Chapter II: A Dinner at the Grange--A Pair of Owls (3)

But there was no foundation for the story in actual facts. M. Desault was a man of unimpeachable integrity, whose entire life gave the lie to so odious a suspicion. “The only poison which shortened my brother’s life,” says Mme. Royale, “was filth, made more fatal by cruelty.” The death of the kind and clever physician, from whatever cause it arose, was a serious loss to the forsaken sufferer in the Temple. He remained for several days without medical care of any sort, until, on the 5th of June, M. Pelletan, surgeon of one of the large hospitals, was named to attend him. It would seem as if the race of tigers was dying out, except in the ranks of the patriot municipals; for all who by accident approached the poor child in these last days were filled at once with melting pity, and found courage to give utterance to this feeling aloud. M. Pelletan remonstrated with the utmost indignation on the darkness and closeness of the room where his patient was lodged, and on the amount of bolting and barring that went on every time the door was opened or shut, the violent crash being injuriously agitating to the child. The guardians were willing enough to do away with the whole thing, but the municipals observed that there was no authority for removing the bars or otherwise altering the arrangements complained of. “If you can’t open the window and remove these irons, you cannot at least object to remove him to another room,” said the doctor, speaking in a loud and vehement tone, as he surveyed the horrible precincts. The prince started, and, beckoning to this bold, unknown friend, forgot his self-imposed dumbness, and whispered, drawing M. Pelletan down to him: “Hush! If you speak so loud, _they_ will hear you; and I don’t want them to know I am so ill; they would be frightened.” He was alluding to the queen and Mme. Elizabeth, whom he believed still living in the story above. Every one present was moved by the tender thoughtfulness the words betrayed, and the commissary, carried away by sympathy for the unconscious little orphan, exclaimed: “I take it upon myself to authorize the removal, in compliance with Citizen Pelletan’s instruction.” Gomin, nothing loath, immediately lifted the patient in his arms, and carried him off to a bright room in the little tower, which had been formerly the drawing-room of the keeper of the archives, and was now hurriedly prepared for the accommodation of this new inmate. His eyes had been so long accustomed to the gloom that they were painfully dazzled by the sudden change into the full sunshine. He hid his face on Gomin’s shoulder for a while, but by degrees he became able to bear the light, and drew long breaths, opening out his little hands as if to embrace the blessed sunshine, and then turned a look of ineffable happiness and thanks on Gomin, who still held him in his arms at the open window. When eight o’clock came, he was once more locked up alone.

Next day M. Pelletan came early to see him; he found him lying on his bed, and basking placidly in the sunny freshness of the June air that was streaming in upon him. “Do you like your new room?” inquired the doctor. The child drew a long breath. “Oh! yes,” he said, with a smile that went to every heart. But even at this happy crisis the sting of the old serpent woke up, as if to remind the victim that it was not dead. At dinner-time a new commissary, a brute of the name of Hébert, and full worthy of that abominable name, burst into the room, and began to talk in the coarse, boisterous tones once so familiar to the captive. “How now! Who gave permission for this? Since when have _carabins_ governed the republic? This must be altered! You must have the orders of the Commune for moving the wolf-cub.” The child dropped a cherry that he was putting to his lips, fell back on his pillow, and neither spoke nor moved till evening, when he was locked up for the night, and left to brood alone over the terrible prospect which Hébert’s threats had conjured up.

M. Pelletan found him so much worse next day that he wrote to the Sûreté Générale for another medical opinion; and M. Dumangier was ordered to attend. Before they arrived the prince had a fainting fit, which lasted so long that it terrified his guardians. He had, however, quite recovered from it when the physicians came. They held a consultation; but it was a mere form. Death was written on every lineament of the wasted body. All that science could do was to alleviate the last days of the fast-flitting life. The two medical men expressed surprise and anger at the solitude to which the dying child was still subjected at night, and insisted on a nurse being immediately provided. It was not worth the “nation’s” while to refuse anything now. The order for procuring the nurse was at once given; but that night the old rule prevailed, and the patient was again locked up alone. He felt it acutely; the merciful change that had been effected in so many ways had revived his hopes--the one hope to which his young heart had been clinging in silence, fondly and perseveringly.

When Gomin said good-night to him, he murmured, while the big tears ran down his face, “Still alone, and my mother in the other tower!” He was not to be kept apart from her much longer. When Lasne came next morning, he thought him rather better. The doctors, however, were of a different opinion; they found him sinking rapidly, and despatched a bulletin to the Commune to this effect.

At 11 in the forenoon Gomin came to relieve Lasne by the bedside of the captive. They remained a long time silent; there was something solemn in the stillness which Gomin did not like to break, and the child never was the first to speak. At last Gomin, bending tenderly towards him, expressed his sorrow at seeing him so weak and exhausted. “Oh! be comforted,” replied the prince in a whisper; “I shall not suffer long now.” Gomin could not control his emotion, but dropt on his knees by the bedside, and wept silently; the child took his hand and pressed it to his lips, while Gomin prayed. This was the only ministry the son of S. Louis was to have on his deathbed--the tears of a turnkey, the prayers of a poor, ignorant son of toil; but angels were there to supplement the unconsecrated priesthood of charity, weeping in gentle pity for the sufferings that were soon to cease. Bright spirits were hovering round the prisoner’s couch, tuning their harps for his ears alone.

