The aim of this chapter is to investigate the unity of artefacts, which means the extent to which their material parts constitute a whole. I will attempt to understand whether artefacts are, in fact, proper wholes, as well as to what extent they might fail to be wholes. For example, take a house, which is made up of bricks and timbers. The problem I will address is how these parts (i.e. the bricks and timbers) constitute a single, unified thing, namely the house. Aristotle denies that artefacts are heaps: they are not merely potential wholes, and they also possess a form that is responsible for their being. At the same time, he does not conceal that the way in which bricks and timbers constitute a house is somewhat loose when compared to the way in which the parts of a body constitute a man. The aim of this chapter is to inquire into the problem of unity of parts and wholes so as to make clear how it is that the bricks and timbers constituting a house exhibit a lesser degree of wholeness than a living organism, while still possessing more unity than a mere heap.
There are several ways in which the unity of an object can be understood. Reference Kosman, Gotthelf and LennoxKosman (1987) and Reference FurthFurth (1988), for example, focus on the unity of matter and form. Let us refer to this reading as the matter/form reading, which was frequently invoked in Chapter 6. Artefacts are unities to a lesser degree than living beings, because the relation between matter and form in them is merely accidental. By contrast, living beings exhibit unity in the most proper sense because the relationship between their matter and their form is an essential one. The human body is essentially related to the form of man, whereas stones, for example, are not essentially the matter of a house, but could also be the matter of a couch. On Kosman’s and Furth’s accounts, particular emphasis is put on the different levels of matter: in properly unified objects, the form of the object has an essential relation to all levels of matter, even the lowest ones. This means that the form of a man is essentially related not only to the body itself, but also to lower levels of matter, such as homoiomerous parts and elements.
Another way of understanding the unity in question is the one I will propose here, which I shall call it the parts/whole reading. This reading does not stand in opposition to the matter/form reading, but rather focuses on the uppermost level of matter. Let us consider once again the example of the house: the parts/whole reading is interested in the unity of the bricks and timbers, without taking into consideration the lower levels of matter, such as the elements. The question, then, is simply how bricks and timbers, taken as parts, can constitute a single and unified item, the whole-house. The PW reading has the advantage of doing justice to things such as scattered objects and heaps lacking unity, that must be distinguished from artefacts, but which the MF reading, with its focus on the lower levels of matter, cannot account for. The main advantage of the PW reading, however, is that it provides an immediate explanation for why artefacts are not substances.
In order for parts to constitute a unity, the minimum requirement (albeit an insufficient one) is that they be continuous. This occurs when the boundaries of parts that are in contact become one and the same. However, fulfilling this minimum requirement is insufficient for wholeness. In order for the parts to constitute not only a continuous item, but also a unified whole, a particular form has to be present. The problem of the unity of parts and whole is thus the key to understanding the proximate reason for the fact that artefacts are not substances. The unity of parts and whole in artefacts is deficient, because to some extent the parts are not unified. Although the house can be regarded both as continuous and as a whole, to some extent its parts are not completely unified, meaning that their identity is not completely swallowed up by the whole. In order to account for this phenomenon, I will argue that an artificial whole is made up of parts that are not potential, but actual. Met. Z 13 establishes a criterion of substantiality according to which no substance is composed out of substances present in it in actuality. This criterion can help us to explain how the issue of unity affects the substantiality of artefacts: if artefacts are not substances, this is because the unity between parts and whole is of a lesser degree, for their parts are present in the whole in actuality, rather than in potentiality.
Through an account of artefacts as wholes made up of parts, Aristotle is also responding to a difficulty faced by Plato. From Plato’s discussion of wholeness in the Parmenides, Aristotle inherits the crucial conclusion that the whole is more than the sum of its parts. However, Plato left the way in which parts are essentially dependent on the whole unexplained – since there might be parts that also have an identity outside of the whole, or parts that are not essentially dependent on the whole they compose. Aristotle takes up this challenge through the case of artefacts. By providing an account of the relationship between parts and whole that is able to accommodate both natural and artificial wholes, Aristotle shows that only the parts of natural wholes are essentially dependent on the whole they compose. By contrast, parts of artificial wholes are in actuality in the sense that they also possess identity outside of the whole they happen to compose and are therefore not essentially dependent on it.
7.1 How to Explain What a Thing Is: The Differentiae in H 2
I shall begin my inquiry with Met. Η 2. In this chapter, Aristotle explains how to search for the cause of the being of a composite. His explanation is based on Democritus’ theory of the three differentiae (shape, position and arrangement).Footnote 1 While Democritus says that there is only one kind of matter and that things differ from each other in virtue of the three differentiae, Aristotle does not hold that there is only one kind of matter,Footnote 2 claiming instead that there is a broader range of differentiae that could cause the being of composites. The list of these differentiae mainly contains examples involving human-dependent objects. As we have already seen,Footnote 3 the possible causes of being are many: blending,Footnote 4 tying, gluing, nailing, position, time, place and affections proper to sensible substances. The item produced from a given portion of matter will derive its being from a range of possible aspects: the composition, the position, the time, the place and the affections of the matter. In some cases, several affections are required, while in other cases, only one is needed.Footnote 5 Although this list is not exhaustive, each of these causes is meant to explain what a given thing is and thus functions as a formal cause.Footnote 6 The cause of being of theFootnote 7 threshold is the position of the wood and stones, and the position of this portion of matter explains what the threshold is, in this way distinguishing it from the lintel. In the case of honey-water, for it to be is for honey and water to be mixed, for a thing such as breakfast, to be is for food to be served in the morning, and so on and so forth.Footnote 8 The inquiry into the causes of being results in the identification of various kinds of differentiae:
A threshold is, in that it lies in this way, and the being means its lying in this way, and there being ice [means] being solidified in this way. Of some things, the being will be defined by all of these, by some [parts] being mixed, some blended, some bound, some solidified, and some require the other differentia, just like hand or foot. The kinds of differentiae then, must be taken (for these differentiae are going to be principles of being); for instance, the things [differing] by the ‘more or less’, or by ‘dense and rare’, and by the others of this sort: for all these are excess and defect. And if something is by way of shape, or by smoothness and roughness, all these are by straight and curved. And for still other things, being will be being-mixed, and not-being the opposite.
The differentiae are more numerous than their Democritean counterparts, but, for the sake of convenience, we can group them in kinds. For instance, differentiae such as ‘more and less’ and ‘dense and rare’ can be grouped under the kind ‘excess and deficiency’. Differentiae such as ‘shape’ or ‘smoothness and roughness’ can be grouped under the kind ‘straight and curved’.Footnote 9 Aristotle also mentions ‘being-mixed’ as a kind of differentia.Footnote 10 The Aristotelian use of Democritus’ theory reveals a general, rough agreement with Democritus.Footnote 11 However, even when grouped together, the differentiae are still more than just shape, position and arrangement. To search for the cause of being of a composite is to search for its substance, namely the differentia of matter.Footnote 12 Aristotle makes his point even clearer by showing what a good definition of these items would be.
