Bodies, Animals, and Minds 13 --- Quote from Ockham

From Quod. 2.11 (Freddoso/Kelley translation, p. 137):

"When a human being or a brute animal dies, numerically the same accidents remain as were there previously; therefore, they have numerically the same subject. The consequence is evident from the fact that an accident does not naturally migrate from subject to subject. But the subject in this case is not primary matter, since if it were, then primary matter would be the immediate recipient of absolute accidents --- which does not seem true. Therefore, some form that was there previously remains, and this form is not the sentient soul. Therefore, it is the [form of] corporeity.

The assumption, viz., that numerically the same accidents are in the living animal and the dead animal, I prove from the fact that if the accidents [of the dead animal] were different, they would at least be the same in species as the accidents of the living animal. This is evident from the fact that they are so similar that a human being is not able to discriminate between them."

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 12 --- Ockham 4

What about the mind? Ockham also thinks that is a distinct thing too. But here, his reasons are theological. Like most Latin-speaking scholastics of his day, Ockham was a Christian, so he believed that the mind (or soul) survives after death.

If I were to die in the next few seconds, my mind would continue to exist, as a free-floating mind of sorts. But the animal in me would not survive, for animals cannot survive without a body. Hence, the mind that is doing all this thinking here, and the animal that is standing here now --- these must be distinct things too, just as the body and the animal that are standing here must be distinct as well.

For Ockham then, there are three distinct things here, and they all occupy the same region of space. There’s a body, there’s an animal, and there’s a mind. And this allows Ockham to easily explain things like why we leave a corpse behind when we die.

On the other hand, Ockham’s view doesn’t do justice to the intuitions that Aquinas heeded, namely the idea that here in this region of space, we normally think that there is just one thing here, namely a living organism who goes by the name of JT. So both Ockham and Aquinas do justice to certain intuitions we have about human beings, but they fail to do justice to all our intuitions.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 11 --- Ockham 3

However, even though my body must survive my death, Ockham thinks the animal that is standing here right now --- that would not survive my death. When I die, the animal dies too. And again, Ockham thinks we have good reason to think this. When you look at the place where I am now standing, you can clearly see something that is sentient, but if I were to die, nothing sentient would be left.

For Ockham then, it seems obvious that the body standing up here would survive my death, but the animal standing up here would not. And that, thinks Ockham, means that the body and the animal up here cannot be the same thing.

This also captures a deep-seated intuition that we have. We tend to think that if two things are actually one and the same thing, then whatever is true of one must also be true of the other. For example, the great Roman senator Cicero also went by the name Tully. Now, if Cicero and Tully are indeed the very same person, then whatever is true of one must also be true of the other. If Cicero were speaking in the Roman senate at this very moment, then Tully would be too. Conversely, if Cicero were speaking in the senate, but Tully were off drinking at the pub, then we would assume that Cicero and Tully could not be the same person.

So also, thinks Ockham, would this apply to the body and the animal that occupy this region of space where I am now standing. If I were to die in a few seconds, then one of them would end up lying on the floor, but the other one would be gone altogether. So surely the body and the animal you see here cannot be the same thing. Ockham thus concludes that they must be distinct things altogether. For Ockham, there is, in fact, a distinct body and a distinct animal standing up here in this very same spot.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 10 --- Ockham 2

For Ockham, the fact that my living body and my corpse are so similar implies that they must be the very same body (not different bodies, as Aquinas would say).

This captures another intuition that we have about material objects. When we watch something over a period of time, we assume that if it looks much the same at the beginning and end of that block of time, it must be the same thing.

For instance, a rusty old Jaguar has been sitting in my driveway for the past three years, and it looks much the same now as it did three years ago. I’ve seen it change a little (it’s become more rusty and discolored), but for the most part, it looks very much the same. And I assume that it is, in fact, the very same car. I doubt very much that anybody has stealthily replaced it with another, nearly identical looking car overnight.