Gomin raising his head from its bowed attitude, beheld the prince so still and motionless that he was alarmed lest another fainting fit had come on. “Are you in pain?” he asked timidly. “Oh! yes, still in pain, but less; the music is so beautiful!” Gomin thought he must be dreaming. There was no music anywhere; not a sound was audible in the room. “Where do you hear the music?” he asked. “Up there,” with a glance at the ceiling. “Since when?” “Since you went on your knees. Don’t you hear it? Listen!” And he lifted his hand, and his large eyes opened wide, as if he were in an ecstasy. Gomin remained silent, in a kind of awe. Suddenly the child started up with a convulsive cry of joy, and exclaimed, “I hear my mother’s voice amongst them!” He was looking towards the window, his lips parted, his whole face alight with a wild joy and curiosity. Gomin called to him, twice, three times, asking him to say what he saw. He did not hear him; he made no answer, but fell back slowly on his pillow, and remained motionless. He did not speak again until Lasne came to relieve Gomin. Then, after a long interval of silence, he made a sign as if he wanted something. Lasne asked him what it was.

“Do you think my sister could hear the music?” he said. “How she would like it!” He turned his head with a start towards the window again, his eyes opening with the same expression of joyous surprise, and uttered a half-inarticulate exclamation; then looking at Lasne, he whispered: “Listen! I have something to tell you!” Lasne took his hand, and bent down to hear. But no words came--would never more come from the child’s still parted lips. He was dead.

So ended the tragedy of the Temple. There is nothing more to tell. Why should we follow the ghastly story of the stolen heart, deposited in the “vase with seventeen stars,” then surreptitiously abstracted by the physician’s pupil, until all faith in the authenticity of the alleged relic evaporates?

Neither is it profitable to discuss the controversy which arose over the resting-place of the martyred child; for even in his grave he was pursued by malignant disputations. Enough for us to hear and to believe that the son of the kings of France was accompanied to the grave by a few humane municipals and by his faithful friend Lasne; and that his dust still reposes in an obscure spot of the Cemetery of S. Margaret, in the Faubourg St. Antoine, undisturbed and undistinguished under its grassy mound beneath the shadow of the church close by.

SUBSTANTIAL GENERATIONS.

II.

It is customary with most of the peripatetic writers to assume that the Aristotelic hypothesis of substantial generations, as understood by S. Thomas and by his school, cannot be rejected without upsetting the whole scholastic philosophy. Nothing is more false. Suarez, than whom no modern writer has labored more successfully in defending and developing the scholastic philosophy, rejects the fundamental principle of the Aristotelic theory, and maintains that no generation of new compound substances is possible, unless the matter which is destined to receive a new form possess an entity of its own, and be intrinsically constituted of act and potency, contrary to the universal opinion of the peripatetic school. “The first matter,” says he, “has of itself, and not through its form, _its actual entity of essence_, though it has it not without an intrinsic leaning towards the form.”[58] And again: “The first matter has also of itself and by itself _its actual entity of existence_ distinct from the existence of the form, though it has it not independently of the form.”[59] That these two propositions clash with the Aristotelic and Thomistic doctrine we need not prove, as we have already shown that neither S. Thomas nor Aristotle admitted in their first matter anything but the mere potency of being; and although Aristotle sometimes calls the first matter “a substance” and “a subject,” he expressly warns us that such a substance is in potency, and such a subject is destitute of all intrinsic act.[60] Hence it is plain that the first matter of Suarez is not the first matter of the peripatetics; whence it follows that the form which is received in such a matter is not a strictly substantial form, since it cannot give the first being to a matter having a _first_ initial being of its own. Hence the Suarezian theory, though full of peripatetic spirit, and formulated in the common language of the peripatetic school, is radically opposed to the rigid peripatetic doctrine, and destroys its foundation. “If the first matter,” says S. Thomas, “had any form of its own, it would be something in act; and consequently such a matter would not, at the supervening of any other form, acquire its first being, but it would only become such or such a being; and thus there would be no true substantial generation, but mere alteration. Hence all those who assumed that the first subject of generation is some kind of body, as air or water, taught that generation is nothing but alteration.”[61] This remark of the holy doctor may be well applied to the Suarezian theory; for in such a theory the first matter is “something in act” and has “a form of its own.” And, therefore, whoever adopts the Suarezian theory must give up all idea of truly substantial generations. Yet no one who has a grain of judgment will pretend that Suarez, by framing his new theory, upset the scholastic philosophy.