It is clear, then, from these [differentiae] that, since the substance is the cause of each thing’s being, it is in these that we must seek what is the cause of the being of each of these things. Now none of these [differentiae] is substance, even when coupled, yet it is what is analogous [to substance] in each case; and as in substances that which is predicated of the matter is the actuality itself, in all other definitions also [it is what] most of all [corresponds to actuality]. For instance, if we had to define a threshold, we should say ‘wood or stone lying like this’, and a house we should define as ‘bricks and timbers lying like this’, (or again, also the final cause would be in some cases), and if ice ‘water frozen or solidified in this way’, and harmony ‘such and such a blending of high and low’; and similarly, in all other cases.
This passage suggests two main points:
i. In order to define what a thing is, we should identify the differentiaFootnote 13 of the matter
a. Threshold: such and such a position (differentia) of wood or stone (matter)
b. House: such and such a composition (differentia) of bricks and timbers (matter)Footnote 14
c. Ice: the being frozen or solidified in such and such a way (differentia) of water (matter)
d. Harmony: such and such a blending (differentia) of high and low (matter)
ii. Aristotle highlights that the differentiae mentioned here are not ousiai, but rather what is analogous to ousia in these items. It seems that in non-substantial beings (such as those listed),Footnote 15 the differentia is an actuality analogous to the actuality of substances.Footnote 16 In H 2, Aristotle is drawing a distinction between actualities, because, as he specifies, he is talking about what, in the definitions provided, resembles actuality the most. So sunduazomenon does not mean ‘even if coupled with matter’ – as Michael of Ephesus suggests – but rather ‘even if coupled’ with the following meaning: the differentiae of the listed items are merely analogous to the differentiae of proper substances. This is also true for items requiring not only one differentia but several differentiae.
However, this second point still needs clarification: why does Aristotle talk about these actualities as merely analogous to the actuality of substances? RossFootnote 17 answers this question by stating that these actualities do not belong to the category of substance. The forms of the first four listed items (blending, tying, gluing, nailing) are in the category of echein, position in the category of keisthai, time pote, place pou, and the affections in the category of poion. Even though I agree with Ross that forms of artefacts are different from and inferior to the forms of living beings, in light of my previous arguments, I want to give an explanation that does not run the risk of downgrading artefacts to mere accidents.Footnote 18 Furthermore, there is nothing that suggests such a position in the passage. More generally, the categorical status of some forms of substances is not clear-cut anywhere in Aristotle, with the result that the categorical approach does not necessarily seem useful. Additionally, even when he applies a categorical approach to forms, Aristotle’s definition of the house in actuality as a shelter for the sake of protection does, in fact, provide a substantial form. Shelter would thus belong to the category of substance. Instead, I intend to answer this question with reference to the topic of the unity of substances.Footnote 19 These actualities fail to produce a proper unified thing, whereas the actualities of substances make these substances unities in the full sense. As suggested in the introduction to the chapter, the unity question can be addressed either with a matter/form reading (MF) or with a parts/whole reading (PW). Let me now present these two readings in more detail.
The MF reading, which is adopted by Reference Kosman, Gotthelf and LennoxKosman (1987) and Reference FurthFurth (1988), emphasises that the relation between matter and form is, in the case of artefacts, accidental. According to Kosman, the case of a dog and the case of a house differ for the following reason: while in the case of the dog, the form determines the matter down to the lower-most division one could conceive (e.g. legs, then going further and deeper, flesh and bones, all the way down to the elements), in the case of the house there is no such a connection. In the case of the house, the form has an essential relation with the individual material parts, for instance the bricks of the house, but the deeper the analysis goes, the less the matter is essentially related to the form. While in the case of a dog, we can coherently talk about the proximate matter of the dog, in the case of artefacts we can talk about proximate matter only in a weaker sense. Hence, the arrangement in virtue of which a certain portion of matter constitutes a given item, such as a house, is merely an accidental attribute of the matter itself. By contrast, the arrangement in virtue of which a certain portion of matter constitutes a living being is an essential attribute of the matter itself. It is essential to the matter of a dog to be the matter of a dog. At all levels (including that of the elements), this matter is essentially the matter for this particular form. Note that here the idea is not so much that the same artefact can be made of different matters (F3 in Chapter 6; as in Met. Z 11, 1036a31ff. and H 4, 1044a29–32), but rather that the matter of an artefact can take on different artificial forms (F1 in Chapter 6). As I have mentioned, the matter/form reading attends to different levels of matter. In fact, Kosman refers to a passage from the MeteorologicaFootnote 20 to clarify that even the elemental parts of an animal’s body exhibit the same mode of instrumental being exhibited by the organs or the body itself, such that at every level the matter is essentially related to the substance. Thus, in a human being, the elements, too, are necessarily the elements of a human being. In non-substantial beings, by contrast, the matter is merely accidentally related to the item resulting from its shaping. This is true even if we consider what can be called, though in these cases improperly, proximate matter. On the basis of these considerations, Kosman draws a distinction between what he calls ‘stuffy matter’, that of artefacts, and ‘powerful matter’, that of a living being (382). The emphasis is on the fact that this ‘powerful matter’ is essentially related to the form at all levels of the being in question: the body itself, its organs and even its elements are all powerful matter.
H 2 can therefore be read in the light of the MF reading as providing cases in which a single energeia is not the only one possible for each matter. Several actualities can be predicated of the same matter and several matters can give rise to the same actuality. However, a shortcoming of the MF reading is that the distinction drawn between actualities in substances and analogous-actualities in artefacts is left unexplained, and there is a concomitant failure to provide an immediate reason for the lower metaphysical status of artefacts. The fact that the matter is only accidentally related to the form does not ipso facto explain why forms of artefacts are actualities merely analogous to the actualities of substances and does not disclose why artefacts do not enjoy the same ontological status of living beings.
In my discussion, I shall proceed with what I call a parts/whole reading. Such a reading does not stand in opposition to Kosman’s reading, but it has a different focus. As I mentioned in the introduction to the chapter, the PW reading focuses only on the very first level of matter, taken as parts. Certainly, the notion of ‘first level of matter’ is somewhat vague. To make things clearer, I shall introduce a second distinction between the two readings: while the matter/form reading can be said to investigate matter chemically, the parts/whole reading investigates the parts mechanically. The first level of matter refers to those first parts into which an object can be mechanically divided. In the case of a human being, the focus will be on the parts of the body, such as hands and legs. In the case of a house, the focus will be restricted to bricks and timbers. Given a line, the focus will be on the divisions of the line.Footnote 21 Our main concern here is to understand how the first mechanically divided parts form a unified whole. The minimum requirement for parts to form a whole, or for bricks and timbers to be a single, unified house, is that they be continuous. An additional, but necessary requirement for bricks and timbers to be a house is for them to possess a form, and in this way, constitute a whole. Let us now examine this conceptual path towards wholeness.
7.2 The Static Picture
H 2 deals with actualities that are causes of being. The notion of actuality and the notion of unity are brought together throughout Book H. For instance, in Η 3, Aristotle says that the way in which a form is one is by being an actuality: ‘And the substance is one in this way, and not, as some say, by being a sort of unit or point; but each [substance] is a complete actuality and a kind of nature’ (Met. H 3, 1044a7–9). Actuality and unity are correlated notions: not only do actualities make a thing what it is, they also make many things into one thing.Footnote 22 The same principle applies to potentiality, which is characterised by plurality.