We make the same sorts of judgments about most things, including people. We watch our loved ones age, but none of us would think they ever get replaced by nearly identical clones. And the same goes for my corpse. Why would we ever think that it would be a different body from the one that is standing here now? Surely my body survives my death. Or so Ockham would say.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 9 --- Ockham 1

Aquinas was not the only medieval philosopher around back then, and his view about human beings was not the only view floating around either. In fact, it was a highly unpopular view. Most medieval philosophers disagreed entirely. Ockham, for example, finds the problem of the corpse decisive.

Suppose that I die a few seconds from now. As I said before, my body would fall lifeless to the floor, and you would be left with a corpse on your hands. But compare my body now with the soon-to-be corpse. How would they differ?

As Ockham sees it, they wouldn’t differ at all. On the contrary, they would be exactly similar in every way. They would have the same color, the same size, and so on. They would even have the same cells. Of course, the cells would start to decay after I die, but at the moment just before my death and the moment just after my death, there would be exactly the same cells (or very nearly). And that, thinks Ockham, gives us a very strong reason to think that they are, in fact, the very same body.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 8 --- Aquinas 6

On Aquinas’s view, when I die, I go away, and a new object (a corpse) pops into existence to fill the same region of space. That seems weird. Most people think that our bodies remain after we die, with the difference between my current body and the soon-to-be corpse on the floor being just that the one has life and the other does not. That is another deep-seated intuition many people have; when we die, most people think that what departs is my life, not my body.

Now, if you think that humans are composed of bodies and minds (or souls, as some call them), then you could easily explain this. For you could say that when I die, my soul goes away, but my body remains. And that would very nicely explain how my body continues to exist after I die.

But this is not an option that is open to Aquinas. Again, remember that he thinks there is just one thing occupying this region of space where I am now standing, not two. There are not two distinct things here, a body and a soul, one of which could go away at death and the other of which could remain.

Aquinas thinks there is just one thing here, and so when it goes away, there’s nothing else left to fill this region of space. Consequently, the corpse that we would see here would have to be something new, something that would have to pop into existence at the moment of my death, and which would fill the very same region of space.

Interestingly, Aquinas is aware of this consequence, and he doesn’t mind it. On the contrary, he completely accepts it. ‘Yes’, he would say, ‘when you die, you would cease to exist there (you would get whisked away to heaven), and a new thing --- a corpse --- would come into being’.

So there are some nice things about Aquinas, and some not so nice things. When he says that there is just one thing that fills this region of space where I am now standing, he does seem to do justice to many of our intutions about material objects and living organisms. On the other hand, his view does entail that when I die, a new thing (a corpse) pops into existence, and that seems odd.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 7 --- Aquinas 5

Even though Aquinas’s view does line up with certain intuitons we have about material objects and living organisms, Aquinas’s view does have some odd consequences. The most important of those runs as follows.

What would happen if I were to suddenly die in the next few seconds? Well, my body would fall lifeless to the floor, and you would be left with a corpse on your hands. But the question is: would that lifeless corpse be the same body as the living one that is standing here now?

Aquinas would have to say no. Remember: Aquinas maintains that here in this region of space that I am now occupying, there is just one thing, and that’s me. So, if I were to die, one of two things could happen. Either this one thing (me) would cease to exist altogether, or it would get whisked away to the ‘other side’ (heaven, hell, or wherever it is you think dead people go). Indeed, that’s what it means for something to die: it ceases to exist, or it goes away to the ‘other side’.

But either way, the thing that occupies this region of space right now would no longer be here. Consequently, the corpse would have to be something new, something that pops into existence at the moment of my death and then fills the exact same spot where I was standing a moment before. Crazy, eh?

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 6 --- Aquinas 4

A third intuition we have has to do with counting. Suppose I pointed to this region of space where I am now standing, and then I asked you, ‘how many things do you see here?’ Surely you would say ‘one’. If you said ‘two’ or ‘three’, I would probably think you weren’t seeing straight. I would think you were drunk and seeing doubles or triples. I would think that something was wrong with your vision.