The truth is that, as there are two definitions of the substantial form (_quæ dat primum esse materiæ: quæ dat primum esse rei_), so also there are two manners of understanding the so-called “substantial” generation; and, whilst Aristotle and his followers _assumed_ without any good proof[62] that the specific form of a generated compound gives the first being to the matter of the compound, and is, therefore, a strictly substantial form, the modern school _demonstrates_ from the principles of the scholastic philosophy, no less than from positive science, that the specific form of a physical compound does not give the first being to the matter of the compound, but only to the compound nature itself; and, therefore, is to be called an _essential_ rather than a truly and strictly substantial form.[63]

The primitive material substance, which is constituted of matter and substantial form, cannot but be physically simple--that is, free from all composition of parts--though it is metaphysically compounded, or (as we would prefer to say) _constituted_ of act and potency. This being the case, it evidently follows that all substance physically compounded must involve in its essential constitution something else besides the matter and the substantial form; for it must contain in itself both that which gives the first being to the physical components, and that which gives the first being to the resulting physical compound.

Hence in all substance which is physically compounded of material parts there are always two kinds of formal constituents. The first kind belongs to the components, the second to the compound. The first consists of the substantial forms by which the components are constituted in their substantial being; which forms must actually remain in the compound; for the substantial being of the components is the material cause of the physical compound, and is the sole reason why the physical compound receives the name of substance. The second is the principle by which the first components, or elements, are formed into a compound specific nature. In other terms, the specific compound is “a substance,” because it is made up of substances, or primitive elements, constituted of matter and _substantial_ form; whilst the same specific compound is “a compound” and is “of such a specific nature,” owing to the composition, and to such a composition, of the primitive elements. This composition is the _essential_ form of the material compound.

We may here remark that the substantial forms of the component elements, taken together, constitute what may be called the _remote_ formal principle of the compound essence (_principium formale quod, seu remotum_), whilst the specific composition constitutes the _proximate_ formal principle of the same compound essence (_principium formale quo, seu proximum_). For, as each primitive element is immediately constituted by its substantial form, so is the physically compound essence immediately constituted by its specific composition.

It is hardly necessary to add that the matter which is the subject of the specific composition is not the first matter of Aristotle, but a number of primitive substances, and that these substances are endowed with real activity no less than with real passivity, and therefore contain in themselves such powers as are calculated to bind together the parts of the compound system, in this or in that manner, according to the geometric disposition and the respective distances of the same. For, as the power of matter is limited to _local_ action, it is the _local_ disposition and co-ordination of the primitive elements that determines the mode of exertion of the elementary powers, inasmuch as it determines the special conditions under which the Newtonian law has to be carried into execution. On such a determination the specific composition and the specific properties of the compound nature proximately depend.

The composition of matter with matter is confessedly an accidental entity, and arises from accidental action. It would, however, be a manifest error to pretend that such a composition is an _accidental form_ of the compound nature. For nothing is accidental to a subject but what supervenes to it; whereas the composition does not supervene to the compound, but enters into its very constitution. On the other hand, the composition does not deserve the name of _substantial form_ in the strict sense of the word, since it does not give the first being to the matter it compounds. We might, indeed, call it a substantial form in a wider sense; for in the same manner as a compound of many substances is called “a substance,” so can the form of the substantial compound be called “substantial.” But to avoid the danger of equivocation, we shall not use this epithet; and we prefer to say that the specific composition is the _natural_ or the _essential_ form of the material compound, so far at least as there is question of compounds _purely_ material. This essential or natural form may be properly defined as _the act by which a number of physical parts or terms are formed into one compound essence_, or, more concisely, _the act which gives the first being to the specific compound_; which latter definition is admitted by the schoolmen, though, as interpreted by them, it leads to no satisfactory results, as we shall see presently.

The first physical compound which possesses a permanent specific constitution is called “a molecule.” Those physicists who assume matter to be intrinsically extended and continuous, by the name of molecule understand a little mass filling the space occupied by its volume, hard, indivisible, and unchangeable, to which they also give the name of “atom.” But this opinion, which is a relic of the ancient physical theories, is fast losing ground among the men of science, owing to the fact that molecules are subject to internal movements, and therefore composed of discrete parts. Such discrete parts must be simple and unextended elements, as we have demonstrated. Hence a molecule is nothing but _a number of simple elements_ (some attractive and some repulsive) _permanently connected by mutual action in one dynamical system_. We say _permanently connected_; because no system of elements which lacks stability can constitute permanent substances, such as we meet everywhere in nature. Yet the stability of the molecular system is not an absolute, but only a relative, unchangeableness; for, although the bond which unites the parts of the molecular system must (at least in the case of primitive molecules) remain always the same _in kind_, it can (even in the case of primitive molecules) become different _in degree_ within the limits of its own kind. And thus any molecule can be altered by heat, by cold, by pressure, etc., without its specific constitution being impaired. A molecule of hydrogen is specifically the same at two different temperatures, because the change of temperature merely modifies the bond of the constituent elements, without destroying it or making it specifically different; and the same is true of all other natural substances.