In both artefacts and substances, the form is an actuality that explains not only what a thing is (i.e. the being of that thing) but also the unity of a thing (i.e. its being a single, unified thing). Indeed, the actualities discussed in H 2 reappear in an important way in Aristotle’s discussions of unity – whether the unity in question is attained by contact, by continuity or by wholeness. This very fact calls for the PW reading.
7.2.1 Unity by Contact
Interestingly, H 6 also emphasises that the causes of being are causes of unity. In H 6, Aristotle articulates the importance of the cause in terms of parts and wholes. Here we get into the PW reading: the unity at stake is explicitly that between parts and whole (holon para ta moria) and not that between matter and form. To be more precise, the focus is on the fact that the whole is something para ta moria, beside the parts. It is important to bear in mind that when Aristotle talks about wholes, he is building on Plato’s conclusion that the whole is not reducible to the sum of its parts.Footnote 23
In the case of all things which have several parts and in which the totality is not like a heap, but the whole is something besides the parts, there is some cause; since also in bodies the cause of unity is in some cases contact, in others viscosity or some other such affection.
It is also insofar as the form of a substance is the cause of unity that the actualities of artefacts can be said to be similar to the actualities of substances – as we read in the H 2 passage concerning how to explain what a thing is (Section 7.1). A given actuality both makes the matter into a particular thing and makes it one unified thing. At this stage, it seems that the positive side of the analogy is quite clear. By ‘positive side’, I mean the extent to which the actualities of these items are analogous to the actualities of substances, and not yet the extent to which they are merely analogous. H 6 seems to employ a quite broad notion of unity: both simple bodies and compound bodies are said to be one, and contact is enough here to confer some sort of unity. Hence, the passage from H 6 seems to state that the possible causes of unity of a thing are several, and that this thing is taken to be some whole made up of parts, but not reducible to them.
The passage from H 6 provides us with valuable pieces of information. First, the presence of a cause (i.e. form or actuality) distinguishes wholes from heaps. Second, contact yields some kind of unity in certain cases. In which cases does contact not yield some kind of unity? Presumably, Aristotle means in the case of heaps, as we have seen. Indeed, a heap (sôros) comes about ‘when the parts are separated but in contact, like a heap’ (Phys. 4.5, 212b6). For instance, a collection of sheets piled on top of each other involves contact, but the contact in question does not yield unity, because each sheet is separate from the others and thus together they constitute a mere heap. When does the contact yield some kind of unity? Contact (haphê) occurs when the extremities of two things are contiguous (Phys. 5.3, 226b23). In this sense, contact is an initial way of being one, but it does not seem enough to confer unity, since it still implies a plurality of things.Footnote 24 However, in the Physics, Aristotle associates contact with succession – in the case of contiguity – as well as with togetherness – in the case of continuity. Since our focus is on bodies (en tois sômasi), namely spatially extended objects, let us enquire further into the notion of continuity, in order to establish its relation to unity.
7.2.2 Unity by Continuity
Several material parts are made a single thing by a form. The form that makes a given thing the thing that it is (e.g. a house) also explains why several things are a single house. It is no surprise that some of the differentiae of Η 2 are found in the discussion of the several ways in which something is said to be one in Met. Δ 6.Footnote 25 Confirming the advantages of a reading that focuses on unity rather than adopting a general categorical approach, these differentiae appear here as causes of continuity and, hence, of unity:
Of things that are called one per se some are so called because they are continuous, for instance a bundle by tying, and pieces of wood by gluing; and a line, even if it is bent, is called one if continuous, just like each of the [body] parts, like a leg and an arm. Of these, those that are continuous by nature are more one than those that are continuous by art.
Δ 6 inquires into the notion of oneness, and the several ways in which ‘one’ is said. Aristotle distinguishes the one by accident and the one per se.Footnote 26 The first way of being one per se is by being continuous. Those things that are continuous by nature constitute more of a unity than those things that are continuous by art. As I have mentioned, some of the actualities and causes of being of H 2, such as the bundle (desmôi) and the glue (kollêi), are here causes of the unity of a particular item. While in H 2, the glue is that through which a certain portion of matter is a book, in Δ 6 the glue is that through which several pieces of wood constitute a unity. Moreover, in the list of Δ 6, the examples provided involve only things that are not genuine substances: artefacts, geometrical entitiesFootnote 27 and parts of animals.Footnote 28 Each item constitutes a unity by being continuous.
In a properly continuous item, the boundaries of the different parts become one and the same.Footnote 29 Continuity is a way of being one: the parts hang together in such a way as to be connected, with no internal boundaries. If the sheets that, in the previous section, were merely in contact are now glued together, they come to constitute a single, continuous item. Instead of each sheet having its own boundary, the glue itself, through the imposition of continuity, becomes a single, common boundary for all of the sheets. Hence, to be continuous is to be one. However, continuity can be ascribed to many different kinds of entities that are not unities to the same degree (e.g. aggregates of parts that only touch each other, geometrical entities,Footnote 30 simple bodiesFootnote 31 and homoiomerous and anhomoiomerous parts of substances).Footnote 32 Thus, mere continuity does not suffice for full unity.
7.2.3 Unity by Wholeness
We have spoken of continuity as a minimum requirement for something to be one. However, continuity is not sufficient for full unity. In order for the parts to form a stronger unity, they must be continuous and possess a form. It is the presence of a form that distinguishes what is merely continuous from a unified whole. This claim is perfectly in line with a further passage of Δ 6, in which Aristotle introduces a difference between continuity and wholeness:
While in a sense we call anything one if it is a quantity and continuous, in a sense we do not unless it is some whole, i.e. unless it has the form as one. For instance, if we saw the parts of a shoe put together [in any which way] we should not call them one nevertheless (unless because of their continuity); but we do this only if they are [put together] so as to be a shoe and to have already a certain single form.
Aristotle seems to be saying that the parts of a shoe assembled any which way are one only by continuity, whereas if they had the shape/form of a shoe, we would attribute unity to them in a stronger sense.Footnote 33 Let us consider the previous example of a collection of sheets. Contact is the first and simplest way in which something can be considered one (i.e. sheets piled on top of each other can be regarded as a single stack of papers). Continuity is then imposed when these sheets are glued together in such a way as to merge their individual boundaries into a single, common boundary. However, one could glue the sheets together in such a way as to make them unreadable: if we glue the pages together, their boundaries might become one, but the resulting object might nonetheless fail to constitute a proper whole – no book would come into being.Footnote 34 The main difference between a stack of papers, even one that is glued together, and a book (i.e. a readable object) is the presence of a particular form that makes the parts one in a particular way (not in any which way) and what is merely continuous into a proper whole. Whether we are speaking about natural or artificial beings, the main point is that, in order to constitute a whole, the parts must be organised by the relevant form and not simply brought together in any which way.Footnote 35 That said, we ought to keep in mind that, in this respect, there is no contrast between artefacts and substances. Let us, therefore, turn to the question of the difference between artificial and natural wholes.