So we tend to count each living organism as one thing, not more than one thing, and again, Aquinas really captures this intuition. You don’t count three objects standing here in this region of space. You just count one, and that’s me.

Henc, there is something very nice about Aquinas’s view that there is just one thing in this region of space where I am now standing. It certainly lines up with the three aforementioned intuitions we have about material objects and living organisms.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 5 --- Aquinas 3

Another deep-seated intuition we have is that two material objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time. Take any two material objects and try to get them into the same space. You can’t do it. They bounce off each other; they repel each other. And indeed, this is precisely why we don’t try to park our cars in spots that are already occupied by other cars.

The same goes for human beings. As Aquinas sees it, if there were a distinct body and a distinct animal in this region of space where I am now standing, then there would be two material objects in the same place at the same time, and surely that’s impossible. Aquinas’s view captures this intuition nicely as well: there can only be one thing here in this spot right now, and that’s me.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 4 --- Aquinas 2

In the last post, I explained that for Aquinas, there is just one thing occupying this region of space where I am now standing, and that’s me, a human being. Aquinas thinks it would be ludicrous to say that there is a distinct body, animal, and mind in this same region of space.

Now, at first sight, that probably sounds right to most people, and for good reason: it lines up with a number of intuitions that we have about material objects, and especially about living organisms.

For example, one intuition we have is that living organisms exhibit a very tight kind of internal unity. That is, the parts and functions of an organism are tied together very tightly and integrated into one single entity. It’s not as if I’m made of a bunch of lego bricks that can be pulled apart at will. If you pulled off my leg, it would be incredibly painful, and I would very likely die from blood loss, if the shock didn’t kill me first. I’m not a loose blob of parts; there’s a very tight connection between everything within me.

So we tend to think about living organisms as tightly unified individuals, and Aquinas’s view captures this intuition very well. When asked what it is that occupies this region of space where I am now standing, there’s got to be just one thing here, namely a single living organism (me).

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 3 --- Aquinas 1

In the last post, I pointed out that if we look at the region of space where I am now standing, we can identify at least three different sorts of things: an organic body, a living animal, and a mind. The question is, though, how are these three things related? Are they three distinct things in the same region of space, or is there just one thing here?

According to Aquinas, it would be ludicrous to say that here in this region of space that I now occupy, there are three entirely distinct things. As Aquinas sees it, there’s just one thing here, and it’s me, a human being.

Aquinas gives a number of arguments for why this must be so, but the one that really gets to the heart of his view is this: if a ‘human being’ were actually just a bunch of other individual things that just happened to occupy the same spot, then a ‘human being’ would really just be an aggregate of those other things. As Aquinas himself puts it:

‘Many . . . things do not make up one [larger] thing unless something unifies them and ties them together. So, for example, if Socrates were both an animal and a mind . . . , those two things would need to be united by some link that would make them into one thing. But since there is no such link [ex hypothesi], Socrates would just be an aggregate or a heap of many things’. --- From Quaestiones de Anima, in the Responsio to question 11.

And Aquinas clearly thinks that would be absurd. A human being is one individual thing, not a conglomerate of many things occupying the same region of space.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 2 --- The Aristotelian Background

As with most medieval issues, the place to start is Aristotle, for he really set the terms of the debate. To start, consider the spot where I am now standing. Now let’s ask this question: what occupies this region of space? Aristotle thinks we could give a number of different answers here.

(1) For instance, one thing that fills this region of space is a body, i.e., this chunky lump of tissue bumbling around up here. And this is not just any old body. It’s not made of clay, or steel, or any other sort of inorganic material. It’s made of flesh and blood, bones and organs. In short, it’s an organic body. So one option is that there’s an organic body in this region of space.

(2) A second answer might be that there’s an animal here. For Aristotle, the defining characteristic of animals is that they are sentient, which is to say that they are aware of and responsive to the outside world. And indeed, I have five senses through which I access the outside world: I can see things, smell things, touch things, and so on. So here we have another option: there’s an animal standing here in this region of space.

