only child. You have a sweet little sister asleep on the bed. I
say the words to you aloud, and you creep on tiptoe to look at
her, turning and smiling at me as you go. Even if she should live
after I am gone, which I cannot wish for, I cannot tell whether
you will be kept together; if not, I know you will care for her
if it is possible, if only because your dead mother asks it. I
cannot believe the wonderful child-love you have for her and me
will be permitted to die out, or that your heart can ever grow
hard, your heart so tender now. There! kiss the dimpled hand ever
so softly and come away, for you must not wake the darling now.
Will you love her always, let what may be her fate? Remember
always, she had no mother to guide her. Your father I have not
seen for two years, since Mamie was a few months old. I have
since heard that he is dead. I know none of his relatives; for he
brought me an entire stranger to New York three years ago, and
seemed unwilling that I should make many acquaintances. I have no
relatives whom I have ever seen, in the world, except my father,
who lives, or did live, at Wiltshire, in Maine. I do not know if
he is living or not; I have written to him again and again, but I
have heard nothing from him. He would have come to me if he were
alive, for he was always devoted to me. I could write you a
hundred letters about his love and devotion; and now, if I could
only let him know where I am, he would come to me wherever he
might be. I have named you for him. He saw you once when you were
a month old; he came and took me home for the summer; he loved
you dearly, as he loved me, and was proud enough of you. If only
I could put you and Mamie in his hands now, how contentedly I
could die! For this I toiled and struggled from the day I saw
your father last, until this poverty and sickness have killed all
hope. Not all hope; for I think every step I hear--and I hear
thousands passing by--that my father has come to me to save me,
to take my darlings under his care, and to let me die on my own
white bed in my own dear room at home.
"There, darling, there's no more to tell. Why should I tell more?
You come of good blood, my child, of a brave, upright race. My
child, my darling, put your arms tight, tight around mamma's
neck, and promise for the man that you will be worthy of your
name and race. Be good, be true, be honest. How I should blush in
my grave, it seems to me, if child of mine, if these dear
children, so pure and innocent, who cling to me now, covering me
with kisses, should soil their white souls with falsehood,
deceit, or dishonesty. God knows what I would say. Fatherless,
motherless, I must leave my little ones; no earthly help, no
comfort, nothing, only the one hope that will not leave me to my
latest breath, that my father lives, will find me out, save me,
and take care of you.
{792}
"It has been hard for me to write this poor, childish letter; one
poor apple-woman--poor, yet not so poor as I--has been my only
friend; to her I have talked for hours of you, and she has
listened earnestly, and will do her utmost for you two. God will
aid her, I know. I will not put any 'good-byes' on paper so
little likely ever to be seen by your eyes; but I will kiss you a
thousand times, my darling, while I take one last look at these
portraits of your father and me, you leaning against my knee
looking at them too. You, pure, unsullied child, shall cling to
me, and answer, though you cannot understand, the promises to be
good I ask of you to fulfil through all your life. Your mother,
"Mary Heremore Brandon."
"_Brandon_!" repeated Rose and Dick together, when he read
the signature. Then Dick read the slips of paper that had fallen
out of the letter; they were all the same, notices of her
marriage from different papers:
"MARRIED. At the residence of the bride's father, on Wednesday,
May 5th, Charles Brandon, of New-York, to Mary, only daughter
of Dr. Richard Heremore, of Wiltshire, Maine."
Rose looked at Dick almost with terror in her face. Dick knew not
how to answer her.
"It may not be the same," she said at last.
"The letter does not seem sure of his death," suggested Dick.
"But you have met him--would he not have noticed your name?"
"I should think so. But it was long ago, and perhaps he has known
others of the name. Besides, Miss Brandon--O Rose! if she should
be that sister!--Miss Brandon told me her mother died long ago;
she seemed so proudly to disclaim this Mrs. Brandon, whom I
called her mother."
"How could he be with your father, if Mr. Brandon is that, and he
not know any thing about you?"
"I cannot understand it. I will go to see him to-morrow."
"O Dick!"
"Yes, dear Rose, I must. I have only two days of vacation left,
and I must know all before I go back."
"And then you will not be here for so long?"
"Yes, I will, Rose; I'll be here if I have to walk all night, see
your windows, and go back before daylight! Yes, I will see you. I
will not bear all the long separation as I did before, it is too
much! Now, may I go to-morrow?"
"Yes, Dick, you must go. O Dick! what a mother she was! I can
just see her, so weak she could not lift little you in her arms;
and yet, I am sure, giving you a thousand caresses, and crying
over you as she wrote that letter! If she could only see you
now!"
"I know she does see me; but she does not see me as I ought to
be, having had such a mother."
"She is proud of you if she sees you."
"See how patient she was, Rose! She says she is poorer than the
poor apple-woman, and yet no complaint; and she was not used to
trouble, I am sure, from her face."
"So sweet and grave as she is! Really, Richard, look! Upon my
word, Miss Brandon has just such eyes! It _is_ so! See! the
same blue-gray eyes, so clear, deep, and looking at you so
frankly and graciously; not with the frankness of a question
asked; but--I can't describe it--but that calm, straightforward
way Miss Mary has when she listens to you; always as if she would
encourage you, too, to go on. Indeed, you must go to-morrow!"
{793}
"It is so strange, Rose. I feel my head almost turning. Have we
time to read it over once more?"
"I fear not, for it is already quite late; but you will tell
mamma and Aunt Clara about it, and Uncle Carl?"
"Oh! at once; as soon as I can. I shall think of nothing else
until to-morrow. Rose, he must have treated her badly, or she
would have given me his name instead of her father's."
"I think, perhaps she meant _Brandon_ to be added."
"She does not say a word against him; but she does not praise
him. I will make him tell me, himself, if he is the man. Do you
think he is?"
"I am sure of it! And Miss Brandon is your sister; perhaps that
is why she spoke to you that Christmas day, and why you have
always been so attracted to her."
"How strange it is! Will she be sorry to have me for a brother, I
wonder?"
"Sorry! She will be very proud of you."
"I wonder how I should speak to her. O Rose, Rose! do say
something to steady me; I feel so strange, and as if I were
talking so foolishly!"
"You are not talking foolishly, dear Dick; and if you were, there
is only Rose to hear you, and shall you not talk as you please to
her?"
"Thank God, my darling! this has not separated us."
"No, not yet."
"Not yet!"
"What will your new father and your grand sister think of me?"
"Well, Rose, wait till I ask them!"
"Perhaps a grandfather, too," said Rose.
"I love him already. If he should be living, that would be
something grand, wouldn't it? You may be sure she loved him."
"And you may be sure she never let him know until perhaps the
very last, that she was in trouble. Women and children never tell
their sorrows to those who are entitled to help them."
"Why, Rose?"
"Oh! I cannot tell you that! I only know it's so. Here we are at
home. Have patience; for though to-morrow you will have the news,
to night is all _I_ have!"
"And no matter what happens, Rose," said Dick, as they lingered a
moment outside the house, "you will trust me just the same?"
"Of course I will," Rose answered readily. A question and answer
that have been given--and falsified--I wonder how many times
since the world began; falsified, for even a woman's faith is not
without limit; though Rose thought it was, as many had thought
before her. "Of course I will; why should you ask, Dick?"
"I don't know; only that everything seems whirling around with me
to-night, and the only thing that seems clear to me is that I
must not lose you."
"It will be your own fault if you do," said Rose. "But you must
not try me too much; for things might get whirling around with
me, too, some day, and I should not know faith from want of
pride; so be good."
"And if it is possible, I must come down at once and tell you how
it all ends. If it could only be that I could have you close at
hand to tell you all!"
"Indeed! I am glad," exclaimed Rose, who, much as she loved Dick,
could not endure to think of the time when she should have to
leave her home.
{794}
"Come in, now. What will Uncle Carl say to all this, I wonder?"
Uncle Carl did not say much, when, the children having been sent
out to play, the elders drew their chairs closer around the still
standing tea-table, and listened intently to Dick's story. The
others received it with many exclamations and much wiping of
eyes; but the stolid German smoked his big pipe and looked, or
tried to, as if he had known it all before.
"I'll know before this time tomorrow if it's the same," said
Dick, when the reading was finished, and many conjectures had
been put forward and discussed.
"It is the strangest thing ever was heard of," exclaimed Mrs.
Alaine, "that he should meet you so often and not know who you
were!"
"With your mother's name, too," added Mrs. Staffs.
"Perhaps, after all, he is not so ignorant," suggested Dick. "It
may be that it was on account of my name he made so much of me."
"I think he must be devoured with remorse," Mrs. Alaine said
forcibly, "whenever he thinks of his beautiful wife."
"This Mrs. Brandon couldn't hold a candle to her," added Mrs.
Stoffs.
"I never saw her," said Dick.
"She was very pretty," explained Carl, speaking unexpectedly.
"Pretty!" cried Mrs. Stoffs, in great surprise.
"Pretty!" repeated Mrs. Alaine, with great contempt.
"Pretty!" echoed Rose, with great incredulity. "Why, Uncle Carl,
she was a little doll-baby!"
"She was very pretty," persisted Carl.
"Well, indeed, if you call such a baby pretty, I give up!" said
Mrs. Stoffs. "Why, Mr. Dick, she did not look as if she could say
boo to a goose, and yet she ruled the whole house; it was her
extravagance that ruined the poor man."
"I think it was his own dishonesty," said Carl.
"O Uncle Carl!" remonstrated Rose, "right before Mr. Richard."
"We don't know yet that he has anything to do with 'Mr. Richard,'
as you call him; but I'd say it, if need were, to the man's own
face. His wife may have been a little, tyrannical, extravagant
fool; but the more fool he for letting her take other men's money
out of his purse."