The difference between natural and artificial objects is drawn in the passage we have examined from Δ 6. Aristotle affirms that a continuous thing is one to a higher degree if it is continuous by nature and not by technê. In the case of continuity brought about by technê, we find two differentiae that we have already encountered: tying (desmôi) and gluing (kollêi). Tying and gluing are causes of continuity and of oneness, therefore it is possible to say that these actualities make something continuous, and hence one, even though the unity by continuity in natural beings is greater than the unity by continuity in artefacts.
The relation between the causal account found in H 2 and the notions of continuity and unity found in Δ 6 is also introduced in Phys. 5.3, the chapter providing the definition of continuity to which I have appealed:
And in whatever way that which holds together becomes one, so too will the whole be one, for instance, by a bolt or glue or contact, or by organic adhesion
That through which the continuous is one is the same as that through which the whole is one. Some of the causes of continuity and of wholeness mentioned are not new to the reader, namely gomphôi (nailing)Footnote 36 and kollêi (gluing). Aristotle seems to be saying that if a certain item is made continuous by glue, it is for the same reason that the item is also a whole. The mention of contact is perhaps more surprising, since Aristotle claims that, in a way, the parts of the shoes do not constitute a whole if they are just touching each other. However, two remarks must be made on this point. First, in Δ 6, he talks about parts of shoes that are assembled ‘in any which way’. The point seems to be that contact among the parts of the shoe can account for some unity, but not if the contact is random. Secondly, Aristotle frequently describes contact itself as a way of being one, and not only in the passage quoted.Footnote 37 After all, contact is a prerequisite for continuity, and continuity is a prerequisite for wholeness. That through which a continuous item is one is the same as that through which a whole is said to be one. Given a certain whole, the cause of its being one is the cause of its being continuous and, therefore, of its being a whole.Footnote 38 Let us now enquire into the notion of wholeness in more detail and attempt to identify the difference between natural and artificial beings as wholes.
7.3 Unity and the Substantiality of Artefacts
7.3.1 Having a Form, but with Parts in Actuality
In Met. Δ 6, in particular, continuity is presented as a way of being one, and it is stated that wholeness requires something more (i.e. a form). Met. Δ 26 enquires into the several different ways in which something is said to be a whole. The first way is quite general and is not pursued any farther: ‘that from which is absent none of the parts of which it is said to be naturally a whole’ (1023b26–7). The following two meanings of whole are included in the general meaning of whole as ‘that which contains the things contained such that they form a unity’ (1023b27–8). After the discussion of the whole as universal, Aristotle draws our attention to the whole as something continuous that is limited and constituted of several parts. As opposed to the whole as a universal, wholes as limited continuous items exclude the independence of their parts. Aristotle says that artefacts are wholes to a lesser extent than things that are continuous and limited by nature. This conclusion could have been reached already in Δ 6, but it is only in Δ 26 that Aristotle adds an important caveat about unity:
The continuous and limited [is a whole], when it is a unity consisting of several parts, especially if they are present potentially, but, if not [potentially], [if they are present] actually. Of these things, those which are so by nature [are wholes] to a higher degree [=more] than those which are so by art, as we said in the case of unity also, wholeness being in fact a sort of oneness.
In this passage, two distinctions are made: first, a distinction between (1a) unity consisting of merely potential parts (this case is said to be malista whole) and (1b) unity consisting of actual parts; second, a distinction between (2a) unity by nature (mallon wholes) and (2b) unity by art.
Some attempts have been made to understand these two distinctions and whether and how they correspond with one another. Reference KirwanKirwan (1993, 175–6) suggests that potential constituents are parts that could have been but, in fact, have not been separated: an island that has never been separated by a waterway is more of a whole than an island that used to be divided in two by the sea. Artefacts are wholes to a lesser degree than natural objects because they have parts that have been separated, whereas natural beings have parts that have never been separated. On his reading, the unity of potential parts coincides with unity by nature. Along these lines, I would suggest that (1a) coincides with (2a) and that (1b) coincides with (2b). There are several reasons for this. First of all, it seems to be the most natural reading: Aristotle is conferring a greater degree of wholeness on (1a), a continuous item consisting of potential parts, and on (2a), what is continuous by nature. He would contradict himself if the continuous item consisting of potential parts, which is the most continuous of all, corresponded with that which is less continuous in the following sentence. Second, there is a more philosophical reason for this: if the parts are potential, they will strongly depend on the whole, so that the whole itself will be unified.
Δ 26 is not the only piece of evidence that natural beings have their parts in potentiality. Met. Z 16 presents Aristotle’s considered account of substance, in which some of the agreed-upon substances listed in Z 2 are ultimately excluded from the domain of substance. At the beginning of the chapter (Met. Z 16, 1040b5–14), Aristotle states that parts of animals and elements – once thought to be substances – are not substances after all. While elements are just matter and fail to constitute a unity, parts of animals are comparable to heaps in that they are potential.Footnote 39 Hence, a natural substance, such as an animal, is made up of potential parts.Footnote 40 By contrast, we can think of an artefact as a whole that is unified to a lesser degree because its parts are actual parts, meaning that they have their identity independently of the whole. But what does it mean for the parts of a living being to be potential parts? That is to say, to have their identity be dependent upon the whole?
On the MF reading, the dependency of the parts of a living being on the animal or plant is explained by saying that, for instance, an eye separated from the whole human being is no longer an eye. Aristotle seems to think of a separated eye as mere matter (1040b8), which is called ‘eye’ only equivocally.Footnote 41 This is the so-called homonymy thesis. An eye is such when it is not separated from the whole, because only within the whole can the part perform its function. What differentiates genuine substances from artefacts is, thus, the fact that, in the case of artefactual parts, once they are separated, they seem to be suitable either to be a part of something else or to exist independently from any whole. Why is this? It is because when the wooden beam is removed from its position, it clearly ceases to be a threshold, but it does not cease to be a wooden beam.Footnote 42 The contrast to which this reading refers is that between the eye and the mere ‘eye’, which is certainly a genuine Aristotelian concern. However, the MF reading has some disadvantages that I believe the PW reading can avoid. The way in which the MF reading addresses the question of the potentiality of the parts is by turning it into the question of whether a separated part is still the very same thing as it was before the separation. However, this question is limited to organic parts, namely to parts insofar as they have a distinct function, in line with the conception of the organikon-body from De Anima. Such a functionalist account of parts is, however, questionable, especially if the focus is on the difference between substances and artefacts rather than on their similarity. First of all, one could think about functional parts also in the case of a house: for instance, a window seems to be more of a functional part than a brick. Moreover, the account of the elements as functional parts can be defended only with a gesture to the quotation from the Meteorology. Furthermore, there are parts that are not functional and with which, therefore, this reading cannot deal – it cannot account for potential parts that are not functional. Kosman’s account applies only to functional parts, because this is the main difference between artificial and natural beings. Only the latter have essentially functional parts. Crucially, this approach cannot account for mechanically divided parts, such as half of a line, which Aristotle does mention. Not only that, but in both the natural and the artificial realms there are non-functional parts and, significantly, these parts are mechanically divided.