(3) A third answer you might give is that there is a mind here, i.e., something with an intellect and will. Of all the animals on our planet, only humans are able to think in complicated ways, love our spouses and children deeply, take stands on moral issues, and so on. These are the sorts of things that can only be done by a mind (or at least by a thinking thing). So here we have yet another option: that there’s a mind which in some sense or other resides in this region of space.

So Aristotle thinks we can identify at least three things in this region of space. At the very least, there’s a body here, there’s an animal here, and there’s a mind here (or at least a thinking thing).

But how are these three related? Are they three entirely distinct things that all occupy the same region of space simultaneously, perhaps like how if we look at a wet sponge, we could say that the water and the sponge occupy the same region of space as well? Or is there just one thing occupying this region of space, and it has the characteristics of a body, an animal, and a mind?

That’s the basic question. Next, I’ll turn to Aquinas.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 1

One of the things that medieval philosophers debated was this: how many substantial forms do material substances (especially human beings) have? This is known as the controversy over the plurality of forms. The debate can seem rather abstract and archaic, what with all the matter and form stuff. It may be abstract, but it’s not at all archaic. It still occupies philosophers today. In this series of posts, I want to introduce the topic in a way which I hope will make the basic problems and issues clear. So here goes.

One way into the debate is to think about this question: what exactly is a human being, or perhaps even a (human) person? Most of us would agree that we have bodies, we are all living animals, and we have minds. But which of those is crucial for being a (human) person? All of them? Just one of them? Some combination of them? Or perhaps none of them at all?

To help bring the issue into focus, consider the following. Sometimes people suffer severe head trauma, and as a result, they lapse into a vegetative state. Sometimes the damage is so bad that they require life support. They need machines to keep the heart beating and the lungs breathing.

What do we want to say about the person then? When I have my students deal with this question, many of them start off by arguing that when the mental activity stops, the person stops too, so to speak. And that suggests that the body is not that important for personhood. ‘It’s the mind that matters’, my students tell me.

But we can further push the point. Philosophers sometimes hypothesize about science-fiction sorts of scenarios, one of which is brain transplants. Imagine if we could take my mind --- all of its abilities, knowledge, memories, personal quirks, and so on --- and then transfer it into another body. Where would I be then? Would I go with my mind into the next body, or would I have left an important part of me behind in the old body?

In the next post, I’ll start digging into how the scholastics dealt with these sorts of questions.

More on Ockham against Henry's Solution to the Creation Problem

The interesting thing about Ockham’s argumentation here is that it highlights the precise point of comparison that Henry draws between the divine essence and matter. For Henry, the divine essence is like matter because it is not produced in the Son. But that’s the only reason that Henry really has to say that the divine essence is like matter at all.

Ockham points out that it is at least logically possible that the form is unproduced. God could take an already existing form, and create new matter under it.

I don’t know, let’s construct an example. Suppose an ancient king has his servants build a giant gold statue of himself. God doesn’t like the king’s arrogance, so he destroys the gold, and replaces it with rusty iron, but he keeps the statue’s shape throughout the whole process.

Then the king becomes the laughing stock of his people. They’re all standing around, pointing, pushing each other over in the bushes and laughing.

Maybe something like that.

There we would have a case where the matter is produced but the form is not! So as Ockham sees it, it’s at least logically possible that the form is the constituent that is unproduced, not the matter.

Consequently, thinks Ockham, Henry has no reason to say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter. It could just as well be like a form.

So Ockham rejects Henry’s view just like Scotus. But Ockham takes a different approach. He rejects the whole idea of drawing an analogy between the divine essence and matter. That’s just too slippery a slope for Ockham.

But again, what’s amazing here is that Ockham doesn’t label Henry as a heretic, neither does Scotus. I mean, in their day, Scotus and Ockham are the minority. They’re the dissentors. Henry’s view was fairly popular, and Scotus and Ockham were the ones sitting there telling their classmates, “you guys got it all wrong.”