"Indeed, Carl, that's a thing they'll never say of _you_,"
responded his wife, laughing. "But now come away, and let Mr.
Dick get some rest, for I suppose he'll be off by daylight."
"I shall, indeed," said Dick.
"Well, good-night! Mr. Dick, you must not let these things keep
you awake; if you find your family out, it may be the last time
you will sleep under our roof."
"If I thought that, Mrs. Stoffs, I should seek them with a heavy
heart; but nothing can make that so but death, can it?"
"Go to bed, good people," grumbled Carl; "all your noise makes my
head ache."
He went up with Dick and had a long conversation with him, after
the rest were asleep.
"Go find Dr. Heremore, of Wiltshire, unless there comes to be no
doubt that he is gone away, or dead," were his parting words; "he
is better worth seeking than any other. You will need money, and
you shall owe me for this." And he gave him a few gold pieces
which Mrs. Stoffs, in the sanctuary of her own room, had
hurriedly and gladly brought out from countless rags, all tied up
in an old stocking, at her liege lord's command, for this
purpose.
{795}
"But, Mr. Stoffs, I have, I think, enough for this."
"Then do not spend mine, but take it with you for fear of
accident. Good-night; do not be fooled by anything Mr. Brandon
may say--he's an artful one--but find out all you can about your
grandfather; remember that."
So Dick was left to pass a sleepless, fevered night, filled with
the strangest fancies, and perplexed by a thousand fruitless
conjectures. At the first glimmering of daylight he was up, and,
after making a show of eating the substantial breakfast his kind
friends had prepared for him, turned, without being able to say
more than a word or two, to leave.
"Dood-by," said Trot, sliding down from her chair, with her bib
on, and her face not over clean, to get his parting kiss, as well
as to put in a reminder for his return. "What 'oo bing Trot from
the 'tore?"
"What do you want, Trot?" asked Dick, lifting her up.
"Me wants putty tat," she answered with animation; "dear 'ittle
titten!"
Dick promised to do his best, shook hands silently all around,
tried to laugh at the old shoe Minnie had ready to throw after
him, at last heard the gate close behind him, and was alone on
his way to the little yellow station-house.
"He'd better be alone," Rose had said when something had been
said privately about accompanying him. "He has a great deal to
think about, and he can do that best while he is walking in this
fresh morning air."
"O mamma!" she said, when Mrs. Alaine stood beside her, after
Dick had passed out of sight, "O mamma! if Mr. Brandon should
take it angrily!"
"You may be sure he will not," replied Mrs. Alaine, "he is so
broken down, he will be very thankful to find a son like our Dick
who will be worth so much to him. He is the most selfish man ever
lived, Mr. Brandon is."
"Well, I wish it were over," sighed Rose, turning back to the
house and the day's round of household duties.
To Be Concluded.
----------
{796}
Translated From The French.
The Approaching General Council.
By Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop Of Orleans.
The church and the world have been filled with expectation for
more than a year. When the catholic bishops were gathered at Rome
to celebrate the eighteenth centenary of the martyrdom of St.
Peter, and for the solemn canonization of saints, the Sovereign
Pontiff declared the necessity of a general council, and
announced, at the same time, his intention to convoke it at an
early date.
The bull of induction has already appeared. On the twenty-ninth
day of last June, the feast of the holy apostles Peter and Paul,
the Holy Father, by letters addressed to all the bishops of the
Christian world, fixed the date of the future council, and
summoned the Episcopate of the Catholic Church to Rome. Since
that time, by two truly paternal letters, the Holy Father has
invited the Greek Bishops, and our separated brethren of all the
protestant communions, to profit by the future council to
undertake again the work of reunion, already several times
attempted by the church, but which has always been frustrated by
the misfortunes and the evils of our day.
So it is no longer merely a hope. The first act necessary for the
holding of the council is accomplished. The apostolic letters,
known already throughout the world and received everywhere with
joy, even amid the infatuations and the bitter woes of the
present time, have stirred the hearts of the people. All look
again to Rome. Even her enemies are attentive as well as
astonished, and they feel that a great event is going to happen.
And truly that which is soon to come to pass at Rome, and in the
church, is a rare and solemn fact, a fact of sovereign
importance, perhaps even the greatest event of the century. Let
no one feel surprised at this language. I am well aware that
events of immense importance have marked the beginning and the
course of the nineteenth century. Profound revolutions have
passed over it, and even yesterday we have seen one of the oldest
thrones of Europe toppling over. Enmities and wars have disturbed
nations. The old and new world are forced to meet the same
difficult problems. Yet in this century there is something
superior to worldly ambition and the interests of political
passions. It is the spiritual interests of the people, and those
supremely important questions, whose solution brings peace to the
soul, and tells us of the eternal destinies of humanity. It is
for such purposes as these that the Catholic Church calls her
bishops to Rome. True it is that the church appears to many men
as being of little importance; she seems to occupy only a small
place in modern society, so small, indeed, that modern
politicians have recommended that she should no longer be taken
into consideration. Yet the church is, and must remain, the most
noble power of the world, because she is the spiritual power; and
Rome, the centre of this power--Rome which will soon see within
her walls these great sessions of catholicity--will be always,
according to the words of the poet, "the most beautiful and the
most holy of things beneath the sun."--_Rerum pulcherrima
Roma_.
{797}
What then is the Catholic Church, and what is this council which
is going, within a few months, to present so grand a spectacle to
the world? I propose to follow the example of my venerable
colleagues, who have, in France and in the different parts of
Christendom, published pastoral instructions on this subject. I
will recall to your minds what an ecumenical council is, to
which, for a long time, we have not been accustomed. I will state
the motives, inspired from on high, which have induced the Holy
Father to take this step, which is the most considerable and
extraordinary of the pontifical government. Then we shall see if
there is any foundation for the alarm that the announcement of
this act has caused among certain badly disposed or feebly
enlightened minds: finally, I will make known what we, bishops,
priests, and faithful, have the right to expect.
I.
The Council.
"God," says Bossuet, "has created a work in the midst of us,
which, separated from every other cause and belonging to him
alone, fills all time and all places, and bears everywhere in the
world the impression of his hand, the stamp of his authority: it
is Jesus Christ and his church."
There exists, then, in this world, above all human things, though
at the same time most intimately connected with them, a spiritual
society, an empire of souls. An empire of a different and divine
order, more heavenly than worldly, and yet an empire really here
below, a complete society, having, like every other society, its
organization, its laws, its action, its life. A society not built
up by the hand of man, but by God himself. It does not require
the approval of any human being; for its mission is as sacred as
its source, and it draws from it all its essential rights. A
pilgrim in this world and a divine stranger, as Bossuet has
somewhere said, and yet a sovereign, the sovereign of souls,
where she has an inviolable sanctuary. She does not encroach upon
the temporal powers, neither will she abdicate at their
suggestion her divine rights. She is happy to meet with their
approval, and she does not disdain their alliance; but she knows,
when it is necessary, how to do without them. She does not impede
their terrestrial mission, nor will she consent that they should
interfere with her career. A universal society is God's church,
which knows no limit of time or barrier of space; she is the
treasure-house of celestial goods, charged to communicate
evangelical truth to men until the end of time; and, for this
reason, as well as by her origin and her growth, she holds in a
world which she alone has civilized, a place which no other power
will ever fill. Yes, this marvel exists upon the earth; among all
human, temporal, limited, and constantly changing governments,
there is this spiritual society, this government of souls,
extending everywhere, immutable, without boundaries, and which is
called the Catholic Church.
If we examine her construction more closely--and we must do this
if we wish to understand the meaning of the most solemn of her
acts, the Ecumenical Council--we shall see with what divine art
Jesus Christ has proportioned the means to the end.
{798}
It is a part of our faith, that the Son of God has given to men,
not for a time but for the whole duration of time, "for all days,
even to the consummation of the world, "a collection of truths,
of commandments, and of sacred ordinances. The Christian society
that our Lord called his church, _ecclesiam meam_, has the
guardianship of these divine revelations. A visible society,
because religion should not be an occult thing; and perpetually
visible, because perpetuity has been promised to it; in short, a
universal society, because all men, without exception, are called
and admitted within her fold.
But the divine revelations could not be transmitted unaltered for
ages, if they had been subjected to changing and capricious
interpretations of private judgment; therefore it was
indispensable that the doctrinal authority should be sovereign,
that is to say, it must be infallible. An authority cannot be
sovereign in matters of faith, and demand an interior assent,
without being infallible. This it was that the divine Founder of
Christianity has wished to do, and really did, when, giving to
the apostles their mission, he pronounced these words, the last
which have fallen from his lips: "As the Father has sent me, I
send you. Go then and teach all nations, baptize them in the name
of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, and teach them
to observe all the commandments that I have given to man: and
behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the
world." Such is, then, the essential character of the church; it
is a doctrinal authority, providentially infallible by the divine
assistance, in all things revealed by God.
It is easily seen how unity is born of this infallibility; not an
accidental unity, but a necessary and permanent unity, because
the principle of unity is permanent in the church. The principle
of unity, and besides this, a centre of unity, was among the
indispensable conditions of a church thus founded. It was
necessary that a teaching church, spread throughout the world,
should have a head, a centre, a chief, in order that it might be
united in a single and distinctive body. Jesus Christ has not
neglected this necessity; for among his disciples he chose one
whom he invested with certain special privileges, to whom he
entrusted, according to his divine expression, "the keys of the
kingdom of heaven," whom he called the rock, the foundation-stone
of the edifice, whom he commanded "to confirm his brethren in the
faith," whom he called the pastor of the sheep as well as of the
lambs, that is to say, the shepherd of the entire fold.