The PW reading does not encounter the same problems. Let us consider the example of a line. A single line can be said to be constituted of two potential lines. The two potential lines are not functional parts, but merely potential parts. In this case, the question of the potentiality of the parts would not give rise to the question ‘what is one of the two lines after I have separated it from the whole-line?’, but rather ‘what is the whole-line as long as I do not separate a part-line from it?’. The PW reading works with a broader notion of ‘part’, which includes functional, as well as non-functional parts. It is able to deal both with an eye and a line, because both are treated as mere potential parts. When I mechanically separate a half-line from the whole-line, what I get is an actual separate thing. A genuine substance is made up of parts which are not distinguished. Actual parts are those parts whose being is independent of the whole. The most straightforward example might be that of an orchestra: the orchestra seems to be composed of actual parts (i.e. the musicians), and each of them has their being independently of being part of an orchestra. The question is not whether the musicians are still musicians once they have been separated from the orchestra, but rather whether they are musicians independently of being parts of an orchestra.Footnote 43 It does not matter what happens after the separation, but rather how much unity the whole orchestra embodies.Footnote 44 Suppose we were to rank Aristotelian wholes, from the most proper whole to the least proper whole: in first place, there would be natural substances, followed by artefacts, then items like orchestras, and then, finally, heaps. This ranking would illustrate a gradation in the degree of ontological independency of the parts from their corresponding wholes, thereby suggesting a scalar view of unity. The parts of artefacts are ontologically independent insofar as they are actual parts.Footnote 45
The advantages of the PW reading should now be clearer: scattered objects, such as breakfast, have a weaker claim to unity than artefacts, such as a house, since their parts are in actuality and do not even touch one another (no contact, therefore no continuity and hence no wholeness).Footnote 46 An orchestra or a breakfast are one through being together-in-one-place. Furthermore, it is of particular importance that the PW is able to situate artefacts in Aristotle’s ontology:
Artefacts are like living beings in that they possess a form (i.e. they are hylomorphic wholes) but they differ from them in that they have parts in actuality.Footnote 47
Artefacts are like heaps in that they possess parts in actuality, although they differ from them in that they possess a form (i.e. they are hylomorphic wholes).
Now, if the artificial form is applied to a plurality of self-contained items that have their own nature independently of the artisan’s work, I can see a risk of slipping into an identification of artefacts with heaps. After all, if an artefact is constituted by a form co-existing with the several forms of its material parts, it seems that the object in question is, on balance, a heap. However, the form inherent in the object, although unable to swallow up the forms of the parts, is still importantly able to structure them, in such a way as to establish an order in which the inherent form has primacy. It is true that the form that plays the efficient causal role comparable with the soul in a living being is the form in the mind of the artisan, which Aristotle calls technê and which is ultimately external. However, the relation between technê (=form1) and the differentiae (=form2), such as gluing and tying, is that the former is an efficient cause, while the latter are structuring principles – albeit operated by art. Therefore, I do not endorse the view that the artificial case is like the syllable in Met. Z 17. There, the syllable is taken as exemplifying the theory according to which the form is an element alongside the material elements. The goal of the chapter is to deny the theory of juxtaposition of the form to the material constituents. In the case of artefacts, the form is not an element alongside the material elements. Rather, the form is a structuring principle that arranges the material elements in a certain order so as to fulfil a specific function. It explains both an artefact’s being and its being one. The problem with this form is not that it is added to the material elements as if it were one of them, but that is only a structuring principle and not also an efficient principle. The inherent form of artefacts is inherent to the object (thus the object is a hylomorphic compound) but external to the material parts of the object. Thus, the extent to which artefacts fail to be proper wholes reflects the extent to which their structuring principle is not internal to the parts, as well as the extent to which the parts remain in actuality. In the next section, I will illustrate the consequences of this state of affairs on the open problem of the substantiality of artefacts.
7.3.2 Failing Met. Z 13’s Substantiality Criterion
Not only the general disadvantages of the MF approach but also its particular failure to explain the transition from the unity of matter and form to the problem of substantiality is avoided on my account. In fact, it is not clear how the unity between matter and form stands in contradiction with any of the stated traits of substances. Nor is it obvious that living beings are substances because their matter and form are unified. By contrast, there is a clear connection between the unity of parts and whole and the non-substantiality of artefacts. The kind of unity between parts and whole exhibited by artefacts stands in contradiction with a clearly stated criterion of substantiality, i.e. that no substance can be composed out of substances existing in it in actuality. It seems that not just any way of being one is sufficient to confer substantiality. For a whole to constitute a substance, the identity of its parts must be swallowed up by the whole itself. All of the parts must yield their ontological status to the whole. This claim is made in Met. Z 13:
It is impossible for a substance to consist of substances that are present in it in actuality; for things that are thus in actuality two are never in actuality one, although if they are in potentiality two, they can be one (for instance, the double line consists of two halves in potentiality; for the actuality [of the halves] divides [them from one another]). Therefore, if the substance is one, it will not consist of substances present in it in this way, which Democritus rightly says; indeed, he says that it is impossible that one thing is made out of two or two out of one.
The constituents of a proper substance are not present in it in actuality. The unity of substances is not accompanied by a plurality of actual parts. If the parts are in actuality, the whole is not a unity in the full sense and therefore not a substance at all. Aristotle mentions once again the example of the line: a line can be divided into two parts, but as long as these parts are not separated, the line is a single, unified object, constituted of merely potential parts. As soon as the line is divided into two parts, it is decomposed into two actual lines. For the line to be one, its two halves must be potential parts.
We might infer from Z 13 that an artefact fails to be a substance because it does not satisfy one of the criteria of substantiality, namely not being composed of substances in actuality. If the parts of artefacts are not completely swallowed up by the whole and they are not merely potential, artefacts fail to be substances. A scalar view of unity is consistent with a binary view of substantiality. Aristotle assigns composite substances more and less unity, but also provides a criterion of substantiality that makes it such that compounds of this type either are substances or are not substances at all. In composite things in the sublunary world, it is only the higher kind of unity that confers substantiality. As the case of artefacts shows, the form explains why many things come to constitute a single, unified thing, but unity is not sufficient for substantiality, if the condition of having no actual parts is not met.
Against this conclusion, one might point at the immediate context, which is Aristotle’s argument that no universal is a substance. In the attempt to prove that no universal is a substance, he denies that substances have substances in actuality as their constituents. Since universals have substances as their constituents, universals are not substances. In response, I will argue, first, that this does not mean that Aristotle himself does not endorse this thesis. He might still endorse the view that substances are not composed out of substances present in them in actuality. Second, I detect a trace of this view in Z 16.Footnote 48 At the end the chapter, Aristotle repeats that no substance is composed out of substances (1041a4–5: out’estin ousia oudemia ex ousiôn). After excluding elements from the realm of substances because they are just matter and hence comparable to heaps, Z 16 argues that proper and full actuality can be found only at the level of the whole. Although Aristotle does not explicitly take a position on the substantiality of artefacts, he does say once again that parts ought to be potential. It is noteworthy that he explicitly talks about parts that constitute a unity and a continuous item by nature as opposed to by force:
But nevertheless, all [parts] will be [only] potentially, when they are one and continuous by nature (and not by force or by organic unity);Footnote 49 for that sort of thing is a deformity.
Not just any way of being one confers substantiality. And, in fact, it turns out that the way in which artefacts are one does not make them substances. Since artificial parts are not potential parts, but actual parts, the way in which artefacts are one is inferior. Art does not produce unity in such a way as to confer substantiality.Footnote 50 Since artefacts are less of a unity (scalar view), they are not substances at all (binary view).