The _material_ constituent of a molecular system is, as we have said, a number of primitive elements. These elements may be more or less numerous, and possess greater or less power, either attractive or repulsive; on condition, however, that attraction shall prevail in the system; for without the prevalence of attraction no permanent composition is possible.

The _formal_ constituent of a molecular system, or that which causes the said primitive elements to be a molecule, is the determination by which the elements are bound with one another in a definite manner, and subjected to a definite law of motion with respect to one another. Such a determination is in each of the component elements the resultant of the actions of all the others.

The matter of the molecular system is _disposed_ to receive such a determination, or natural form, by the relative disposition of the elements involved in the system. Such a disposition is local; for the resultant of the actions by which the elements are bound with one another depends on their relative distances as a condition.

The _efficient cause_ of the molecular system are the elements themselves; for it is by the exertion of their respective powers that they unite in one permanent system when placed under suitable mechanical conditions. The original conditions under which the molecules of the primitive compound substances were formed must be traced to the sole will of the Creator, who from the beginning disposed all things in accordance with the ends to be obtained through them in the course of all centuries.

Molecules may differ from one another, both as to their matter and as to their form. They differ in matter when they consist of a different number of primitive elements, or of elements possessing different degrees of active power or of a different proportion of attractive and repulsive elements. They differ as to their form, when their constitution subjects them to different mechanical laws; for as the law of movement and of mutual action which prevails within a molecule is a formal result of its molecular constitution, we can always ascertain the difference of the constitution by the difference of the law.

It is well known that the law according to which a system of material points acts and moves can be expressed or represented by a certain number of mathematical formulas. The equations by which the mutual dynamical relations of the elements in a molecular system should be represented are of three classes. Some should represent the _mutual actions_ to which such elements are subjected at any given moment of time; and these equations would contain differentials of the second order. Other equations should represent the _velocities_ with which such elements move at any instant of time; and these equations would contain differentials of the first order. Other equations, in fine, should determine the _place_ occupied by each of such elements at any given moment, and consequently the figure of the molecular system; and these last equations would be free from differential terms. The equations exhibiting the mutual actions must be obtained from the consideration of positive data, like all other equations expressing the conditions of a given problem. The equations exhibiting the velocities of the vibrating elements can be obtained by the integration of the preceding ones. The equations determining the relative position of the elements at any moment of time will arise from the integration of those which express the velocities of the vibrating points. Had we sufficient data concerning the internal actions of a molecule, and sufficient mathematical skill to carry out all the operations required, we would be able to determine with mathematical accuracy the whole constitution of such a molecule, and all the properties flowing from such a constitution. This, unfortunately, we cannot do as yet with regard to the molecule of any natural substance in particular; and, therefore, we must content ourselves with the general principle that those molecular systems are of the same kind whose constitution can be exhibited _by mathematical formulas of the same form_, and those molecules are of a different kind whose constitution is represented _by mathematical formulas of a different form_. This principle is self-evident; for the formulas by which the mechanical relations of the elements are determined cannot be of the same form, unless the conditions which they express are of the same nature; whereas it is no less evident that two molecular systems cannot be of the same kind when their mechanical constitution implies conditions of a different nature.

Two molecules of the same kind may differ _accidentally_--that is, as to their mode of being--without any essential change in their specific constitution. Thus, two molecules of hydrogen may be under different pressure, or at a different temperature, without any specific change. In this case, the mechanical relations between the elements of the molecule undergo an accidental change, and the equations by which such relations are expressed are also accidentally modified, inasmuch as some of the quantities involved in them acquire a different value; but the form of the equations, which is the exponent of the specific nature of the substance, remains unchanged.

From these remarks four conclusions can be drawn. The first is that molecules consisting of a different number of constituent elements always differ in kind. For it is impossible for such molecules to be represented by equations of the same form.

The second is that a molecule is _one_ owing to the oneness of the common tie between its constituent elements, and to their common and stable dependence on one mechanical law. Hence a molecule is not _one substance_, but _one compound nature_ involving a number of substances conspiring to form a permanent principle of actions and passions of a certain kind. In other terms, a molecule is not _unum substantiale_, but _unum essentiale_ or _unum naturale_.

The third is that the specific form of a molecule admits of different degrees within the limits of its species. This conclusion was quite unknown to the followers of Aristotle; and S. Thomas reprehends Averroës for having said that the forms of the elements (fire, water, air, and earth) could pass through different degrees of perfection, whilst Aristotle teaches that they are _in indivisibili_, and that every change in the form changes the specific essence.[64] Yet it is evident that as there can be circles, ellipses, and other curves having a different degree of curvature, while preserving the same specific form, so also can molecules admit of a different degree of closeness in their constitution without trespassing on the limits of their species. So long as the changes made in a molecule do not interfere with the conditions on which the form of its equations depends, so long the specific constitution of the molecule remains unimpaired. Mathematical formulas are only artificial abridgments of metaphysical expressions; and their accidental changes express but the accidental changes of the thing which they represent. On the other hand, it is well known that the equations by which the specific constitution of a compound system is determined can preserve the same form, while some of the quantities they contain receive an increase or a decrease connected with a change of merely accidental conditions.

