealed, our brain fills in the gaps. We can even consider more foundational issues, such as humans perceiving time and space, being built directly in our brain.

All these imperfections, biases, and many more prevent us from perceiving things as they really are. We can never know things in the noumenal world but only as filtered through our senses and consciousness—like looking through colored sunglasses.

This presents a problem when considering God. There are three possibilities regarding which realm God could belong to:

1. Noumenal: If God belongs to the noumenal world, we can’t really say anything about Him because we can never gain knowledge of noumenal things.
2. Phenomenal: If God belongs to the phenomenal world, we would end up with a Stoic or Schopenhauerian view of God—God as a force or will that permeates the cosmos, rather than a personal, agentic God. This view fits all of Kant’s criteria for a thing to be in the phenomenal world: it has a spatiotemporal component (since God is the cosmos), it is mind-dependent (since we perceive God through nature), and it is epistemologically accessible (because we can perceive nature, and with that, God directly).
3. Before noumenal and phenomenal: God transcends both the noumenal and phenomenal realms, existing before logic, before metaphysical distinctions, and is predicate-free. This is the view of God that I described in the previous section.

In none of these realms can the God be fully described using properties. We can either agree that God is indescribable, or we can adopt a more Stoic or Schopenhauerian perspective (which I plan to write more about), but in doing so, we lose the personal aspect of God.

4.3 Limitation of God

Finally, I want to address why I refer to the notion of an indescribable God as predicate-free. Predicates (in formal logic) are expressions used to assign properties to an object. For example, “The sky is blue.” While many predicates describe attributes (such as “blue”), not all do. Nevertheless, when I say God cannot be described, I mean that no direct attributive predicates can be assigned to Him. Why?

Every attribute we assign to an object also implies a limitation. If I say the table is made of wood, I also implicitly say that it is not made of steel. If I say my home city is in Germany, I am implicitly saying that it cannot simultaneously be in Denmark. The same applies to God: if I say God is perfect, He cannot also be imperfect; if I say God is omnipotent, He cannot be weak; if I say God exists, He cannot also not exist, and so on.

But this implies that we limit God’s power to some extent. If God’s power is limited, then there is some boundary, and God would be dependent on this boundary. In that case, He is no longer necessary, but contingent—meaning He may not exist at all.

We can formalize this argument as follows:

1. If God has properties imposed or defined from outside Himself, then God is limited by something external.
   Justification: Predicates (properties or attributes) place constraints on an entity. For example, if something is “made of wood,” it cannot also be “made of steel” simultaneously. By assigning properties or attributes to God, we are asserting limits on His nature.

2. If God is limited by something external, then God is dependent on that external condition, and thus contingent.
   Justification: If something is limited, it must be bound by some external condition, cause, or framework. A being that is bound by limitations (such as being “good,” “omniscient,” or “temporal”) would be dependent on the conditions that define those limits. This would mean God’s nature or existence is not entirely self-sustaining but contingent on these limitations.

3. If God is contingent, then God is not a necessary being.
   Justification: A contingent being is one that could have failed to exist or could exist differently. If God is contingent, His existence would depend on something outside of Himself, which would make Him less than a necessary being.

4. Therefore, to be a necessary being, God must not be limited by any externally defined properties.
   Justification: If God can be described with predicates, He would be limited, and being limited would imply contingency, meaning that God’s existence would not be necessary. To preserve God’s necessary, self-sustaining existence, He must be beyond predicates and limitations.

There are a few things I want to clarify regarding this argument. First, when I talk about predicates here, I mean attributive predicates that assign properties or attributes to God. Analogies are still fine—for example, it’s fine to say “God is like something that is omnipotent” or “God is like a light,” but not “God is omnipotent” or “God is light.”

Second, when I talk about properties and limits being assigned to God, I mean humans assigning them to God. Theoretically, God could impose limits on Himself without creating an external dependency, thus remaining necessary.

Third, and most importantly, this argument is self-defeating. By prescribing God as predicate-free, I have done exactly what I said cannot be done. I’ve shot myself in the foot. This is a major issue, but we can reformulate the argument as follows:

1. If a being has any predicates assigned to it, then it is limited by the framework in which those predicates make sense.
2. If a being is limited by a conceptual framework, then it is dependent on something external to itself (i.e., the framework).
3. If a being is dependent on something external, then it is contingent, not necessary.
4. God, if He exists, is a necessary being by definition.
5. Therefore, God cannot fall under any conceptual framework involving predication.
6. Corollary: Any attempt to predicate God results in a category error; such statements are not false, but meaningless within logical language.

Importantly, we do not say that God is predicate-free and then assign the property of being predicate-free to Him, as I did in the previous argument. Instead, we say that it doesn’t make sense to assign properties to God because that would be a category error. It’s like asking, “What is 2 + unicorn?” or “What is the color of the number 5?” These statements are nonsensical in the same way that assigning properties to God is.

What is it, then [the One/Good]? […]

In fact, it is none of the things whose source it is, yet is the sort of thing which, because nothing can be predicated of it, not Existence, not Substantiality, not Life, is a thing beyond them. […]

For surely there is no way in which the Good can be either Intellect or fullness [a state that contains all Forms and complete knowledge], but is prior to Intellect and fullness. For Intellect and fullness are after it, since they have need of it to be filled and to complete their thought. And they are close to what has no needs and does not in any way need to think, but they possess true fullness and intellection, because they have it primarily. But what is before them neither needs nor possesses anything; otherwise, it would not be the Good.

~ Plotnius: On Nature, Contemplations, and the One

5. Conclusion

Even under the premise of a predicate-free God, it is still possible to speak about Him. One can use analogies or engage in apophatic theology, where instead of prescribing positive properties to God, one states what properties God does not have.

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