Before moving from this static perspective to a dynamic one, I would like to address an important objection,Footnote 51 to the effect that it is not obvious that artefactual parts are themselves substances. The objection is based on a reluctance to identify the prior existence of artefactual parts with their substantiality. Although I am sympathetic to the idea that the prior existence of bricks and stones does not make them substances in the same way as living beings are substances, I would emphasise the fact that bricks and stones are actual as wholes composed of matter and form over the fact that they are substances. If the context does indeed have some significance, one ought to consider that Aristotle speaks of constituents that are substances in actuality when his target is Platonic universals, but of constituents present in the whole in actuality when he addresses the notion of wholeness and its corresponding unity. I do not mean by this that Met. Z 13 is providing a criterion of wholeness instead of substantiality. I merely intend to claim that the identification of the parts as substances is a result of tailoring the argument to oppose the Platonic notion of universal but does not necessarily apply Aristotle’s considered view of substantiality to these parts. This is further proved by the fact that in a chapter like Z 16, where Aristotle’s considered view of substantiality is finally applied to a range of substances, the constituents are no longer called ‘substances’, but merely ‘parts’. This objection also brings us back to the case of mixtures, discussed in Chapter 3 (Section 3.4.2). There, we saw that mixtures and homogenous bodies do not fall within the scope of our study, because they qualify as natural beings in virtue of possessing an inner principle governing their behaviour. Parts of artefacts such as bronze or stones are indeed homoiomerous bodies and, as such, natural beings. Because, as we have seen, the classes of natural beings and substances do not overlap completely, we need not argue that parts of artefacts like stones and bronze are not substances. However, given that we are now taking them as wholes composed of matter and form, we should at least suggest a way in which stones and bronze are hylomorphic compounds. Aristotle appears to introduce forms of homogenous bodies at several places in Meteor.Footnote 52 He states that besides matter, homogenous bodies present two other factors, the agent and the affection (Meteor. 382a27–9). While the agent is identified with the efficient cause, hot and cold (Meteor. 388a20–6), the affection plays the role of the form (hôs eidos). Forms of homogenous bodies can be identified with their passive capacities, such as tension, ductility, fragmentability, hardness and softness (390b6–9).Footnote 53 This does not mean, however, that they are substances, just as elements and parts of animals are not substances either. The criterion of substantiality that is not met here is the unity requirement, according to Z 16. This is not the place for a full-fledged account of homoiomerous bodies, but one possible suggestion is the following. Mixtures and homoiomerous bodies might even have forms, which are pathê, but the form in their case brings with it a different kind of unity and complexity, but not greater unity and complexity. This would allow us to say that they do exist as something, that they are wholes in a sense, but they do not possess a form that introduces a new ontological level to the world and a degree of unity warranting substantiality.Footnote 54
7.3.3 Hylomorphism and Substantiality Diverge
Chapter 4 advanced three arguments in defense of the hylomorphism of artefacts. While this might have seemed like a promising path towards the defense of their substantiality as well, we have now learned that artefacts do not attain the level of substances, because their parts are in actuality. Far from contradicting their hylomorphism, the conclusion that artefacts are not substances shows that there are two different questions on the table. The two questions to be distinguished are: (i) whether something is a substance and (ii) whether something is a hylomorphic compound. Undergoing unqualified coming-to-be implies only the second (i.e. being a hylomorphic compound) but further conditions must be met for something to be a substance. In other words, even if something undergoes unqualified coming-to-be, this does not mean that it is a substance.
The concept of substance and the concept of hylomorphic compound come to diverge in the case of artefacts. In my interpretation, Aristotle holds the binary view that artefacts are not substances at all, even though they are hylomorphic compounds since they undergo unqualified coming-to-be. Chapter 4 (Section 4.4) showed that possessing a hylomorphic structure does not equal substantiality. In the same way, we now come to see that non-substantiality does not equal a lack of a hylomorphic structure. Substantiality requires a certain degree of unity that only a natural form such as the soul can guarantee, but hylomorphism does not require a form of the kind of a soul to be warranted. Or again, substantiality cannot co-exist with the actuality of the parts, but hylomorphism can. Artefacts have parts in actuality and therefore are not substances at all, but they possess a form and therefore are hylomorphic compounds in the fullest sense.
Hylomorphism and substantiality diverge not only in the case of artefacts.Footnote 55 Aristotle envisions both hylomorphic compounds that are not substances and substances that are not hylomorphic compounds. As for the first case, mathematical objects are compounds of matter and form, yet they are not substances. Certainly, the status of matter in mathematical objects is special and complicated,Footnote 56 but we may still speak of compounds of intelligible matter and form. We have also seen ways of ascribing a hylomorphic structure to homoiomerous bodies that then fail to be substances.Footnote 57 As for the second case, unmoved movers are clearly substances, but do not possess a hylomorphic structure. Indeed, the axiologically better substances are exclusively form or pure activity, thus lacking matter altogether. From this perspective, animals and plants are substances despite their hylomorphic structure, and they attain that status because their matter is ensouled.
Significantly, whenever Aristotle raises doubts about the substantiality of artefacts, he does not hint at their supposed lack of form or their failure to embody a hylomorphic structure. When in Z 17 Aristotle states that those things that are substances are constituted in accordance with and by nature (1041b28–32), he is raising the issue precisely because the context shows that artefacts have forms. There he is opposing the composition view according to which the form is just an element alongside the matter by taking the example of the syllable ba. We have seen that the differentiae of Met. H 2 are said not to be substances, because they are only analogous to the actualities of substances. Far from meaning that all such differentiae are not forms, the passage suggests, on my reading, that some of these differentiae are not substantial forms and that those that are indeed forms are not efficient causes. In H 3, 1043b14–23, Aristotle raises the doubt that ‘maybe’ only things put together by nature are substances. This is not the conclusion of an argument, but rather the doubt is raised after it is stated that forms of artefacts are not separate in the Platonic sense. Yet, there is no denying the existence of forms of artefacts as such; if anything, to state that they are not separate seems to imply that there is something like forms of artefacts. Even when Aristotle affirms that living beings most of all are substances (Z 7, 1032a18–19 and Z 8, 1034a3–4), he is addressing the Platonic separation of forms and in no way implying that artefacts have no forms whatsoever. On the contrary, the case of artefacts shows that there is no need to posit separate forms, because there is a form down here.
The three catalogues of agreed substances offered by Aristotle in the Met. can be updated in light of our results. Δ 8 mentions elements, simple bodies, animals, divine beings and their parts; Z 2 lists bodies such as animals, plants, their parts, elements, bodies constituted by the elements and heavenly bodies; H 1 indicates natural substances such as the elements, plants and their parts, animals and their parts, and the heavens with their parts. While mathematical objects are excluded from the ranks of both agreed-upon substancesFootnote 58 and Aristotelian substances, things such as elements and parts of natural beings are at first counted as agreed substances, but ultimately fail to be Aristotelian substances. As much as being natural does not equal being a substance, displaying a hylomorphic structure does not equal being a substance either.