This is the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. In order to place a
perpetual check upon time, which destroys all things, and in
order to give the necessary support to the human mind, which is
ever changing, it was, indeed, necessary that a religious society
should be thus constructed. But a divine hand was required to
constitute a society of this kind, which was composed of frail
men; and these grand characters of unity and authority, in
perpetuity and in catholicity, are in the church as the shining
seal of the powerful hand which has established it. Thus it
remains firm among men, and even in spite of universal change. In
vain is the natural restlessness of the human mind shocked at the
dogmas of our faith, and heresies succeed to heresies; [Footnote
283] this constant movement cannot affect her firm constitution;
she will remain, as says the apostle, "the pillar and ground of
truth"--_Columna et firmamentum Veritatis_.
[Footnote 283: "It is necessary that heresies should be."
Corinth, xi. 19. Terrible necessity, says Bossuet.]
{799}
Such is the Catholic Church. An ecumenical council is this
Catholic Church assembled to do, with more solemnity, the same
work which, dispersed, she does every day. This work is the
transmission and authentic interpretation of the dogmatic and
moral truths of divine revelation. This is what I desire to
explain at this time, so that it may be clearly understood by our
contemporaries, who have long been unaccustomed to these things.
My design is not, indeed, as you know, an intention to write so
exhaustively that no one else may treat upon the questions
connected with the councils of the church. Volumes have and could
again be written on this subject. But at least there are some
necessary notions which require to be explained with precision,
since these matters are not familiar at this day, and also
because, as on every other topic, the simple and fundamental
ideas are always the most useful.
A council is an assemblage of bishops convoked for the purpose of
discussing questions concerning the faith, morals, and
discipline. A council is particular or general; particular, if it
represents only a part of the church; general or ecumenical, when
it represents the universal church. A general council, simply
because it represents the whole church, has the gift of doctrinal
infallibility and supreme authority given by Jesus Christ to the
church herself, to the body of pastors united to their chief. A
particular council has no infallibility.
The supreme chief of the church, the Pope, and he only, has the
right of convoking general councils. For the same reason, the
Pope alone has the right of presiding over their deliberations.
And as a question of fact, it is true that popes, either
personally or by legates, have presided over every ecumenical
council. Thus at Nice, Constantinople, Ephesus, Chalcedon, as
well as at Trent, the popes presided by legates. At the councils
of Lateran, Lyons, Vienna, and Florence, they presided
personally. "Holy Father," wrote the fathers of Chalcedon to Pope
St. Leo, "you will preside in the midst of the bishops, who are
judges of the faith, as the chief over the members in the persons
of those who hold your place." It is the sovereign pontiff's duty
to close the council, to dissolve it in case of necessity, and to
confirm its decrees. The accord of the bishops and the Pope is
manifestly necessary for the ecumenical character of a council.
Gathered in council from all quarters of the world, and having
the Pope at their head, as witnesses of the faith of their
churches, as judges of the divine law, "_Episcopis
judicibus_" said the fathers of Chalcedon. "_Defining I have
subscribed_," "_I have subscribed pronouncing with the holy
synod_;" [Footnote 284] thus it was that the bishops of
Chalcedon and Ephesus, and also of Trent, affixed their
signatures.
[Footnote 284: "_Definiens subscripsi_:"
"_Subscripsi pronuntians cum sancta synodo_."]
Custom governs the exterior forms used in these assemblies. The
solemn sessions, where the decrees are promulgated, are
distinguished from the congregations where they are elaborated;
with what care, what exactness, what profound research, the
history of the Council of Trent has already shown, and the coming
Council of Rome will give us a no less remarkable proof. The Holy
Father, indeed, ever since he took the great resolution of
convoking a council, has been occupied with activity proportioned
to the importance of the future assembly. He has used such means
as were proper for the head of the church in an ecumenical
council.
{800}
Several commissions or congregations, composed of learned
cardinals, and of theologians chosen from different nations, were
at once appointed by him, and are now zealously working upon the
questions which will be considered in the council. There is a
special congregation upon Dogma, one upon Canon Law, one to
consider the various questions concerning Religious Orders, one
to discuss the relations of Church and State, and one upon the
churches of the East.
It is the usage of the church, when the Pope intends to convene
an ecumenical council, to notify in advance the bishops who bring
there not only the authority of their sacred character, but also
the counsels of their experience, because their dispersion in
many different countries has given them great knowledge and a
special competency to understand the times and the needs of their
people. Thus Pius IX., in two allocutions, addressed to the
bishops assembled at Rome, announced to them the future council.
By his last Bull, he has called them all there and fixed the
precise date, so that the prelates, notified and convoked in
advance, may have the time to study the questions at their
leisure, and arrive perfectly prepared at the date indicated by
the Sovereign Pontiff.
I do not need to add that, although the Pope and bishops can add
disciplinary laws, and modify, more or less, the canon law,
because these are not by their nature immutable, that in matters
of faith, it is not the business of councils to make dogmas.
Dogmas are never made in councils, but they may be formulated
there. All that concerns dogma is learned from the holy
Scriptures and tradition, and from their authorized interpreters.
It is only after these have been thoroughly investigated and
discussed, and after the invocation of the Holy Ghost, that the
council declares what has always been, what is now, the belief of
the church.
History counts eighteen ecumenical councils. [Footnote 285]
[Footnote 285: The following is a list of these eighteen
ecumenical councils:
1. Nice, in 325, against Arius, who denied the divinity of
the Word.
2. Constantinople, in 381, against Macedonius, who attacked
the divinity of the Holy Ghost.
3. Ephesus, in 431, against Nestorius, who erred concerning
the Incarnation, and refused to give the Blessed Virgin the
title Mother of God.
4. Chalcedon, in 451, against Eutyches, who originated an
error, the opposite of that of Nestorius.
5. Constantinople, in 553, against the three celebrated
chapters which fostered the error of Nestorius on the
Incarnation.
6. Constantinople in 680, against the Monothelites, who
continued the error of Eutyches, in denying that Jesus Christ
had a human will.
7. Nice, in 787, against the Iconoclasts, or breakers of
images.
8. Constantinople, in 869, against Photius, the author of the
Greek schism.
9. Lateran, in 1123, or the promulgation of peace between the
ecclesiastical power and the empire, after the long quarrels
of the Investitures, and also for the Crusades.
10. Lateran, in 1139, for the reunion of the Greeks and
against the errors of the Albigenses.
11. Lateran, in 1179, for different questions of discipline,
and against the heresies of the day.
12. Lateran, in 1215, against the Vaudois.
13. Lyons, in 1245, for the Crusade and the troubles with the
Emperor Frederic.
14. Lyons, in 1274, for the Crusade, and for reunion with the
Greeks.
15. Vienne, in 1311, for the Crusade, and different questions
of discipline, and for the affair of the Templars.
16. Florence, in 1439, for reunion with the Greeks.
17. Lateran, in 1511, against the conventicle of Pisa.
18. Trent, in 1545, against Protestantism.
Several sessions of the Council of Constance have also been
considered ecumenical.]
{801}
It would be difficult to determine the almost infinite number of
particular councils. Nothing can show more clearly than do these
assemblies the wonderful vitality of the church, and the power
she bears within herself to protect her own existence both
against the errors which the human mind is ever producing, and
also against corruption and abuses within the church, abuses
which are unavoidable because of the infirmity of human nature.
She is the only society upon the earth where revolutions are not
necessary, and where reform is always possible. There is not one
of these many councils but which has a regulation upon discipline
at the same time that it has a definition of faith; and the great
Council of Trent itself, without fearing that word, reform, which
had revolutionized Europe, accepted it, because it belonged to
the church, and accompanied its dogmatic decrees concerning the
Catholic faith with decrees concerning reformation--_De
Reformatione_. Assembled in ecumenical council the Pope and
bishops thoroughly investigate the situation of affairs in the
Christian republic, and use fearlessly the remedy for its wounds
and its sufferings. Thus the immortal youth of the church is
renewed, a more active and vigorous breath of life animates this
immense body, and even society feels its happy influence. It is,
then, one of these ecumenical assemblies which the Pope has just
convoked. After long meditation upon the needs of the time, and
earnest prayer for God's guidance, the head of the Catholic
Church has spoken a single word. He has made a solemn sign, and
it is sufficient. From the west and east, from the north and
south, from every part of the habitable globe, from every race,
from every tongue, from every nation, the chiefs of this great
spiritual society, the dispersed members of this government of
souls, leave their sees to meet at the place appointed by the
Sovereign Pontiff. They meet, not as in human congresses, to
debate concerning peace and war, conquests and frontiers, but to
treat of souls and their sacred interests, of things spiritual
and eternal. They obey the divine words of Him who founded the
church, "_Go, therefore, and teach all nations_." They meet
to accomplish the most august duty of their sovereign mission--to
proclaim, in a general council of the church, and, as it were, in
the very face of human errors, those truths whose guardianship
has been confided to them by Him who is the Truth itself. Such is
the work of an ecumenical council. Can there in this world be a
greater one?
It is now three hundred years since the world has seen one of
these assemblies; even at the beginning of this century they were
considered impossible. "In modern times," wrote J. de Maistre,
less than fifty years ago, "since the civilized world is, so to
speak, cut up into some sovereignties, and the world has been so
much enlarged by the boldness of our sailors, an ecumenical
council has become a chimera."
The political difficulties which so provokingly impeded the
Council of Trent were remembered, and it seemed that the present
time was yet more unfavorable. It was thought that the modern
powers were more defiant and more hostile, and consequently that
the liberty of the church was in greater danger, her action more
circumscribed than ever. But we wronged our century, and instead
of coming before God with complaints, we shall do better to adore
his powerful hand, which, as an ancient proverb goes, "can write
straightly on crooked lines," and force events to bend
themselves, in spite of man's efforts, to his eternal designs. A
missionary and a traveller, the church longs to see the road
diminish. A preacher and a liberator, she profits and rejoices
over the destruction of fetters. Then our age has accomplished
these two works, the suppression of distance, the breaking down
of barriers. I understand the words distance and barriers in the
social and political sense, as well as in a material point of
view. It was thought that they would serve only the world's
interests, but they are really allies of the faith; all this
marvellous movement, which seemed to be contrary to catholic
ideas and opposed to the Catholic Church, will turn to her
advantage.