Ockham against Henry on the Creation Problem

Now, let’s turn to Ockham. Ockham essentially agrees with Scotus’s conclusions. He agrees that the divine essence is not material, and he agrees that it is a pre-existing ingredient in the Son, and therefore the Son is not created from nothing.

But Ockham attacks Henry’s view in a different way than Scotus. Ockham points out, “Okay Henry, so you say the divine essence is a lump of matter. Either you mean that literally, or figuratively.”

Well, obviously the divine essence is not literally a lump of matter. Everybody agrees that the divine essence cannot possibly be material in any literal way. So Henry must mean that the divine essence is like a lump of matter.

But, says Ockham, if you want to say that two things are alike, they must have something in common, and that commonality is what you base your comparison on.

So, for instance, let’s suppose that Socrates had the embarassing social habit of chewing his cud. Well, then we could say that Socrates is like Beulah the cow, because both chew cuds.

So also in the divine case. If Henry wants to say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter, then Henry is going to have to identify some feature that the divine essence has in common with matter.

However, says Ockham, sometimes two things share their commonalities with other things too. For instance, it’s not just Socrates and Beulah that chew their cuds. Camels, llamas, giraffes, and other such things chew their cuds too.

So if the only basis of comparison that we have for Socrates and Beulah is that they chew their cuds, well then we could just as easily say Socrates is like Elsie the Giraffe, or Hank the Llama.

Likewise in the divine case, says Ockham. Everything imitates God in some way, so we could say that the divine essence is like all sorts of things. We could say the divine essence is like a stane, or a warrior, or a guardian angel, or whatever.

If we want to say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter rather than something else, we’ve got to identify something that the divine essence has in common only with a lump of matter.

So Ockham says: “Fine. Let’s suppose that we can identify something that the divine essence has in common only with a lump of matter.”

But then, what if the divine essence has something in common only with something else too? For instance, the divine essence has certain things in common only with forms. Forms make things certain kinds of things. A human form makes something human, a bovine form makes something a cow, and so on. Similarly, the divine essence makes the divine persons divine, so it’s like a form in that very sense. And that’s something the divine essence has in common only with forms.

So even if we can say identify something that the divine essence has in common with matter, we can also identify something that the divine essence has in common with forms. So why should we say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter? We have just as much reason to say it is like a form!

As Ockham sees it, Henry is really on a slippery slope. Ockham’s a very literal kind of guy. He doesn’t like this analogy stuff. It doesn’t really do much philosophical work. So Ockham not only rejects the idea that the divine essence is literally a lump of matter, he also rejects the analogy.

Solving the Creation and Subordination Problems

In the last two posts, I described what I call the 'Creation' and 'Subordination' problems. Here, I want to say something about different ways to solve these Problems. Christian scholastics are dealing with two sets of claims. On the one hand, they have a set from Aristotle and Avicenna (from Aristotle: things can only be produced with materials, from Avicenna: things produced without materials are created and inferior to their producers). On the other hand, they have their own Christian set of claims about divine production (namely, T1, T2, and T3 from the last two posts). As I explained in the last two posts, putting these two sets of claims together results in the Creation and Subordination Problems.

To avoid these two Problems, a scholastic thinker like Scotus or Ockham must reject something from either set of claims. As for the Christian claims (T1-T3), scholastics like Scotus and Ockham feel that T1 and T3 are required by Christian doctrine, for T1 is required by the Nicene Creed, and T3 is required to avoid subordinationism. Consequently, they are not going to reject T1 or T3. However, authors like Scotus or Ockham do not think that T2 is required for orthodoxy in the way that T1 and T3 are. Rather, they see T2 as just a very plausible claim.

In principle then, a scholastic thinker could reject T2, and that could be one way to avoid the Creation and Subordination Problems. For instance, if one were to say that the Son is, in fact, produced from some sort of pre-existing material, then the Son would not be created from nothing, and by consequence, the Son would not necessarily be less perfect than his producer (the Father).