7.3.4 Unqualified Coming-to-Be Reconsidered: Production and Destruction
Before moving on to showing the consequences of the PW reading on the question of artefacts’ substantiality, I would like to clarify why the result that artefacts have their parts in actuality does not contradict the claim of Chapter 4 that they undergo unqualified coming-to-be. Indeed, if the material constituents retain their own nature, it seems that they do not undergo unqualified coming-to-be after all, as they acquire form as an accident. This need not be the case, however. The form of a box is extrinsic to the matter out of which it is made, so that the material constituents retain their own character or essence even as they are made into an artefact. In my interpretation, this means that there is unqualified coming-to-be insofar as a box comes into existence (there is a new form and hence a new object), while the matter can be specified independently, insofar as the form is related per accidens to the matter which retains its nature. The form of an artefact is accidentally related to the matter, but still counts as a substantial form because a new object comes-to-be, as opposed to an accidental modification of an already-existing object. One might reply that a form accidentally related to the matter is indeed an accident, and it is therefore a qualified coming-to-be that is happening. However, this form restructures the matter in such a way that a new entity comes-to-be (i.e it makes a plurality into one). It is a substantial form insofar as it is the form of a new object, yet accidentally related to its matter (rather than to the object). For this reason, qualified and unqualified coming-to-be are not exhaustive, as there is also unqualified production (poiêsis). Now, unqualified production is like unqualified generation in that a new object comes into existence, but, unlike generation, it is similar to qualified coming-to-be in that it satisfies the persistence condition, for artificial parts retain their nature. Certainly, Aristotle does not explicitly defend such an ambiguous account of artificial coming-to-be. It is therefore necessary to develop this point in more detail. I will do so by unpacking the following interpretation.
Among the building blocks established in the Phys. one does not find the view that parts of a substance exist potentially, whereas the parts of an artefact exist actually. The Phys. distinguishes only between (i) unqualified generation and (ii) accidental modification or qualified coming-to-be. Phys. 1.7, 190b5-10, in particular, suggests that artefacts fall under (i), unqualified generation, which is the generation of a hylomorphic compound (Chapter 4). However, the Metaphysics shows that (i) is divided into two classes: (i*) artefacts and (ii**) substances. The distinguishing mark is the actuality of the parts, and projecting this backward, we can conclude that in some cases of unqualified generation the parts become potential, while in others they remain actual. The interpretation of unqualified production between the generation of a substance and accidental alteration turns out, after all, to be the counterpart of my claim that artefacts are hylomorphic compounds (Chapter 4), but not substances (Chapter 7, Section 7.3). The reason why artefacts are hylomorphic compounds is that they possess a substantial form, while the reason why artefacts are not substances is that their parts are in actuality. Now, the same considerations apply to the problem of unqualified coming-to-be. Unqualified production is an unqualified coming-to-be because the matter acquires a substantial form (as opposed to a mere accident), while it differs from the generation of a substance because the matter persists (i.e. remains in actuality).
Aristotle thus envisages unqualified production as a kind of unqualified coming-to-be that is different from the generation of natural substances. Arguing at length for the difference between them was undoubtedly not his primary goal, and may even have represented a risk. While Aristotle’s concern with artefacts is often a way to avoid the shortcomings of Plato’s theories, insisting on the difference between production and generation would have risked jeopardising points such as the synonymy principle. An attentive reconstruction of Aristotle’s account of artefacts does, however, show that notions such as that of unqualified coming-to-be are more complex than meets the eye. There is indeed evidence that Aristotle at least flirts with the idea that unqualified production is importantly different from the generation of natural substances while still counting as unqualified coming-to-be. Evidence for this can be found in early works, such as the Cat., as well as in the mature PN.
Chapter 8 of the Cat. is devoted to the notion of quality and divides quality into four kinds: habits and dispositions, capacities, affective qualities and affections, shape and figure and qualities like these. Concerning the last kind, Aristotle advances the view that some prima facie qualities should indeed be excluded from this class. Each thing is qualified in virtue of having a certain shape, for instance, quadrangular or crooked. But although we might say that each thing is qualified in virtue of being rare and dense, or rough and smooth, this is an improper way of speaking. Rare (to manon) and dense (to puknon), like rough (to trachu) and smooth (to leion), are not qualities; that is, they are not connotations in virtue of which each thing is qualified (10a16–24). Such connotations are not qualities because they denote a particular position (thesis) of the parts. More specifically, if the parts are close together, the thing is called dense; if the parts are separated from one another, we call the thing rare. Similarly, if a thing’s parts project out, we call it rough, while if its parts lie on a straight line, we call it smooth.
This is about all we can glean from the Categories. The ancient commentators wondered what such quasi-qualities would otherwise be if not qualities.Footnote 59 Some include them in the category of position, others among the relatives. Perhaps when Aristotle hints at the possibility that there may be another kind of quality, he is referring to qualities that importantly have to do with the constitution of an object and the disposition of its parts. Or again, perhaps with roughness and smoothness, density and rareness, he finally has a concrete example of a differentia, a concept mentioned early on in connection with species and genus, but never really clarified. However that may be, he separates certain connotations from the category of qualities in virtue of their having to do with the position of the parts. While the Cat. is silent on the question of what these connotations might otherwise be, we have already encountered them when presenting the differentiae in H 2, 1042b26–a4. Aristotle lists dense and rare, as well as smooth and rough, among the possible causes of beings. There, he subsumes dense and rare into the kind of excess and defect, and rough and smooth into the kind of straight and curve. In this context too, such connotations are not that in virtue of which something is qualified; rather, they constitute that in virtue of which something is. A few lines earlier, Aristotle includes density and rarity among the ‘affections proper to perceptible things’ in virtue of which some things are defined and marked off (1042b15–26). We need not think that density, rarity, roughness and smoothness are not qualities because they are always differentiae or that they are the only qualities that turn out to be differentiae. However, we have some grounds for the humbler claim that they do not fit into the category of quality because the position of the parts might at times dictate what a thing is, rather than how a thing is. A change in smoothness or density can therefore bring about an unqualified coming-to-be, rather than mere qualified coming-to-be. This is in line with our interpretation of Phys. 1.7, in particular the case of ‘things which change in respect of their matter’. There, we saw that these things come-to-be unqualifiedly through an alteration. Certainly, the change of water into air is the relevant example of a coming-to-be obtained through alteration, but this need not be the whole story. Some things that come-to-be unqualifiedly do so by alteration, like things which change with respect to their matter as parts. The exclusion of certain connotations from the category of quality can thus be understood with reference to their possible function as differentiae, in the sense of substantial forms as opposed to mere properties.Footnote 60 The consequence for the topic of unqualified coming-to-be is the following: there are cases (i.e. the case of things that change with respect of their matter as parts) in which an alteration of the matter as parts (i.e. change in the position of parts) cannot be understood as mere qualified coming-to-be, but must be understood as unqualified coming-to-be and thus the coming-to-be of a new substance. Certainly, this is not the only way in which artefacts come-to-be, as Phys. 1.7 and Met. H make clear in their lists. Some artefacts typically come-to-be in other ways, like by composition, in the case of a house. Moreover, not only artefacts come-to-be through an alteration, for we have seen that reciprocal elemental change is a case of coming-to-be unqualifiedly and involves an alteration in the matter – sometimes also in terms of density and rarity. However, elements are simple bodies, such that we cannot speak of the position of parts. The space, however small, for production as a kind of unqualified coming-to-be different from natural generation is the following: some things (i.e. some artefacts) come-to-be unqualifiedly, and thus undergo unqualified coming-to-be, through a change in the position of their parts.Footnote 61 This cannot happen in the natural context, not even at the elemental level, as there are no parts involved. Such an interpretation of roughness and smoothness and alike as entailing a plurality of parts and allowing a coming-to-be takes us back to the notion of unqualified coming-to-be as making a plurality into one. The actuality-inducing changes discussed with Phys. 1.7 can all be understood as turning a plurality of beings into one new single being. In this framework, we can also appreciate how change of shape can be counted as a change that turns a plurality into one. Not all artefacts come-to-be by shape-change, but all artefacts are new ones out of a certain degree of many-ness of matter. A shape-change, which is the action responsible of the coming-to-be of a statue, consists in fact of changing in roughness or smoothness of the parts (i.e. how separated they are from each other). We have therefore come to see how all unqualified comings-to-be listed in Physics 1.7 ultimately boil down to making a plurality of matter into one.
