Jeff Brower has a very original Aristotelian account of how three-dimensional substances endure and change accidentally, while being wholly present at all times at which they exist. The clever idea is that we leverage kooky objects, things like seated-Socrates. Seated-Socrates is an object distinct from Socrates, and seated-Socrates is seated in a primary way. On the other hand, Socrates, who is a three-dimensional substance, is a part of seated-Socrates, and that is what makes Socrates be seated derivatively. Now, here’s how change happens. Socrates is a part of both standing-Socrates, who exists at t1, and of sitting-Socrates, who exists at t2. There is no contradiction in the same entity being a part of two different entities, and there is (Brower claims) no contradiction in Socrates being derivatively standing and seated.
Here is a problem with this clever solution. Consider a different kind of change: Socrates losing his hair. By the same story, at t1, Socrates is derivatively hairy, because he is a part of hairy-Socrates who is primarily hairy. At t2, Socrates is derivatively hairless, because he is a part of hairless-Socrates who is primarily hairless. So far so good.
But there is a problem. Something is hairy if and only if it has hair as a part, and it is hairless otherwise. Let’s suppose t1 is the present. Then Socrates is hairy, and hence has hair as a part. But since Socrates endures from t1 to t2, he is also wholly present at t2. The Socrates of t2 is identical with the Socrates of t1. Since hair is a part of the Socrates of t1, by Leibniz’s Law, hair is a part of the Socrates of t2, and hence the Socrates of t2 has hair as a part, and thus is hairy, a contradiction. Another way to see the point is this. Socrates has hair as a part (remember, it’s t1 now). He is wholly present at t2. Since he’s wholly present at t2, he is at t2 with all his parts. Since his hair is a part of him, it must be that he is present at t2 with his hair as a part, and hence he is hairy at t2, a contradiction.
Perhaps, though, I am being unfair, because the Brower account needs to be applied to temporary parthood relations, too. Thus, we might say this. At t1, Socrates is a part of Socrates-with-hair-as-a-part, and at t2 Socrates is a part of Socrates-without-hair-as-a-part. Socrates at t1 derivatively has hair as a part by being a proper part of Socrates-with-hair-as-a-part, and Socrates at t2 derivatively has no hair as a part by being a proper of Socrates-with-no-hair-as-a-part.
At this point, the primary–derivative stuff seems rather implausible. Maybe one can buy the idea that you can inherit being seated from an entity you are a part of, but the idea that you can inherit having x as a part from an entity that you are yourself a part of having x as a part seems absurd. You can inherit having x as a part from a part of you—that’s perfectly normal, as I inherit having neurons as parts from having a brain as a part which has neurons as parts—but not from a whole you are a part of.
But it seems to get worse. Brower’s account is a hylomorphic one, on this account Socrates is a form-matter composite. Now let’s suppose, as may well have happened, that Socrates grew from eight pounds at t1 (say, 479 BC) to a hundred pounds at t2 (say, 467 BC). Between t1 and t2, Socrates has gained some chunk m of matter. Then, m is not a part of Socrates at t1 and is a part of Socrates at t2. But we cannot account for this change by saying that Socrates is a part of Socrates-without-m at t1 and a part of Socrates-with-m at t2. For Socrates has his matter non-derivatively.
There may be an escape available from this, but it requires quite a bit of bullet-biting. First, we can simply deny that we have parts like hair. Instead, we have accidents of hairiness and hairlessness, but there is no such thing as hair. I find this moderately plausible, but I think it works best on a view on which our accidents are parts of us, as then we can at least do some justice to the intuition that hair is a part of us—it’s not, but at least an accident of hairiness is. And Brower’s account is one on which our accidents aren’t parts of us, but are parts of large kooky objects. In any case, if we deny that we have parts like hair (or fingers or hearts or anything else that we can gain or lose), we can get Brower out of the first problem.
Second, we deny that we can identify Socrates’ matter in a changing way. When we say that Socrates is a matter-form composite at t1 and at t2, we insist that it is the very same matter and the very same form that are parts of Socrates at t1 and at t2. Sure, the matter changes size, shape and mass, but we account for this entirely in terms of Socrates’ accidents. Numerically, we have exactly the same matter throughout Socrates’ life, both when he is eight pounds and when he is a hundred pounds. When Socrates eats, he doesn’t gain matter: he grows in size, getting new accidents of size, shape and mass. When Socrates loses his hair, he doesn’t lose matter: he shrinks slightly, getting new accidents of size, shape and mass. At this point, “matter” is largely detached from common-sense intuitions about matter. It is just a technical philosophical construct. There is nothing wrong with technical philosophical constructs, but many Aristotelians (not I!) want the stuff they say about matter and form to do justice to common-sense intuitions about matter.
This bullet-biting almost works. It has a theological problem, however. On what I think is the right account of the afterlife, when Socrates died, he lost all of his matter, but continued to exist as a disembodied being. And this change Brower cannot account for in his hylomorphic story. Socrates had matter as a part of him in 400 BC but not in 398 BC, and so we cannot say in 400 BC that he is wholly present in 398 BC, nor can we use the hylomorphic account to explain how he becomes disembodied, because then he would have to derivatively have matter in 400 BC, derivatively from a kooky enmattered-Socrates, whereas substances have matter primarily on the kind of Aristotelianism that Brower espouses. Thus, it seems, Brower would need to be a corruptionist—he would need to think that although our soul survives death, we do not. This would be an unfortunate theological position, and in any case Brower is actually a survivalist.
There is a way out of all of this. Don’t think of us as hylomorphic compounds having form and matter as parts. Instead, think of us as something like forms with accidents. These accidents can include the accident of materiality, the accident of hairiness (and having hair isn’t any longer a case of having a part that is hair). And then account for materiality not in terms of having matter as a part, but in terms of having accidents of materiality. I actually like the story as far as it goes, but the next step I don’t like, but it’s necessary for Brower’s story if it is to allow disembodied survival: Give the kooky-object story of accident possession, including the possession of materiality. Socrates is material derivatively because he is a part of material-Socrates who has materiality primarily.
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