The fourth conclusion is that a number of primitive molecules of different kinds may combine together in such a manner as to impair more or less their own individuality by fixing themselves in a new molecular system of greater complexity. Likewise, a molecular system of greater complexity is susceptible of resolution into less complex systems. These combinations and resolutions are the proper object of chemistry, which is _the science of the laws, principles, and conditions of the specific changes of natural substances_, and to which metaphysicians must humbly refer when treating of substantial generation, if they wish to reason on the solid ground of facts.

We have thus briefly stated what we hold to be the true scientific and philosophic view of the constitution of natural substances; and as we have carefully avoided all gratuitous assumptions, we feel confident that our readers need no further arguments to be convinced of its value as compared with the hypothetical views of the old physicists. As, however, the conclusions of the peripatetic school concerning the constitution and generation of natural substances have still some ardent supporters, who think that the strictly substantial generations and corruptions are demonstrated by unanswerable arguments, we have yet to show that such pretended arguments consist of mere assumption and equivocation.

The first argument in favor of the old theory may be presented under the following form: “Every natural substance is _unum per se_--that is, substantially one. Therefore no natural substance implies more than _one_ substantial form.” The antecedent is assumed as evident, and the consequent is proved by the principle that “from two beings in act it is impossible to obtain a being substantially one.” Hence it is concluded that all natural substances, as water, flesh, iron, etc., have a substantial form which gives to the first matter the being of water, of flesh, of iron, etc.

This argument, instead of proving the truth of the theory, proves its weakness; for it consists of a _petitio principii_. What right has the peripatetic school to assume that every natural substance is _unum per se_ substantially? A substance physically simple is, of course, _unum per se_ substantially; but water, flesh, iron, and the other natural substances are not physically simple, since they imply quantity of mass and quantity of volume, which presuppose a number of material terms actually distinct, and therefore possessing their distinct substantial forms. No compound substance can be _unum per se_ as a substance; it can be _unum per se_ only as a compound essence; and for this reason every natural substance contains as many _substantial_ forms as it contains primitive elements, whereas it has only one _essential_ form, which gives the first being to its compound nature. This _one_ essential form is, as we have explained, the specific composition of its constituent elements.

The principle “From two beings in act it is impossible to obtain a being _substantially_ one” is perfectly true; but it will be false if, instead of “substantially,” we put “essentially”; for all essences physically compounded result from the union of a certain number of actual beings, and yet every compound essence is _unum per se_ essentially, though not substantially. For, as _unum per accidens_ is that which has something superadded to its essential principles, so _unum per se_ is that which includes nothing in itself but its essential principles; and consequently every essence, as such, is _unum per se_, whether it be physically simple or not--that is, whether it be one substance or a number of substances conspiring into a specific compound. Hence flesh, water, iron, and every other natural substance may be, and are, _unum per se_, notwithstanding the fact that they consist of a number of primitive elements and contain as many substantial forms as components.

It is therefore manifest that this first argument has no strength. No ancient or modern philosopher has ever proved that any natural substance is _substantially_ one. To prove such an assertion it would be necessary to show that the physical compound is physically simple; which, we trust, no one will attempt to show. Even Liberatore, whose efforts to revive among us the peripatetic theory have been so remarkable, seems to have felt the utter impossibility of substantiating such an arbitrary supposition by anything like a proof, as he lays it down without even pretending to investigate its value. “True bodies,” says he--“that is, bodies which are substances, and not mere aggregates of substances--are essentially constituted of matter and substantial form.”[65] Indeed, if a body is not an aggregate of substances, it must be evident to every one that the essence of that body is exclusively constituted of matter and substantial form. But where is a body to be found which is not an aggregate of substances--that is, of primitive elements? The learned author omits to examine this essential point, clearly because there are neither facts in science nor arguments in philosophy by which it can be settled favorably to the peripatetic view. Thus the whole theory of substantial generations, understood in the peripatetic sense, rests on a mere assumption contradicted, as we know, by natural science no less than by metaphysical reasoning.

The second argument of the peripatetic school is as follows: When the matter has its first being, all form supervening to it is accidental; for the matter which has its first being cannot receive but a being _secundum quid_--that is, a mode of being which is an accident. But the natural substance cannot be constituted by an accidental form. Therefore the form of the natural substance does not supervene to any matter having its first being, but itself gives the first being to its matter, and therefore is a strictly substantial form.