Philoponus must be thinking along similar lines when he comments that Aristotle, in Cat. 8, has only included ‘the rare and dense that are artificially produced’ (153,9–10).Footnote 62 If the dense and the rare at stake were natural, he says, Aristotle would confer them the status of qualities, as he does in the Physics. His explanation is that ‘natural porosity and density, then, the kind present in a single subject, is a quality, but if it is not present in a single body but more than one, it is not, even if it is natural, referred to as a quality’ (154,22–5; transl. Share). In his words too, connotations that are not qualities refer to the artificial case, whose distinctive trait is failing to represent a single body. And indeed, considering matter as parts in the case of artefacts is to consider a plurality of bodies. Hence, according to this passage, artefacts undergo unqualified coming-to-be by acquiring a substantial form (which is not a quality), and yet unlike natural beings, their parts remain in actuality (i.e. to some degree a plurality).
Substantial production is importantly different from the generation of natural substances while still counting as unqualified coming-to-be. This state of affairs is mirrored in Aristotle’s certainly underdeveloped account of the unqualified passing-away of artefacts, which I shall call ‘unqualified destruction’ as opposed to ‘unqualified production’. It seems, indeed, that Aristotle takes destruction to be an unqualified coming-to-be involving the loss of a substantial form, as opposed to the loss of a property, which however also differs from natural corruption.
Aristotle’s account of mutilation states that artefacts pass-away when their ousia no longer remains. If, however, the structuring formal principle is not something present in the parts, the sense in which such a principle could no longer be present is unclear. In the case of living beings, the loss of the inherent form has to do with the ability of matter to hold the form.Footnote 63 In living creatures, death can be violent or natural. Death is violent when its cause is external, natural when it originates in the living being itself, in the form of old age in animals and withering in plants (On Respiration 17). When death is natural, an imperceptible release of the soul occurs (479a23–4). On the basis of elemental generation and destruction, PN distinguishes between three cases of destruction: that of natural beings,Footnote 64 of artefacts and of accidents (On Length and Shortness of Life 2). Since the soul is, by its own nature, contained in the body, the form of destruction typical of living beings occurs when the body is damaged. This association of the soul with the body stands in opposition to the way in which accidents such as knowledge, health and disease are contained in the body, for accidents ‘can be destroyed even when what contains them is not destroyed but continues to exist’ (465a20–2). The way in which the destruction of accidents occurs requires a different explanation (heteros logos, 465a19). Aristotle does not explain the destruction of artefacts, but explicitly says that it differs from the case of natural beings. For natural beings share in the nature of their elements, but things formed by the composition (sunthesei) of various parts, such as a house, do not (465a18). The destruction of living creatures occurs when the body is damaged and the natural heat is destroyed, resulting in the release of the soul (On Youth and Old Age 4, 469b17–20). Aristotle mentions that the destruction of artefacts is different but does not further elaborate on the extent to which it is so. For the sake of completeness, I will therefore propose a conjecture, consistent – so far as possible – with the account of artefacts that has been reconstructed here.
The diachronic identity of artefacts is ensured by the presence of their inherent form. When this is lost, artefacts pass-away. However, the loss cannot be explained in terms of the matter releasing the form – for the parts do not have that single thing present in an identical way in them.Footnote 65 One might say that a knife passes away, because rusting iron can come to a point where it is so brittle that it cannot ‘hold’ the form, and the structuring principle no longer has the power to maintain the object as a single thing. This case seems to be easily comparable with organic death. Here lies the difficulty, however. The passing-away of the knife is accidental, for the passing-away rather concerns what is natural in artefacts (i.e. their matter). It is the matter as such that passes away, while the artefact’s destruction is an accidental result of this. As Phys. 2.1 establishes, changes in the matter might result in changes in the object, but in the natural case those changes concern the object primarily and in itself. In the artificial case, the destruction resulting by the rusting of the iron does not concern the knife primarily and in itself, but only accidentally. Death resulting from the deterioration of materials is therefore natural – and one might call it ‘old age’ in the case of animals or ‘withering’ in the case of plants. Death resulting from the deterioration of materials does not concern artefacts, or at least only accidentally. To borrow the language of the life sciences, artefacts do not die a natural death. They lack an inner principle of motion and rest; and resting not only has to do with interrupting a movement, or limiting a change, but also with passing-away. If this is true, artefacts only die a violent death. The source of their destruction can only be external – and internal only in a secondary sense when it concerns their matter. In order for destruction to pertain to the object as such – and not its matter – it must affect primarily the inherent form as a structuring principle from an external source. For instance, a house ceases to exist if its materials deteriorate, but – as has been said – this destruction is not a destruction of the house as such. A house as such ceases to exist if its structuring principle (i.e. the composition) is affected from the outside – for example, when strong winds destroy that which holds together the bricks and stones.Footnote 66
One consequence of this account is that artefacts are hard to kill. This consequence might seem intuitive and yet uncomfortable. It is intuitive in that there is no difficulty in thinking of a chair outliving a human being. Or, to be even more extreme, I can see a perfectly functioning strigil in the Munich Glyptothek, without any of its sixth–fourth century BC users having lived to witness this fact. It is, however, uncomfortable from an Aristotelian standpoint, according to which eternity is a mark of value often coming along with (albeit not causing) metaphysical superiority. One might indeed argue that artefacts outlive most animals and plants, and that, in this sense, they tend towards eternity more than living beings.Footnote 67 In response, it is important to bear in mind the senses in which eternity is ascribed to living beings. They are not eternal like heavenly bodies, but they partake of eternity by perpetuating their species through continuous generation. This sense of being eternal does not apply to artefacts. Moreover, longevity is not a mark of value or of metaphysical superiority. The longest-lived beings are found in plants (the date-palm).Footnote 68 Among animals, longevity is greater in animals that are most humid and warm; and, among these, in larger animals. The moisture must however be good in both quantity and quality. These remarks are explicitly based on observation.Footnote 69 Longevity is not a mark of value and has nothing to do with the metaphysical status of the being in question. Thus, there is nothing uncomfortable about the exceptional longevity of artefacts.
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