{802}
The spirit of the age obliges political governments, whether they
be willing or not, to act more fairly toward the church, and it
has destroyed the old prejudices which even recently have
hindered her actions. The holding of an ecumenical council is
easier to-day than it would have been in the times of Philip II.,
Louis XIV., or of Joseph II.
"For the convocations of the bishops alone," says again J. de.
Maistre, "and to establish legally this convocation, five or six
years would not be sufficient." To-day it has been enough for
Pius IX. to post his bull upon the walls of the Lateran; modern
publicity, in spite of many wishes to the contrary, carries it to
the extremities of the earth. Soon, thanks to the marvellous
progress of the sciences and mechanics, the bishops will hasten
to obey the Pontiff's summons on the wings which steam has given
to our vessels and our cars. These have, as it were, consumed
space. The bishops will come from every free country, and, as we
hope, even from those which are not free. And thus--for I like to
repeat it--this double current of the ideas and of the industry
of our time is going, in the future, not to serve the material
life of man alone, but also to aid us in the government of souls,
in the highest manifestation of the spiritual life of man, in the
greatest work of God's Holy Spirit upon the earth. It is just, as
divine Providence has so willed, that we should see in this the
secret harmony hidden in the depths of things and in the unity of
divine works. Matter is placed once more at the service of the
spiritual, and the thoughts of man follow the order of God's
counsels.
Three times already, as you are aware, the bishops have gathered
about the vicar of Jesus Christ within a few years; but none of
these three great reunions had the character of a council. The
glory of resuming the ancient traditions of the church, so long
interrupted, by the convention of a true ecumenical assembly, has
been reserved to this magnanimous Pontiff, so powerful in his
mildness, so calm amid his trials, and so confident in that God
who has sustained him and who has manifestly inspired him to
undertake the work of summoning the ecumenical council.
II.
The Programme Of The Council.
And why, with what thoughts, has the head of the church called to
this great tribunal of catholicity those whom he names as being
"his venerable brothers, the bishops of the catholic world, whose
sacred character has called them to partake in his solicitudes?
"_Omnes venerabiles fratres totius catholici orbis sacrorum
antistites, qui in solicitudinis nostrae partem vocati sunt_."
The apostolical letters inform us clearly. It is necessary to
read them and to judge the church with equity by her own
statement, not by rancorous or frivolous commentaries. The
programme of the future council is thus traced in the bull of the
Sovereign Pontiff:
"This ecumenical council will have to examine with the greatest
care, and determine what is best to do in times so difficult
and so perverse as these, for the greater glory of God, for the
integrity of the faith, for the honor of divine worship, for
the eternal salvation of men, for the discipline of the regular
and secular clergy, for their useful and solid instruction, for
the observance of ecclesiastical laws, for the reformation of
customs, for the Christian education of youth, for general
peace and universal concord."
{803}
"It is necessary for us to use every exertion that, by God's
help, we may separate every evil from the church and from
society; to lead back into the straight way of truth, justice,
and salvation, those unfortunate people who have wandered from
it; to repress vice and refute error, so that our august
religion and its salutary doctrine may acquire a new vigor
throughout the world, that it may be extended further every
day, that it regain its empire, and thus that piety, honesty,
justice, charity, and all Christian virtues maybe strengthened
and flourish for the greatest good of humanity."
The entire programme, all the work of the future council, is in
these words. There are, then, two great objects, the good of the
church and the good of human society. This is its object and its
only object.
But especially does the church assemble her bishops that her
interior life may be reanimated, and, as the apostle says, "To
stir up the grace of God which is within us." The reason of this
is because the church has the wonderful privilege that I have
already mentioned--she is the only body which possesses the power
of perpetually renewing her youth in the course of a perpetual
life. It is in virtue of this divine constitution that none of
the truths which she has preserved can change, can be lost, can
be increased--that not even a syllable can be altered or an iota
destroyed! "One jot or one tittle of the law shall not pass away
until all be fulfilled," said Jesus Christ. The church is a
living institution composed of men, borrowing its head and its
members from every nation and from all ranks, always open to
receive those who wish to come to her, and unceasingly increased
by the addition of new races of men among her children. A river
which has received many streams into its current reflects the
objects along its banks and adapts its course to the climate, and
to the country with its irregularities; so the Catholic Church
has the gift of accommodating herself to the times, to the
institutions, and to the requirements of the generations through
which she passes and the centuries which she civilizes.
And more than this is true, because in the world she labors
perpetually in order that she may ever become more worthy to
speak of God to men, and in a way to be heard and understood by
them. She is continually examining, with respect, and at the same
time with sovereign authority, her disciplinary books, her laws,
her institutions, her works, and especially her members,
distributed in the different grades of the hierarchy. Indeed, we
do not believe that we are without faults or blemishes. "Ah!
should we be astonished," Fénélon used to say, "to find in man
the relics of humanity!" But, eternal thanks be given to God, we
find in the imperishable treasury of truth, and of the divine
laws which we are called to guard, the means of recognizing our
faults and reforming our manners.
Thus it is especially against ourselves, or rather for ourselves,
that this council is going to assemble. There will not be one
among us to take his seat in this august assembly, who has not in
the early morning bent his knee upon the lowest step of the
altar, bowed his head, struck his breast, and said, "If God is
not better known, if he is not better served than by me, if the
truth suffers violence, if the poor are not assisted, if justice
is in peril, O God! it is my fault, it is my fault, it is my most
grievous fault!" Monarchs of the earth, who settle the fate of
nations with such a frightful boldness, an examination like this
would be good even for you, if you could only endure it!
{804}
O human assemblies, parliaments, tribunals, popular conventions,
do you think that this rigid self-examination, these confessions,
these scruples, and these courageous habits of discipline and
reform, will be useless in appeasing blind agitation and arrogant
passion, or in rousing up sleepy routine?
When each of us has thus examined, questioned, and accused
himself, we shall ask ourselves, What are the obstacles which
to-day prevent the propagation of the faith among those who have
not yet received it, and its reestablishment among those who have
lost it? We shall revise regulations, we shall reform abuses, we
shall reestablish forgotten laws, we shall modify whatever
requires modification. Under the supreme authority of a common
father, of the bishop of bishops, the experience of old men, the
zeal of the young, the inspiration of the holy and the wisdom of
the wise, will all concur in declaring the present condition of
the church, its mission upon the earth, and its duties in the
future. This examination will be made in the most unconstrained
and fraternal discussion, which will soon be followed by solid
resolutions, which will become, then, and for centuries, the rule
of the church's life.
Such will be the first object of the assembly of bishops. An
object at once sublime and humble, one which fills the children
of the church with respectful admiration, and which strikes her
enemies with an astonishment that they seek in vain to disguise.
Yes, our ministry is so noble, our assemblies so elevated above
other assemblies, that the language of man contains the
involuntary admission of its superiority. If they desire to
designate a noble office, a superior mission, they call it, often
even with exaggeration, a _priesthood_. If they wish to
speak of some unusually imposing and solemn gathering, which will
have a place in history, they say it was a _council_ of
kings or legislators. Human language has no more lofty words than
these: not that we should pride ourselves upon them, for our
hands have not done these things. They come from God, and the
dignity of the words which express them recalls to our humility
at once the majesty of our vocation and the formidable extent of
our duties.
But what is the cause, in our day and at this hour, of the
retreat of the entire catholic episcopate into the breast of a
new cenacle? If I may presume to put it thus, what does this
vigil of arms mean? [Footnote 286] Why these preparations, this
work of a great council? Why has the Sovereign Pontiff, under the
eye of God, and from his inspiration, judged it proper to call
the church together in this second half of the nineteenth
century?
[Footnote 286: The Bishop of Orleans is here referring to the
pious custom of the days of chivalry, which compelled the
knight who was to receive his armor for the first time on the
following morning to pass the vigil watching in the chapel,
where his future arms were placed upon the altar.]
It was said of our Master, the divine Saviour of the world, that
"he was wounded because of our iniquities." Yes, it is for the
iniquities of man, and for our own, that we are going to impose
such a work upon ourselves. The more dangerous the times are, the
more necessary is it for us to be pure enough to withstand the
most formidable conflict, wise enough to enter into the most
stirring discussions, prepared to engage in the rudest conflicts.
And if men ask why we are striving to increase knowledge and
charity among ourselves, we will answer that, not forgetting
ourselves and our own needs, we are doing it also on their
account, looking earnestly upon their condition, their
aspirations, and their sufferings, and with a hearty desire to do
them more good.
{805}
III.
Causes Of The Council.
What is the condition, then, to-day, of the souls and the state
of the races which are spread over the surface of the earth?
There are few who have not been interested in this question. The
Pope, looking upon the world and lending his ear to the sound of
the struggles of contemporary society, could not help seeing,
what every one knows, that now is a time of profound crisis; or,
as it is expressed in the papal bull, there are torments which
are afflicting at this time both church and society: "_Jam vero
omnibus compertum exploratumque est qua horribili tempestate mine
jactetur ecclesia, et quibus quantisque malis ipsa affligatur
societas_." What is this crisis of the church and the world?
If we collect in our mind the course of history and the vast
ocean of ages on which we are borne for a moment, only to be
swallowed up in our turn, you will first answer that this crisis
is only an incident of a perpetual crisis, an interrupted scene
of the drama which the destiny of the human race is composing.