But of course, T2 is extremely plausible, so anyone who wants to reject it would have to explain how a divine person --- who is entirely spiritual and therefore without any material components at all --- could be produced from 'pre-existing materials'. And that is certainly no easy task.

Alternatively, someone Scotus or Ockham could reject one of the claims from Aristotle or Avicenna. That too could be a way to avoid the Creation and Subordination Problems. However, Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories are designed to explain production, so if one were to reject a part of these theories, they would have to provide an alternative account, and that too is no easy task.

Divine production and the 'Subordination Problem'

In the Christian tradition, 'subordinationism' is the idea that one divine person is less perfect than another. This is considered a heresy; the divine persons are all supposed to be equal. Thus, one might think that when one divine person produces another, the product must be just as perfect as its producer(s):

(T3) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x and y are equal in perfection.

However, T3 conflicts with Avicenna’s theory of production. Avicenna maintains that whenever a product is produced without any pre-existing materials, it must be different in kind from its producer. Further, many medieval Aristotelians held the even more general claim that whenever a producer and its product are different in kind, the product must be less perfect than its producer.

But supposing all of that is right, then if a divine person were produced without any pre-existing materials (as T2 from the last post says), that person would then be different in kind, and therefore less perfect than its producer.

(1**) For any x and y, if x produces y without any material m, x and y are different in kind.
[From Avicenna.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3**) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Father and Son are different in kind.
[From (1**) and (2).]

(4**) For any x and y, if (i) x produces y, and (ii) x and y are different in kind, then y is less perfect than x.
[From any standard medieval Aristotelianism.]

(5) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Son is less perfect than the Father.
[From (2), (3**), and (4**).]

But of course, that amounts to subordinationism, and it contradicts the Christian scholastic claim that

(6) the Father and Son are equal in perfection.
[From T3.]

Thus, scholastic thinkers like Scotus and Ockham cannot hold all these ideas together, on pain of contradiction. Again then, Avicenna’s theory leaves the Christian schoolmen with a problem, for Avicenna’s theory entails that if the Son and Spirit are produced, they are lesser deities. And that is not acceptable to a Christian scholastic Hence what I call the Subordination Problem: how can the Son and Spirit be produced, but not be lesser deities?

Divine production and the 'Creation Problem'

The Nicene Creed states that when the Father begets the Son, the Father does not create the Son out of nothing. For a Christian scholastic like Scotus or Ockham, this suggests that no divine person is created:

(T1) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x does not create y from nothing.

Now, if the Son and Spirit cannot be produced from nothing, then it might be tempting to think that they must be produced from something. But what could that 'something' be? Surely it cannot be any pre-existing materials. After all, the Son and Spirit are spiritual beings, so how could they be 'made' from anything material? It seems very plausible to think that the Son and Spirit cannot be produced from materials at all. Thus:

(T2) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x cannot produce y with any material M.

However, (T1) and (T2) lead to problems. Consider the following.

Aristotle maintains that nothing can be produced unless it is produced from pre-existing materials. According to (T2) though, a divine person (e.g., the Son) cannot be produced from pre-existing materials. Thus, a divine person (like the Son) cannot be produced at all:

(1) For any x and y, if x produces y, x cannot produce y without any material m.
[From Aristotle.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3) Therefore, the Father cannot produce the Son.
[From (1) and (2).]

Of course, scholastics like Scotus and Ockham want to affirm that

(4) the Father produces the Son,

but that contradicts(3), so one cannot hold all these claims at the same time, on pain of contradiction.

In order to avoid this, one might be tempted to give up Aristotle’s claim in (1), just as Avicenna did. After all, Avicenna was a good Muslim, so he believed in creation: some things can be produced without pre-existing materials.

However, Avicenna also holds that if a product is produced without any pre-existing materials, then it must be created from nothing. And that would entail that if a divine person is produced without pre-existing materials (as T2 says), then that person would be created from nothing.