Our answer is very plain. We admit that, when the matter has its first being, all supervening form is accidental _to it_; and we admit, also, that the composition of matter with matter is an accidental entity, and gives to the matter an accidental mode of being. This, however, does not mean that the specific composition is an _accidental form_ of the compound nature. Composition, as compared with substance, is an accident; but, as compared with the essence of the compound, is an _essential_ constituent, as we have already remarked; for it is of the essence of all physical compounds to have a number of substances as their matter, and a specific composition as their form. In other terms, the essence of a physical compound involves substance and accident alike; but what is an accident of the component substances is not an accident of the compound essence. Hence the proposition, “The natural substance cannot be constituted by an accidental form,” must be distinguished. If “natural substance” stands for the primitive substances that constitute the matter of the compound nature, the proposition is true; for all such substances have their strictly substantial forms, as is obvious. If “natural substance” stands for the compound nature itself, inasmuch as it is a compound of a certain species, then the proposition must be subdistinguished. For, if by “accidental form” we understand an accident of the component substances, the proposition will be false; for, evidently, the compound nature is constituted by composition, and composition is an accident of the components. Whilst, if the words “accidental form” are meant to express an accident of the compound nature, then the proposition is true again; for the composition is not an accidental, but an essential, constituent of the compound, as every one must concede. Yet “essential” is not to be confounded with “substantial”; and therefore, though all natural substances must have their essential form, it does not follow that such a form gives the first being to the matter, but only that it gives the first being to the specific compound inasmuch as it is such a compound. Had the peripatetics kept in view, when treating of natural substances, the necessary distinction between the essential and the strictly substantial forms, they would possibly have concluded, with the learned Card. Tolomei, that their theory was “a groundless assumption,” and their arguments a “begging the question.” But, unfortunately, Aristotle’s authority, before the discoveries of modern science, had such a weight with our forefathers that they scarcely dared to question what they believed to be the cardinal point of his philosophy. But let us go on.

A third argument in favor of the old theory is drawn from the constitution of man. In man the soul is a substantial form, the root of all his properties, and the constituent of the human substance. Hence all other natural substances, it is argued, must have in a similar manner some substantial principle containing the formal reason of their constitution, of their natural properties, and of their operations. “The fact that man is composed of matter and of substantial form shows,” says Suarez, “that in natural things there is a substantial subject naturally susceptible of being informed by a substantial act. Such a subject (the matter) is therefore an imperfect and incomplete substance, and requires to be constantly under some substantial act.”[66] Whence it follows that all natural substance consists of matter actuated by a substantial form.

This argument, according to Scotus and his celebrated school, is based on a false assumption. Man is not _one substance_, but _one nature_ resulting from the union of two distinct substances, the spiritual and the material; and to speak of a _human substance_ as one is nothing less than to beg the whole question. Every one must admit that the human soul is the _natural_ form of the animated body, and that, inasmuch as it is a substance and not an accident, the same soul may be called a “substantial” form; but, according to the Scotistic school, to which we cannot but adhere on this point, it is impossible to admit the Thomistic notion that the soul gives the first being to the matter of the body, so as to constitute _one substance_ with it; and accordingly it is impossible to admit that the soul is a strictly “substantial” form in the rigid peripatetic sense of the word; and thus the above argument, which is based entirely on the unity of human _substance_, comes to naught.

This is not the place to develop the reasons adduced by the Scotists and by others against the Thomistic school, or to refute the arguments by which the latter have supported their opinion. We will merely remark that, according to a principle universally received, by the Thomists no less than by their opponents (_Actus est qui distinguit_), there can be no distinct substantial terms without distinct substantial acts; and consequently our body cannot have distinct substantial parts, unless it has as many distinct substantial acts. And as there is no doubt that there are in our body a great number of distinct substantial parts (as many, in fact, as there are primitive elements of matter), there is no doubt that there are also a great number of distinct substantial acts. It is not true, therefore, that the human body (or any other body) is constituted by _one_ “substantial” form. The soul is not defined as the _first act of matter_, but it is defined as _the first act of a physical organic body_; which means that the body must possess its own _physical_ being and its _bodily_ and _organic_ form before it can be informed by a soul. And surely such a body needs not receive from the soul what it already possesses as a condition of its information; it must therefore receive that alone in regard to which it is still potential; and this is, not the first act of being, but the first act of life. But if the soul were a strictly “substantial” form according to the Thomistic opinion, it should be _the first act of matter_ as such, and it would have no need of a previously-formed physical organic body; for the position of such a form would, of itself, entail the existence of its substantial term. We must therefore conclude that the human soul is called a “substantial” form, simply because it is a substance and not an accident,[67] and because, in the language of the schools, all the “essential” forms have been called “substantial,” as we have noticed at the beginning of this article. We believe that it is owing to this double meaning of the epithet “substantial” that both S. Thomas and his followers were led to confound the natural and essential with the strictly substantial forms. They reasoned thus: “What is not accidental must be substantial”; and they did not reflect that “what is not accidental may be _essential_,” without being substantial in the meaning attached by them to the term.