Untried travellers are ever thinking the voyage a long one, and
that the sea has dashing waves and tempests only for them. Old
sailors know that the ocean is always uncertain and that the
storm of to-day has been preceded by many a severe gale.
But if we are just, as well as attentive, we shall recognize that
the crisis of the present time is not a chance one, and that,
like others which have gone before, it will not escape the
guidance of God. I say even, when I remember the profound designs
of providence, that this crisis is not without its grandeur, that
it has both beauty, laws, and an end, just as do those natural
phenomena which appear the most confused and disordered. Through
continual struggles and obstacles, the evangelical ideal is
followed by the church, who knows where she is going, and by men,
often without their knowledge. The church, since her mission is
to raise souls to that standard, is sorrowful here below, because
that ideal is never realized perfectly enough for the glory and
happiness of humanity. Undoubtedly the industry, the science, and
the courage which men display to-day should be admitted. Within a
few hundred years, vast treasures of science, wealth, and power
have been developed. In two worlds, a most wonderful harvest of
gifted men have appeared; artists and orators, _savants_ and
generals, legislators and publicists, whose names will be
recognized by posterity with well-merited gratitude. Yet after we
have been just toward the good, let us be just to the evil, and
acknowledge, with the august and truthful Pius IX., that human
society is at this moment profoundly troubled.
But do not think that I intend to speak of political trouble and
of war. I know that Europe has, within a few years, resounded
more than once with the shock of battles, and that at the present
moment many feel a dull restlessness. The people are arming and
preparing, it is said, for gigantic struggles. Does the Sovereign
Pontiff wish to speak of the mighty interests of political
affairs, of questions of nationalities, of the frontiers of
kingdoms, and of the balance of power? The church is not indeed
indifferent to peace or war between nations, for every day her
prayers ascend to heaven for concord between Christian peoples
and Christian princes.
{806}
But yet, as I have already stated, she does not gather her
council to solve these questions; the pacific assembly at Rome
will meditate neither revolutions nor conquests, neither leagues
of sovereigns nor treaties of nations, neither the establishment
of dynasties nor their downfall.
While all Europe--and, if we look further, while the new world as
well, as the old--is trembling at the threatening signs of war
and revolution, at Rome, that august centre, that reserved place,
gathered about the successor of St. Peter, around the chair of
truth, the pastors of nations--their feet, it is true, upon the
earth and on the immovable rock, but their eyes turned toward
heaven--will be occupied with souls, the needs of souls the
eternal salvation of souls; in one word, with the highest and
permanent interests of humanity.
And surely they will do well; for, who can disguise it? are not
souls in peril and the faith of whole nations menaced?
Do you ask, what new heresy has arisen? From the bosom of the
church, none; the clergy have never been more closely united in
the faith from one end of the world to the other. Without the
pale of the church the same attacks, a hundred times repelled and
a hundred times renewed, are levelled against all the points of
Christian doctrine, but under new forms and a fresh vigor. Yet
there is more than this. With an impiety which outstrips even the
eighteenth century, the natural truths, those first principles on
which every thing here reposes as its safeguard, even the natural
truths, are denied or boldly discussed. Science is also to have
its heresies. There is a schism among the philosophers. Reason
has to take its turn in assaults which seemed reserved for the
faith. Strange thing! Faith to-day is guarding the treasures of
reason, and serves as their rampart! To-day it is you, O savants,
O philosophers, who have need for us! You have often accused us
of having neither science nor intelligence; but you, my poor
brethren, who are so wise and so intelligent, have scarcely been
able to defend a single well-known truth! And you, O Protestants!
who expected to reform the church of God, it is you who to-day
need reforming; it is you who feel most keenly how great an
injury is the loss of the blessing of authority!
Look for a moment at the state of the intelligent minds of our
day. Where have discordant philosophies led them? For three
centuries, in Germany, impetuous minds have risen who, rejecting
the guiding rein of faith, have shown to the astonished world the
audacity, and at the same time the feebleness, of reason. This
too has quickly been followed by like audacity and feebleness of
morals. What has come from the prodigious efforts of talent and
erudition? Nothing more admirable than the resurrection of every
error of pagan times--pantheism, atheism, scepticism--and among
those who yet cling to some form of religion, Christianity has in
reality perished because of their many contradictory and
ridiculous explanations of its doctrines. Thus have ended, under
our own eyes, eighteen centuries after Jesus Christ, all these
wonderful intellectual labors which are the greatest that the
world has ever witnessed.
And what is the state, to-day, of France? Religious belief is
vigorously attacked and even philosophical faith seems ready to
disappear. The truths of reason are overthrown, and a pretended
science, intoxicated with itself, denies human reason, and
wishes, in the name of atheism and materialism, to snatch from
man his belief in the immortality of the soul and his faith in
God.
{807}
The most dangerous doctrines concerning morals, society, the
soul, the family, a future life, and God, are warmly defended by
means of journals, pamphlets, and even novels. Our contemporaries
are either wrecked on this sea of errors, or float, without a
helm or a compass, at the mercy of every wind of doubt. Dark
storms are rising in human souls, and they penetrate the very
depths of the masses of the people.
At the same time, there are many misunderstandings in regard to
the church, and consequently there is an animated attack upon her
doctrines. When the revolution, which is now making a tour
through Europe and the rest of the world, appeared in France, the
church was attached by bonds, which time had forged, to the old
political order. She was carried with that political system into
the struggle. Hence it comes that men have not been able to
distinguish that which belongs to a legitimate state of society,
without being at all necessary to the church, and that which
constitutes the essential principles and immutable spirit of
Christianity.
With certain men there is only one feeling toward the
church--that of blind and implacable hatred. Forgetting eighteen
centuries of benefits, they continue to wage an ungrateful war.
The waves of revolution sweep in their course both truth and
falsehood, virtue and crime, benefits and injuries, and the
church, because she can make no compromise with error and vice,
must persist in pointing out the illusion of deceitful words and
the danger of false doctrines. Many stubbornly charge the church
with thoughts and doctrines which are not hers. An infidel press
and unscrupulous blasphemy against the church strive to separate
the people from her fold. We hear, both in disorderly conventions
and in the writings of those journalists who convene them, the
most stupid and reckless assertions against the church mingling
with threats of social war. And even in our legislative
assemblies this unreasonable enmity appears, demanding a violent
separation of the church and society.
And lately, when the voice of the Sovereign Pontiff was raised to
describe the overflow of those impious and immoral theories which
now inundate us, how many complaints, how many unmerited
accusations were everywhere made! Without caring to understand
his meaning, the Holy Father was calumniated. And with grief we
saw statesmen, under the influence of violent passion and without
asking or writing for any explanation, hasten to proclaim an
antagonism which, thank God, does not exist.
These hostilities against the church, while separating from her
the people who are deluded, render the peril in which these
contemporary errors would drag us far more formidable. Doctrines
are not inoffensive; M. De Bonald promulgated a law of history
which is confirmed by constant experience, when he wrote these
forcible words: "There are always great disorders where there are
great errors, and great errors where there are great disorders."
It is thought that brings forth facts; storms come from above.
And I say to men of good faith, you expected to establish the
government of people and the conduct of life on reason alone.
This experiment has been tried for three quarters of a century in
France; what is the result? Are the morals of our people better?
Is the civil authority respected?
{808}
Is liberty well established? Has war disappeared? Or misery? Or
ignorance? And what can be said of those questions which reason
asks with a rare fertility of invention, but which she cannot
answer, and which concern the very organization of
society--questions about labor, wages, and workmen? I do not
exaggerate when I assert that since reason has pretended to reign
alone, she reigns, like the night star, over shadows which she
cannot dissipate. Even in the most civilized countries, the earth
has become an abode of anxiety, distress, strife, and terror. The
nineteenth century will soon close, agitated, weary, barren, and
incontestably diseased. Rash indeed would be the one who would
venture to predict that it would close in glory and not in
perdition.
IV.
Review Of The Past
However, I beseech my friends and brethren in the faith not to
exaggerate anything. It is permitted to be sad, I repeat, when we
consider the present times; and I should feel bound to consider
the soul which is not saddened by these things as possessing very
little true nobility. The sons of the nineteenth century, the men
of my day, have had many enchanting dreams; we have nourished
many generous hopes; but now we are going to die, and to die
deluded. But what! is our short life the whole of history? We did
not live in the sixteenth century; we shall not see the
twentieth; but the church lived yesterday, and she will live
to-morrow. If I should say what she hopes, all my prophecies
would not be forebodings; and if I should question her memory,
the present times would appear all the brighter by being compared
with the past. If we glance at ages which are no more, shall we
find many centuries which did not have their troubles and their
dangers? Ah! the discouragement of certain Catholics calls to
mind the sentence of one of the sapiential books: "Say not: what
thinkest thou is the cause that former times were better than
they are now? for this manner of question is foolish." [Footnote
287] I was reading a few days since some of the bulls of
convocation of the ancient councils of the middle ages. The
lamentation of those popes of the misfortunes of their time far
exceeds anything which is heard to-day. And, not to go further
back than the Council of Trent, let the church tell us of those
times, for she was present to them. What did she see then?
[Footnote 287: Eccles. vii. 11.]
That century was much like ours, because of its great
discoveries, its appreciation of learning, and its revival of the
arts; it was like the present century, also, in the bad use it
made of these gifts. The sixteenth century peopled America, which
had been only recently discovered; abandoned itself to cruel
excesses of crime and avarice there, and introduced the disgrace
of human slavery. It received treasures from that country, and it
used them for the corruption of the morals of Europe. Whether we
look upon the thrones, or among the masses of the people, or even
in the church herself, we find many a sad spectacle. This century
was the witness of the crimes of Henry VIII.; Elizabeth; Ivan the
Terrible; Christian II.; the Medici; Charles IX.; and Henry III.