(1*) For any x and y, if x produces y without any material m, x creates y from nothing.
[From Avicenna.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3*) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Father creates the Son from nothing.
[From (1*) and (2).]

But according to the Nicene Creed, no divine person is created from nothing, so:

(4*) if the Father produces the Son, the Father does not create the Son from nothing.
[From T1.]

But that contradicts (3*), so again we get a contradiction.

On the face of it then, both Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories of production present scholastic authors like Scotus and Ockham with a problem. For Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories entail that either the Son and Spirit cannot be produced at all, or they must be created from nothing, and neither consequence is acceptable for the Christian schoolmen. Hence, what I call the Creation Problem: how can the Son and Spirit be produced, but not created?

Matter

Lots of people know of Aristotle's and Aquinas's theories that matter is the substratum of change, that it is 'pure potentiality', that it cannot exist without form, and so forth. Henry of Ghent, Scotus, and Ockham have a very different view of matter.

Roughly speaking, matter is the basic stuff that all material substances are ultimately composed of. For instance, although animals are composed of organic tissue, tissue is composed of cells, and so forth, at rock bottom there’s a fundamental kind of stuff that all material substances are ultimately made from. This basic stuff is called ‘matter’, and the earth is filled with it.

Matter is not, as we might imagine today, just another name for atoms or quarks or whatever other sort of particle we think is the fundamental building block of material bodies. Matter cannot be broken down into fundamental ‘particles’ or indivisible parts. It’s more like an amorphous kind of stuff that can always be divided into smaller and smaller parts, similar to the way that a line can always be divided into shorter segments.

But matter is ‘amorphous’ in the sense that it does not have any form itself — it is not, that is, itself a composite of matter and form. Rather, matter is a purely receptive sort of material that can be made into different kinds of material substances.

This is not to say that matter is a ‘bare substrate’, as it were, that has no features of its own. On the contrary, matter is real stuff; it has parts (as I’ve already indicated), and it exists in space. Ockham even thinks matter is extended in three dimensions. (Scotus denies that matter is extended, but he still thinks it exists in particular places, perhaps similar to the way that electrons have no dimensions but still exist here or there.)

Further matter has specific features. It is the foundation for relations, and it has the capacity to take on substantial forms. More precisely, there is a discrete power that exists in matter to receive each different kind of substantial form. So there is a power p1 to receive the form of fire, a power p2 to receive the form of water, and so forth for every substantial form that matter can receive. (Matter has no powers to receive accidental forms.)

Nor is matter just ‘pure potentiality’ — i.e., a mere abstraction of the potential in material substances to be transformed into different substances. Henry, Scotus, and Ockham all believe that God could create a lump of matter without any forms, so matter is at least the sort of thing that in principle can exist all by itself.

Aquinas denies all this, I think. He explicitly says that matter cannot exist without form, and even God cannot create matter all by itself, without a form. Matter does not have any features of its own except that it is a 'pure potentiality'. (I don't know if Aquinas thinks matter has parts or exists in places. I wouldn't think so, but I don't know.)

Still, it’s difficult to imagine what a lump of matter is like, even on the views of Henry, Scotus, and Ockham. As I’ve already hinted, the best we can do is imagine an amorphous blob. But even that’s not quite right, and there’s a reason for this. Medieval Aristotelians believe that we can only know things through their forms, so we cannot imagine something that doesn’t have some particular form.

But just because we can’t imagine it does not mean that it’s not there. As our authors see it, matter must exist because we see material substances coming to be and passing away all the time, and given the hypothesis that change requires a recipient, there must be something there that gains and loses the forms that constitute those material substances.

(Besides, say Henry, Scotus, and Ockham, God isn't limited to knowledge by forms, and he has a proper 'idea' of matter -- and that means that matter has a nature; i.e., it has essential properties that define just like every other kind of entity.)

Scotus on the formal term, adequate term, and primary term of generation.

My translation:

Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un. nn. 94-97 [Vat. 4: 60-62].

[94] /60/ Generation in creatures occurs in two ways: by change or by production.
These two have formal definitions which can be separated without contradiction.