But since we cannot here discuss the question concerning the human soul as its importance deserves, let us admit, for the sake of the argument, that the human soul gives the first being to its body, and is thus a strictly substantial form in the sense intended by our opponents. It still strikes us that no logical mind can from such a particular premise draw such a general conclusion as is drawn in the objected argument. Is it lawful to apply to inanimate bodies in the conclusion what in the premises is asserted only of animated beings? Or is there any parity between the form of the human nature and that of a piece of chalk? The above-mentioned Card. Tolomei well remarks that “such a pretended parity is full of disparities, and that from the human soul, rational, spiritual, subsistent, and immortal, we cannot infer the nature of those incomplete, corruptible, and corporeal entities which enter into the constitution of purely material things.”[68]

That “all natural substances must have some substantial principle” we fully admit. For we have shown that in every natural compound there are just as many substantial forms as there are primitive elements in it, and therefore there is no doubt that each point of matter receives its first being through a strictly substantial form. But these substantial forms are the forms of the components; they are not the _specific form_ of the compound. Nor do we deny that the properties of the compound must be ultimately traced to some substantial principle; for we admit the common axiom that “the first principle of the being is the first principle of its operations”; and thus we attribute the activity of the compound nature to the substantial forms of its components. But we maintain that the same components may constitute different specific compounds having different properties and different operations, according as they are disposed in different manners and subjected to a different composition. This being evident, we must be allowed to conclude that the proximate and specific constituent form of a compound inanimate nature is nothing else than its specific composition.

Our opponents cannot evade this conclusion, which annihilates the whole peripatetic theory, unless they show either that there may be a compound without composition, or that in natural things there is no material composition of substantial parts. The first they cannot prove, as a compound without composition is a mere contradiction. Nor can they prove the second; for they admit that natural substances are extended, and it is evident that there can be no material extension without parts outside of parts, and therefore without material composition.

As to the passage of Suarez objected in the argument, two simple remarks will suffice. The first is that “the fact that man is composed of matter and substantial form does _not_ show that in other natural things there is a substantial subject naturally susceptible of being informed by a substantial act”; unless, indeed, the epithet “substantial” be taken in the sense of “essential,” as we have above explained. But, even in this case, there will always be an immense difference between such essential forms, because the form of a human body must be a substance, whilst the form of the purely material compounds can be nothing else than composition. The second remark is that, as the first matter, according to Suarez, has its own entity of essence and its own entity of existence, “the substantial subject naturally susceptible of being informed” has neither need nor capability of receiving its _first_ being; whence it follows that such a substantial subject is never susceptible of being informed by a truly and strictly substantial form. We know that Suarez rejects this inference on the ground that the entity of matter, according to him, is incomplete, and requires to be perfected by a substantial form. But the truth is that no strictly substantial form can be conceived to inform a matter which has already an actual entity of its own; for the substantial form is not simply that which _perfects the matter_ (for every form perfects the matter), but it is that which _gives to it the first being_, as all philosophers agree. On the other hand, it might be proved that the matter which is a subject of natural generations is not an _incomplete_ substantial entity, and that the intrinsic act by which it is constituted, is not, as Suarez pretends, an act _secundum quid_, but an act _simpliciter_; it being evident that nothing can be in act _secundum quid_ unless it be already in act _simpliciter_; whence it is manifest that the _first_ act of matter cannot be an act _secundum quid_.

It would take too long to discuss here the whole Suarezian theory. Its fundamental points are two: The first, that the matter which is the subject of natural generations “has an entity of its own”; the second, that “such an entity is substantially incomplete.” The first of these two points he establishes against the peripatetics with very good reasons, drawn from the nature of generation; but the second he does not succeed in demonstrating, as he does not, and cannot, demonstrate that an act _secundum quia_ precedes the act _simpliciter_. For this reason we ventured to say in our previous article that the first matter of Suarez corresponds to our primitive elements, which, though unknown to him, are, in fact, the first physical matter of which the natural substances are composed. What we mean is that, though Suarez intended to prove something else, he has only succeeded in proving that the matter of which natural substances are composed is as true and as complete a substance as any primitive substance can be. And we even entertain some suspicion that this great writer would have held a language much more conformable to our modern views, had he not been afraid of striking too heavy a blow at the peripatetic school, then so formidable and respected. For why should he call “substantial” the forms of compound bodies, when he knew that the matter of those bodies had already an actual entity of its own? He certainly saw that such forms were by no means the substantial forms of S. Thomas and of Aristotle; but was it prudent to state the fact openly, and to draw from it such other conclusions as would have proved exceedingly distasteful to the greatest number of his contemporaries? However this may be, it cannot be denied that the Suarezian theory, granting to the matter of the bodies an entity of its own, leads to the rejection of the truly substantial generations, and to the final adoption of the doctrine which we are maintaining in accordance with the received principles of modern natural science. But let us proceed.

The fourth argument in favor of the old theory is the following: If the components remain _actually_ in the compound, and do not lose their substantial forms by the accession of a new substantial form, it follows that no new substance is ever generated; and thus what we call “new substances” will be only “new accidental aggregates of substances,” and there will be no substantial difference between them. But this cannot be admitted; for who will admit that bread and flesh are _substantially_ identical? And yet who can deny that from bread flesh can be generated?