This century saw the pillaging of Rome and the siege of Paris.
{809}
This century saw the pretended reformation rend the church,
disturb the peace of all Europe, and divide Christians into two
parts. If one desires to find out the evils which existed in the
church and in society in those days, let him read the lives of
great and holy people of that time; let him read of Bartholomew,
of the Martyrs St. Charles Borromeo and St. Francis of Sales. I
have already mentioned the papal bulls of the middle ages; but
read those of the pontiffs who convoked the Council of Trent, and
it will be soon seen that Adrian VI., Paul III., Pius IV., were
then more alarmed at the dangers of the Christian republic than
Pius IX. now is. There was tepidity, disorder, and scandal; the
clergy poorly organized; the religious orders much relaxed; and
then, too, princes were divided, the people oppressed, and war a
daily occurrence in every country. And the council which had
assembled amid such sad circumstances was compelled to meet in a
little village hidden in the mountains of Tyrol, and or six years
it was at the mercy of temporal princes to suspend or to allow it
to proceed; and thus it was compelled to endure a perpetual
conflict.
But vain are obstacles to God's church! Her virtue will triumph
over everything. What great works and great men came forth from
this council and from the regenerating breath that it breathed
over Christian society! St. Charles Borromeo, St. Philip Neri,
St. Peter of Alcantara, St. Theresa, St. John of the Cross, St.
Francis of Sales, St. Jane of Chautal, St. Vincent de Paul, St.
Francis Borgia, and St. Francis Regis, heirs of the spirit of St.
Ignatius and St. Francis Xavier. Then closely following these
canonized saints were such apostolic men as the B. Peter
Fourrier, Cardinal Berulle, M. Olier, M. Eucles, M. Bourdoise,
the Abbé of Raucé, and many others. Then too came many
congregations, which were fruitful in showing again the true
standard of clerical and religious life, and in reanimating
everywhere the love of study, regularity, and charity. Such was
the universal improvement which the church displayed. This was
followed by Fénélon and Bossuet and the majestic unity of the
seventeenth century. And notwithstanding all the misfortunes that
this immortal Mother of men has had to overcome, the church has
now places of worship in Jerusalem, liberty in Pekin and
Constantinople, the episcopal hierarchy in England and Holland,
her councils in Baltimore, and her missionaries in Africa,
Oceanica, and Japan. The church rejoices from the very depths of
her soul to see that, although religion has got much to wish for
and much to deplore, still in every part of the world the laws
are now more equitable, the powerful are less oppressive, the
weak are better protected, the poor more generously assisted, and
slaves are declared free. But when the church turns to that
pretended reform which so audaciously rose up against the spouse
of Christ in the sixteenth century, she finds that its doctrines
have almost vanished; it has run its course and exhausted its
arms. How different is the present condition of the Holy Church!
That church, whose abuses were so fearful that they could no
longer be endured, to-day presents a Pope whose eminent virtue
compels respect; her bishops are more numerous and zealous; her
priests faithful, united, devoted; her religious orders, tempered
by the fire of persecution and poverty, are learned and
exemplary.
{810}
And when this church desires to assemble a council, it is to Rome
she bids her children come, by the reliable roads, the rapid
carriages and the facilities of every kind which she owes to the
genius, the justice, and the resources of modern times.
It is well enough known that I am not among those who close their
eyes and preserve silence in regard to the evils of the day and
the many perils which lie in the way of souls. But neither do I
wish to be ungrateful for the benefits of God, or to refuse to
see the power which lends its strength to the church, and the
help which he gives to the good cause, even in the worst times.
Nor should it be forgotten that man's duty is to struggle for
truth, and that each century has its task and its difficulty. I
pity, I do not execrate, the present time. I do not despair of
the people, and I do not anathematize their rulers. They are not
omnipotent, and they have to contend with many difficulties. I
pray for them, as the Catholic Church has always done; I caution
them, both princes and people, as much as lies within my power,
and I ask a loyal and sincere concurrence to the great work of
the church, which is the sanctification and civilization of the
world.
There are three things which should cause us all the keenest
anxiety; these are, the destruction of faith, which has been
hastened by the impious direction which scientific and
philosophical studies have taken; the prevailing laxity of
morals, which may fairly be attributed to the thousand new and
seductive forms of vice; and lastly, the unjust statements which
the enemies of religion delight in perpetuating between the
church and the masses of the people. These are three diseases
which, by God's grace, will be cured.
There are certain persons in whose eyes these three scourges are
only the partial results of that which is now, and has always
been, the greatest of all scourges, namely, revolution. I do not
like to use this vague and indefinite word which, like a spectre,
appears and grows formidable at one's will; but yet it is very
true that these evils do foster in the bosom of society a
division of mind, a scorn of God and of all authority, a pride
and a hatred, which are continually threatening these societies
with a return to revolutions.
----------
{811}
Catholicity And Pantheism.
Number Five.
Laws According To Which The Mystery Of
The Trinity Should Be Understood.
We proceed, in this article, to lay down some general laws which
govern, so to speak, the organism of the life of the infinite.
The ignorance or the overlooking of these laws has ever caused
those who plunged into the abyss of infinite life to search its
genesis, to fall into one form or other of pantheism, as will be
seen in the course of this article.
The first and principal law may be enunciated as follows: _No
other distinction can be predicated of the infinite, but that
arising from the relative opposition of origin between the
terms._ [Footnote 288]
[Footnote 288: Realis distinctio inter relationes divinas non
est nisi ratione oppositionis relativae.
S. Th., S. T.; qu. 30, art. ad.]
We have already demonstrated that the life of the infinite is
terminated by three distinct personalities, which establish a
multiplicity in its bosom. A distinction, therefore, _must_
be predicated of the infinite. But of what sort?
This distinction, in the first place, could not fall upon the
essence, without breaking its absolute simplicity. It must,
consequently, be found among the terminations of the essence, or
personalities. But, again, these three persons being possessed of
the same identical essence, and thus participating in all its
perfections, how can they be distinguished, one from the other?
By a real opposition of origin. One person originates; the other
is originated; as principle and term they are necessarily opposed
to each other, and consequently distinct.
This law maintains both the unity and the multiplicity in the
infinite. It maintains the unity; for the law does not require
any real distinction between the persons and the essence, but
only a distinction made by our reason to facilitate our
apprehension; hence the three divine persons are truly and
essentially the infinite. It maintains multiplicity, because the
three divine persons are opposed on the ground of opposition of
origin, and are consequently distinct. Here lies the whole
difficulty, the reader will say; three things opposed one to
another, and thus distinct from each other, how are they
_one_ in essence?
We might reply, in the first place, that the possibility of this
is grounded on a psychological fact, which every one accustomed
to reflection may easily ascertain. Take the operation of the
human spirit. Man knows himself; in this fact the _me_
enters twice; because the _me_ is the subject which knows,
and at the same time the object known. The _me_ knowing is
the being in the subjective form; the _me_ known is the
being in the objective form. Again, man loves himself through the
idea of himself: the _me_ here enters three times--the
_me_ under the subjective form of knowing and of loving; the
_me_ under the objective form of known; the _me_ under
the objective form of being loved.
{812}
Nevertheless, all three are one and the same being: the _me_
under the subjective form knows and loves the _me_ under the
objective form; a multiplicity and a unity which cannot be
disputed; not only because of the testimony of consciousness,
which avers to the fact, but because on this multiplicity and
unity are founded two distinct sciences, psychology and ideology;
psychology, which treats of the _me_ as subject, of its
nature and properties; ideology, which treats of the product of
the _me_, or ideas.
This operation of man is an image of the genesis of God's life.
The infinite knows and loves himself. Into this fact of his
eternal life he enters three times; the infinite, so to speak, as
subject knowing and loving himself; the infinite as object known;
the infinite as object loved. The infinite knowing himself is
necessarily opposed to the infinite known, because it originates
him by an intellectual operation; the infinite known is
necessarily opposed to the infinite knowing, because originated
by him. Again, the infinite loving himself and the infinite known
(because the infinite cannot love himself except through the
infinite known) are necessarily opposed to the infinite loved,
because they originate him; the infinite loved is necessarily
opposed to the infinite loving and known, because emanating from
both. This relative opposition of origin causes a real
distinction among the terms without breaking the unity of the
essence.
But, the better to illustrate this law, and to show how well it
maintains unity and multiplicity in the infinite, we shall here
investigate the metaphysical law of the fact; that is, why and
how things which are opposed to each other can harmonize and be
brought into unity, in a third thing.
We have given an example of the fact in the operation of man; but
let us give a few more instances to generalize it more and more.
This fact is observed in both the ideological and ontological
orders. First, as to the order of ideas. Two ideas, which in
their own order are opposed to each other, harmonize and are
brought together in a third idea. Take, for instance, the idea of
substance and modification; substance conveys the idea of
something subsisting by itself, that which requires no being to
lean on in order to subsist. It means something standing
permanent. The idea of modification is that of something which is
not permanent in itself, but requires another being to lean on,
to cling to, in order to subsist. The two ideas, as it appears,
are directly opposed to each other, since their notions are
contradictory; yet both ideas, contradictory one to the other in
their own order, agree and are brought into companionship in the
common idea of existence, one existing permanently, the other
existing by leaning on another.
Moreover, take the transcendental idea of unity, truth, and
goodness. Unity implies a negation of multiplicity, something
undivided in itself and distinct from others. Truth implies a
multiplicity, because it is essentially a relation of an object
to an intelligence; _aequatio rei et intellectus_, as St.
Thomas defines it. Goodness also implies a multiplicity, because
it is essentially a relation of a being to a tendency or faculty.