[95] Production formally pertains to a product, and it so happens that it comes about with a change of one of the parts of the composite, as is clear in creation. But change formally pertains to the act of the 'changeable', which passes from privation (to act).

But in creatures, change occurs with production, and this on account of the imperfection of the productive power which cannot give total being to the product. Thus, something of the product is presupposed, and that's what's changed by another of its parts. In this way, it produces a composite. Therefore, change and mutation can be separated without contradiction, and they can be really separated by looking to a perfect productive power.

[96] This is apparent in creation, where the perfection of the productive power which is first posited in total being entails that there really is the nature of a production, for the term acquires existence by that production. But there is no change here, for a change is said of some substratum 'now existing in a different way than it did before', from Physics VI [Z.3-4 234b5-7, 10-13], and in creation there is no substratum.

[97] To the proposed claim. Nothing imperfect should be posited in God. Only total perfection should be posited in God, and change is by definition said to be imperfect, for it entails potentiality in being changeable. A change is even said to be imperfect with respect to the active power of the changer, since the active power necessarily requires a co-cause to bring about the product (though not that there is here some imperfection. [So this kind of imperfection is not said of God]. Nor do we apply to God the imperfection associated with /62/ a passive power, nor even some imperfection in the active power. Rather, only the highest perfection [is said of God]. Thus, in no way is there posited here a generation with the character of a change nor quasi-change. In the divinity, there is only a generation that is a production, and this only in the sense that something acquires existence by that production. For this reason, divine generation occurs without matter, and thus only a term is assigned to divine generation, but no matter nor quasi-matter. This term is either the total or primary term, i.e., the adequate term – which, namely, primarily is produced – or the formal term, according to which the first term formally acquires its existence.


Scotus, Ord. 1.5.1.un. n. 28 [Vat. 4: 25-27].

[27] /25/ To the definition of 'to communicate', I say that the product of a production is the primary term, and I say that this 'primary term' /26/ is the adequate term. In this way, the Philosopher says in Metaphysics VII [Z.8 1033b16-18] that a composite [of matter and form] is generated primarily, since that is what primarily has existence by the production, so this is the adequate term [of production].

[28] In a composite [of matter and form], the form is the formal term of generation, but not a term per accidens. This is clear from the Philosopher in Physics II [B.1 193b12-18] where he proves that the form is the nature when he says that 'generation is natural because it is the way into a nature, and since it is the way into a form, then etc.'. Such a thing would not be if the form were only a per accidens term of generation. In the same way, the Philosopher wishes to say that the form and the end coincide in the same thing, which is true of the end – not of the generator, but rather of the generated thing. Therefore, the form is the end of a generation.

[29] Thus, the generator is related in one way to the primary term (which is the product or the generated thing), and in another way to the formal term. In creatures both of these relations are real, since there are two really distinct relations to, and both of these are really dependent on, the producer. But in the proposed claim, the producer has one real relation to the product, since it is a real distinction or real origin, /27/ though it does not have a real relation to the formal term in the product, since there is no real distinction [there], and without a real distinction there is no real relation. Therefore, 'to produce' in the divinity is called a real relation, 'but to communicate is called a relation of origin and quasi [a relation] of reason, concomitant to the real relation'.An example of this is the principle 'from which' [quo]. In creatures, it is really related to the product, just as the [principle] 'what' [quod] (for the same genus of cause pertains to art and to the artist, according to Metaphysics V [D.2 1013b20-33]), but the 'from which' does not have a real relation to the product because it is not distinct (according to [what is said in] distinction 7 [n. 13]). Nor the converse true, [namely, that] the formal term [is really related] to the producer.

[30] Therefore, when it is said that these are opposite relations, namely to communicate and to be communicated, I say that they are relations of reason, for they have opposite definitions, although they are necessarily concomitant with some real opposite relations, namely to produce and to be produced. But nevertheless, they are not formally 'these' and 'those' of the same relatives.