We concede most explicitly that no new “substance” is, or can be, ever generated by natural processes. God alone can produce a substance, and he produces it by creation. To say that natural causes can destroy the substantial forms by which the matter is actuated, and produce new substantial forms giving a new _first_ being to the matter, is to endow the natural causes with a power infinitely superior to their nature. The action of a natural cause is the production of an accidental act; and so long as “accidental” does not mean “substantial,” we contend that no substantial form can originate from any natural agent or concurrence of natural agents. It is therefore evident for us that no “substance” can ever arise by natural generation.

But, though this is true, it is evident also that from pre-existing substances “a new compound nature” can be generated by the action of natural causes. These new compound natures are, indeed, called “new substances,” but they are the _old_ substances under a _new_ specific composition; that is, they are not new as substances, though they form _a new specific compound_. To say that such a compound is “a merely accidental aggregate of substances” is no objection. Were we to maintain that _one single substance_ is an accidental aggregate of substances, the objection would be very natural; but to say, as we do, that _one compound essence_ is an aggregate of substances united by accidental actions, is to say what is evidently true and unobjectionable. Yet we must add that the composition of such substances, accidental though it be to them individually, is _essential_ to the compound nature; for this compound nature is a special essence, endowed with special properties dependent proximately on the special composition, and only remotely on the substantial forms of the component substances.

That there may be “no substantial difference” between two natural compounds is quite admissible; but it does not follow from the argument. It is admissible; because a different specific composition suffices to cause a different specific compound; as is the case with gum-arabic and cane-sugar, which consist of a different combination of the same components. Yet it does not follow from the argument; because the specific composition of different compounds may require, and usually does require, a different set of components--that is, of substances; which shows that there is also a _substantial_ difference between natural compounds, although their essential form be not the substantial form of the peripatetics.

Lastly, we willingly concede that bread and flesh are not substantially identical; but we must deny that their substantial difference arises from their having a different substantial form. Bread and flesh are different specific compounds; they differ essentially and substantially, or formally and materially, because they involve different substances under a different specific composition. To say that bread and flesh are _the same matter_ under two different substantial forms would be to give the lie to scientific evidence. This we cannot do, however much we may admire the great men who, from want of positive knowledge, thought it the safest course to accept from Aristotle what seemed to them a sufficient explanation of things. On the other hand, is it not strange that our opponents, who admit of no other substantial form in man, except the soul, should now mention a substantial form of flesh? To be consistent, they should equally admit a _substantial_ form of blood, a _substantial_ form of bone, etc. Perhaps this would help them to understand that the epithet “substantial,” when applied to characterize the forms of material compounds, has been a source of innumerable equivocations, and that the schoolmen would have saved themselves much trouble, and avoided inextricable difficulties, if they had made the necessary distinction between _substantial_ and _essential_ forms.

The arguments to which we have replied are the main support of the peripatetic doctrine; we, at least, have not succeeded in finding any other argument on the subject which calls for a special refutation. We beg, therefore, to conclude that the theory of strictly substantial generations, as well as that of the constitution of bodies, as held by the peripatetic school, rest on no better ground than “assumption,” or _petitio principii_, as Card. Tolomei reluctantly avows. There would yet remain, as he observes, the argument from authority; but when it is known that the great men whose authority is appealed to were absolutely ignorant of the most important facts and laws of molecular science, and when it is proved that such facts and laws exclude the very possibility of the old theory,[69] we are free to dismiss the argument. “Were S. Thomas to come back on earth,” says Father Tongiorgi, “he would be a peripatetic no more.” No doubt of it. S. Thomas would teach his friends a lesson, by letting them know that his true followers are not those who shut their eyes to the evidence of facts, that they may not be disturbed in their peripateticism, but those who imitate him by endeavoring to utilize, in the interest of sound philosophy, the positive knowledge of their own time, as he did the scanty positive knowledge of his.

But we have yet an important point to notice. The ancient theory is wholly grounded on the possibility of the eduction of new substantial forms out of the potency of matter; hence, if no truly substantial form can be so educed, the theory falls to the ground. We have already shown that true substantial forms giving the first being to the matter cannot naturally be educed out of the potency of matter.[70] This would suffice to justify us in rejecting the peripatetic theory. But to satisfy our peripatetic friends that we did not come too hastily to such a conclusion, and to give them an opportunity of examining their own philosophical conscience, we beg leave to submit to their appreciation the following additional reasons.

First, all philosophers agree that the matter cannot be actuated by a new form, unless it be _actually_ disposed to receive it. But actual disposition is itself an accidental form; and all matter that has an accidental form has also _a fortiori_ a substantial form. Therefore no matter is actually disposed to receive a new form, but that which has actually a substantial form. But the matter which has actually a substantial form is not susceptible of a new substantial form; for the matter which has its first being is not potential with regard to it, but only with regard to some mode of being. Therefore no new form truly and strictly substantial can be bestowed upon existing matter.