These three ideas, contradictory or diverse, are brought into
harmony in the common idea of being; for every metaphysician
knows that unity, truth, goodness, are the transcendental
qualities of being, and are identified with it.
{813}
The fact is therefore indisputable in the ideological order, that
is, of ideas contradictory one to another or diverse, agreeing in
a common idea. It is no less true in the order of reality,
because ideology is founded on ontology. Take, for instance, a
body; it has length, breadth, height, and depth. These qualities
of bodies are contrary to each other in their own order, yet they
harmonize in the body. Take the forces of attraction and
repulsion; both are contradictory laws, yet both agree in the
same body. Man harmonizes and brings together in himself the laws
of movement, of vegetation, of animality and of intelligence,
which are different and contradictory to each other. And in his
spirit, as we have said before, he opposes himself as an object
to himself, as subject without breaking the unity of the soul.
Now wherein lies the reason of this fact? In the ideological
order it lies in the universality of ideas; in the order of
reality, in the intensity of being, or in the amount of
perfection. A universal idea comprehends and harmonizes in itself
inferior and more particular ideas, opposed to or different from
each other; a more perfect being, or a greater reality harmonizes
and brings together inferior realities opposed to and diverse
from each other, for the reason of its very intensity of
perfection. A doctrine of St. Thomas beautifully illustrates this
truth. He inquires into the distinction between intelligent and
non-intelligent entities, and, after having remarked that
intelligent beings are distinguished from those not intelligent
by this--that the second are only capable of containing their own
forms or actuality, whereas the first, besides their own
actuality, are capable of receiving the forms or actuality of
other things, because in intelligent beings is found the ideal
similitude of the object known, he alleges, as a reason for this
distinction, contraction or limitation. "From this it appears,"
he concludes, "that the nature of unintelligent beings is more
contracted and limited, while the nature of intelligent beings is
endowed with the greater extension; hence the philosopher said
that the soul is as it were every thing." [Footnote 289]
[Footnote 289: S. Th., S. T.; part, 1, qu. 14, art. 1.]
This reason, however, which accounts for a more general idea or
for a greater reality harmonizing in itself particular ideas or
lesser realities opposed to each other in their own order, does
not account for an opposition lying in the very bosom of a being.
In other words, when the particular ideas and the lesser
realities are taken as opposed to each other, they are considered
distinct and apart from the general idea or greater reality. When
they are harmonized in the general idea or greater reality, their
limits and opposition are supposed to be eliminated; and this is
the reason why the harmony becomes possible. But when the
opposition is to be found in the same being, that is to say, when
terms opposed to each other are not distinct from the general
idea or greater reality, but lie in its very bosom, then what is
it that maintains both the opposition of the terms and the unity
and simplicity of the being?
In this case, a relation of origin causes the opposition without
breaking the unity of the being.
The same being supposed subsistent, being capable of
intelligencing itself, can beget an ideal conception of itself;
in other words, the same being can exist as object understood in
itself, as subject understanding, as object loved in itself, and
as subject loving. In this origination, the relation between the
terms originated is true and real; because the being as subject,
as such, is really opposed to itself as object, and truly
relative to itself.
{814}
The being could not be subject, without opposing itself as object
to itself as subject. Yet this takes place without addition to or
subtraction from the unity and the simplicity of the being;
ontologically, the being is absolutely the same. What prevents us
from perceiving this fully and clearly, is the action of the
imagination and the essential condition of our intelligence,
which cannot be exercised except by the help of a sensible
phenomenon. Thus, when we strive to perceive a relation, it is
pictured to our imagination as being something real, a kind of
link or chain between the terms related. Now, when it is
considered that this is only imaginary, and that ontologically a
relation is nothing more than the attitude, to speak the language
of schoolmen, of one object toward another, it is evident that a
being, capable of intelligence and of love, can oppose itself, as
object, to itself as subject, without addition to or diminution
from or breaking up of the simplicity of the being.
We conclude--particular ideas or lesser realities, opposed to
each other, can be harmonized in general idea, or greater
realities.
The metaphysical reason of this is, that opposition proceeds
often-times from limitation, and that general idea or greater
reality, by elimination of the limits, can harmonize things
opposed in their own order. This reason is satisfactory when the
particular ideas or lesser realities are considered distinct and
apart from the general idea or greater reality; that is, they are
opposed when distinct--the opposition vanishes when identified.
But the reason is not satisfactory to explain how there may be
terms distinct and opposed to each other in the same being,
without breaking the unity of the being. The law of opposition of
origin, and the relation resulting therefrom, fully explains and
maintains both the multiplicity and the unity in the same being.
Applying these ideas to the infinite, it is evident that, the
distinction of the divine personalities taking place according to
the law of opposition of origin, both the multiplicity of persons
and the absolute simplicity of the divine essence are maintained.
Because the distinction of the divine persons is caused by a
relation of origin. Now, as we have seen, a relation of origin
neither adds to nor subtracts from the essence; on the other
hand, the relation between the terms is true and real.
Consequently, the law of opposition of origin explains, as far as
human intellect can fathom, how the distinction of the divine
personalities can be maintained without at all detracting from
the unity of the essence.
It will not do to say that theologians have imagined this law, to
suit their systems. This law is given by the fact of human
thought and by the ontological requirements of being. As we have
already observed, being is essentially one, true, and good. Now
these qualities at the same time are identified with being,
because, when the mind tries to fathom them, it finds nothing
added to being, and yet are they essentially a relation. Here we
have identity and distinction, and nothing can explain it, as far
as the mystery of being can be explained, except the law of
opposition of origin. Our readers, from the above remarks, may
see what becomes of that great objection, so often urged against
the dogma of the trinity, and so many times disposed of by the
doctors of the church, yet repeated again and again which the
same assurance.
{815}
It is said, _quae sunt idem tertio, sunt eadem inter se_;
that is, things which are identical with a third thing are
identical with each other. Now, the three divine persons,
according to catholic doctrine, are identical with infinite
essence; therefore they are identical with each other; that is,
not distinct, and consequently cannot exist. Oftentimes, in
thinking over this objection so triumphantly brought forward, we
have thought of the well-known lines of Pope:
"A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring;
Those shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers us again."
For the principle, when examined carefully, does not apply to
those cases in which a distinction is predicated of a being
caused by a relation to itself.
For instance, upon that principle we might reason thus: things
which are identical with a third thing are identical with each
other. But height, length, breadth, and depth are one and the
same thing with bodies; therefore, are identical among
themselves; and all distinction between height and depth, length
and breadth, is a pure figment; and architects, calculating the
proportions of a building, would do well to remember the
principle, for it would save them considerable time and trouble.
Again: unity, truth, and goodness are identical with reality. But
those things which are identical with a third are identical with
each other; therefore, unity, truth, goodness are identical among
themselves, and it is the same thing to be one, true, and good,
as to be. And all the different sciences formed on these
relations of being are useless wastes of thought and meditation.
Moreover, the thinking and loving subject in man, the thought and
the love, are identical with the soul; therefore, according to
the said principle, there is no distinction between the thinking
subject and the thought, and all ideology and grammar is nothing
but useless pastime, and we could correctly say, the soul is a
thinking subject--the soul is a thought.
The truth is, that the principle applies only to particular
cases, and is by no means general; because, as we have
demonstrated, being, in general, requires three distinct
relations to be conceived, and which, remaining distinct among
themselves, are yet identical with being.
The infinite being could neither be conceived, nor be actual,
without three distinct relations, which must be identical with
the essence, without ceasing to be distinct one from another. If
its truth were general and it applied to all cases, it would
abolish all distinction in the infinite being, and consequently,
abolish its actuality and intelligibility, and leave it only as
an abstraction--the Hegelian being--nothing.
Moreover, that the principle does not apply to the infinite is
evident from the very enunciation and meaning of the principle.
Things which are identical with a third are identical with each
other. In the enunciation and in the meaning, the principle
supposes a plurality, and, consequently, a distinction; for the
gist of the principle is to compare a multiplicity to a unity.
Now, who does not see that, if there were not a supreme identity
and a supreme multiplicity beyond the sphere and subordination of
this principle, the principle itself would be destroyed?
{816}
For if it be asked, what is the origin, the cause, and the
supreme expression of plurality and distinction, which this
principle supposes, we must rise to a supreme and typical
distinction and identity, not subject to the principle; else we
could never account for the existence of the principle.
The infinite is the supreme identity and the supreme
multiplicity, the cause of all distinction and identity, and
consequently, to it the principle cannot apply.
We conclude, therefore, that the first law governing the genesis
of God's life is the law of opposition of origin, and that this
law accounts both for the unity of essence and the trinity of
persons in God.
We pass to the second law, which is as follows: _In the
infinite, there must be a person who does not proceed from
anything, and who is neither begotten nor made, but who subsists
by himself_. The metaphysical reason of this law is, that
there must be a first principle in everything, both in the
ontological and in the ideological orders.
In the ontological order, because if every principle of reality,
if every cause called for the existence of another to explain its
existence, it is evident that there would be a process _ad
infinitum_ without explaining anything. For an infinite number
of causes, each requiring another cause to explain their
existence, would multiply, _ad infinitum_, the necessity of
first cause, existing by itself and containing in itself the
reason of its existence.
In the ideological order, because every science must have a
principle which is not derived from any other, and which must be
taken for granted, otherwise science would become impossible. Ask
a proof and a demonstration for every principle, say of
mathematics, and you will never be able to learn it.
Thus, in the genesis of infinite life, there must be a first
person who subsists by himself, otherwise the life of the
infinite becomes impossible.
