“No, my dear fellow, no!” exclaimed the student, “I hold to my assertion. Medicine is only a half-science; physiology is another half-science; they are both conjectural sciences, because their foundation—which is a knowledge of the principle of life—eludes our research.”
And standing before Sebastião with folded arms, he added,—
“What do we know of the principle of life?”
Sebastião, with a sense of humiliation, lowered his eyes; but Julião grew indignant.
“You are demoralized by the vitalist doctrine, unhappy man!” he cried. “A theory which pretends that the laws which govern matter are not the same as those which govern life is a scientific heresy, and Bichat, who teaches it, an idiot.”
“Bah!” cried the student, beside himself with anger.
To call Bichat an idiot,—that was indeed idiocy. But Julião treated the insult with contempt, and continued excitedly,—
“What does the principle of life matter to us? It matters as much to me as the first shirt I put on. The principle of life is like every other principle,—a secret of which we must remain forever in ignorance. We cannot know the principle of anything. Life, death, the origin of things, the purpose of them, are mysteries, are first causes with which we have nothing to do, absolutely nothing. We may continue the struggle for centuries, without advancing a step. The physiologist, the chemist, have nothing to do with the principles of things. What concerns them are phenomena. Very well, then. Phenomena and their proximate causes, my dear friend, may be determined with as much exactness in regard to dead matter as in regard to the living body; in regard to a stone, as in regard to a man. That physiology and medicine are sciences as exact as the science of chemistry has been proved from the time of Descartes.”
Then they began an incidental dispute about Descartes, and all at once, without Sebastião, who listened in amazement, being able to discover the connection, they attacked each other fiercely about the idea of God. The student seemed to have need of God in order to explain the universe; but Julião attacked God with rage. He called him an “outworn hypothesis,” an “antiquated fable of the Miguelist party.” And then they attacked each other like two fighting cocks on the socialist question. The student, with bloodshot eyes, and bringing down his clenched fist upon the table with violence, sustained the principle of authority. Julião cried out in defence of “individual anarchy,” and after quoting with fury from Proudhon, Bastiat, and Jouffroy, they descended to the arena of personalities. Julião, who dominated the other by reason of the superior loudness of his voice, reminded the student roughly of his six-percent bonds, and of the absurdity of the position of the son of humble parents with aristocratic aspirations. At this they cast glances of hatred and contempt at each other, and shortly afterwards the student, letting fall a few disdainful words about Claude Bernard, the dispute was renewed again in all its former violence.
Sebastião took up his hat.