But, besides this general reason which requires a first person
underived from anything, there is a particular reason, more
closely allied to the subject, which demonstrates it. Because, if
there were not a first person in the infinite, not proceeding
from any other thing, it would originate either from the essence
or from another person. Now, it could not originate from the
essence; because between the principle and its product there is a
real opposition of origin; therefore, in the supposition, there
would be a real opposition between the essence of the infinite
and the first person. Now, the essence in question is infinite,
and only the finite can be opposed to it. The first person,
therefore, proceeding from the essence, would be finite and not
infinite; that is, he would be a creature. Moreover, it would be
impossible that the first person should proceed from the essence,
because the essence without subsistence is an abstraction, and an
abstraction could not originate a reality.
It could not proceed from another person, because, as we have
remarked, this other person, unless subsisting of himself, would
require another as his principle, and so on _ad infinitum_.
As a corollary of this law, it follows that whatever other
persons may be supposed to exist in the infinite, they must
originate from the first; because--no other distinction being
possible in the infinite, but that arising from opposition of
origin--it follows that, if there were other persons in the
infinite, and if they did not originate from the first, they
could not be opposed to it, and therefore they could not be
distinguished from it; in other words, they could not exist.
{817}
A third law governs the life of the infinite; which, if possible,
is yet more important than the former two. It is the law of
immanence, which may be expressed in the following formula.
_The action, by which the persons in the infinite are
originated, terminates inside of the infinite, and is permanent,
eternal, and complete_.
Let it be observed that the action of an agent is always interior
to it, because it is its own movement. But the product of the
agent is not always so; sometimes it is laid inside the agent;
sometimes it terminates outside the agent. In the first case, the
action is called immanent or interior; in the second, transient
or exterior; not because the action is not always interior to the
subject, but because the effect or term of the action is exterior
or foreign to the subject. The first sense, then, in which the
law of immanence is to be applied to the infinite is, that the
terms of the action of the first person terminate inside the
infinite; because, if they were to terminate outside of God, they
would be something different from him, and consequently not
divine persons, but finite beings.
But the law has a higher and more important bearing: it implies
that the action by which the divine persons are originated is not
transitory, successive, and incomplete, but permanent, eternal,
and complete; because God is infinite actuality, or actuality
itself.
Forget for one single moment to apply this law to the genesis of
God's life, and you fall at once into pantheism. For suppose the
act, by which the divine persons are originated, to be transient,
successive, temporary, incomplete, and it would follow at once
that God is in continual development and explication. For He is
either complete and perfect, or on the road to perfection. He is
in _fieri_, or becoming.
And since, as we have often remarked, every development consists
of different stages of explication, the last of which is always
more perfect than those which precede it, it would follow that
the genesis of God's life consists of a successive series of
evolutions, the last of which is always more perfect than that
which precedes it. Now, assuming the genesis of God's life at one
determinate stage, and travelling backward to arrive at the first
stage of explication from which He started, we should pass from a
more perfect, defined, concrete stage of development, to one less
perfect, less defined, less determinate, and thence to one still
less so, until we should arrive at the most indeterminate,
undefined, abstract stage of evolution; at the _least
being_--the _being_ not _being_, the first principle
of pantheism.
But, keeping in view the law of immanence, every one can see that
God's action is supposed at once all perfect, complete, and
adequate--in one word, eternal; and consequently every idea of
development, progress, and succession is eliminated; and the
consequence is, that the infinite is at once conceived as being
infinite actuality; the first principle of Catholic theology--the
precise contradictory of pantheism.
Hence, according to this law, the first person is always
originating, and his origination is always perfect; the others
are always originated, and their existence is always perfect,
adequate, and complete. We say _always_ and _are
originated_, not because the expressions convey the idea of
eternal actuality and completeness, but because, our mind being
measured by time, we can find no better words to exhibit the
idea. Let this remark be made once for all.
{818}
A corollary of this law is, that whatever persons are originated
in the infinite, being within the essence of God and terminating
in Him, they are--_the infinite_, because nothing can be
added to the infinite.
Fourth law: _In the infinite there are no more than two
processions_.
By processions we mean the origination of one person from
another.
Now, that in God there are no more than two processions will
appear evident, if we consider the proper operation of God. God
is a spiritual nature; the proper operation of a spiritual nature
is by intelligence and by will; therefore, the operation of God
is by intelligence and by will, and consequently one origination
is by the intelligence, the other by the will.
So far we have given those laws which govern, in general, the
genesis of God's life. We must now proceed to those laws which
govern the particular origination of each of the two divine
persons.
Now, the law governing the origination of the second person is
the law of intellectual generation. Generation implies the
following elements:
1st, the production of a living being from a living principle;
2d, identity of nature between the two;
3d, this identity required by the very natural, essential, and
direct tendency of the action by which the term is produced.
It is according to these elements of generative law that the
second person in the infinite is produced; and consequently he is
really and truly the _Son_ of God, as the producer is
_Father_.
For the first person, whom we have said to be subsisting by
himself, being intelligent activity, necessarily intelligences
himself. He is the God-head intelligencing himself.
Now, an object understood, inasmuch as it is understood, exists
in the understanding in an intelligible state; for to understand
means just to apprehend, to grasp intelligibly that which is
understood.
The Godhead, therefore, is in himself as the Godhead understood
is in the Godhead understanding. Now, the object understood
existing in the intelligence, is what is called mental word,
intellectual conception, and by the Greeks, _logos_.
Hence in the Godhead exists the Godhead as mental word or logos.
St. John, with a sublime expression, which electrified all the
Platonic philosophers, began his Gospel thus: "In the beginning
(the Father) was the Word."
This Word of the Godhead being conceived by an immanent act, an
act which has neither beginning nor end, which is not power
before it is act, is conceived therefore eternally, and
consequently is coeternal with the conceiver. It is God or the
infinite; because the first person, or intelligent activity,
begets him by an operation which terminates inside himself, by
the law of immanence; consequently the Word is identical with his
essence, and is, therefore, the infinite.
Yet is he a distinct person from the first as Word.
For although the intelligent activity and the Word are both God,
yet are they distinct from each other by the law of opposition of
origin, which implies that a term proceeding from a principle is
necessarily opposed to it, and consequently distinct from it.
Thus the intelligent activity, as principle, is necessarily
opposed to the Word as term; and, _vice versa_, the Word as
term is necessarily opposed to the intelligent activity as
principle.
{819}
In other words, the intelligent activity could not be what it is,
unless it were the opposite of the Word, and this could not be
the Word unless it were the very opposite of intelligent
activity. Hence, to be intelligent, activity belongs so
exclusively to the First, as to exclude any other from partaking
in that distinctive constituent; and to be Word is claimed so
exclusively by the Second, as to be attributed to no other. The
result is a duality of terminations, possessed of the same
infinite nature and its essential attributes, each having a
constituent so exclusively its own as to be altogether
incommunicable. Now, two terminations, possessed of the same
infinite nature and its essential attributes, with a constituent
so exclusively their own as to be attributed to no other, convey
the idea of two persons. For what is a person? A spiritual being
with a termination of his own, which makes him distinct from any
other, gives him the ownership of himself and renders him
solidary of his action.
Now, the intelligent activity is a spiritual being, since he is
the Godhead; is possessed of a constituent of his own,
intelligent activity; has the ownership of himself; for, as
intelligent activity, he is himself and no other, and cannot
communicate himself; and is solidary of his notional action, that
is, the action which constitutes him what he is: he is,
therefore, a person.
Likewise the Word is a spiritual nature; for he is the same
Godhead as to substance; as a relation or Word, he is the owner
of himself, incommunicable, and solidary of his notional action;
hence, he is also a person.
In other words, the Godhead is an infinite spirit; all that
constitutes him, both substance and terms of relation, is spirit.
Consequently, each term of the divine relation, as such term, has
an individuality of his own and, as infinite spirit, has
knowledge and intelligence of himself; he beholds himself
distinct from the other as term of relation, one with the other
as substance. His distinction causes his relative individuality;
consciousness and intelligence of this relative individuality
make him a person.
Here an objection might be raised; to be a person implies,
necessarily, to be intelligent, which is an essential attribute
of spiritual being. Therefore the Word also must be intelligent,
otherwise he would have neither knowledge nor consciousness of
his individuality. But you have attributed intelligence to the
first person as being his particular termination; therefore how
can the Word be a person, if intelligence be the particular
termination of the first? Either the Word is not intelligent, and
then he cannot be a person, or intelligence is not the particular
termination of the first, and in that case they cannot be
persons, for they cannot be distinct.
The difficulty will vanish if it be observed that we have not
attributed intelligence to the first person as his particular
termination, but intelligent _activity_.
A slight attention to the manner according to which the Word is
produced in the infinite, will illustrate this distinction. The
intelligence of the Godhead is infinite in its activity and
actuality, as well as infinite in its term; which means that the
Godhead understands itself infinitely, and an infinite term is
the product of this intellection. Hence, once God has understood
himself and conceived the expression of his intelligence, the
activity is complete and fully terminated; consequently, the
Word, the term of this intelligencing, has the Godhead with all
its essential attributes communicated to him; except the activity
of intelligencing, because the activity is complete in the
production of the Word.
{820}
In other words, the act of the first person is eternal, complete,
and perfect, by the laws of immanence. Its activity is fully and
perfectly exercised in engendering the Word, hence it cannot be
communicated. If it were communicated, it would argue
imperfection and incompleteness in the act and in its term. In
the act, for if any portion of activity remained to be
communicated, the Godhead would not intelligence himself to the
fullest extent of his infinity; in the term, because the Godhead
not intelligencing himself to the full extent of his infinity,
the intellectual utterance which would be produced would not
fully and perfectly express the object.
Consequently both would be imperfect, incomplete, and potential.
This happens in human conception. Our mind, being finite, that
is, partial and imperfect, is forced to exert itself partially
and conceive various mental words, which would not be the case if
its activity were perfect and complete, as it is in the infinite.
This answers another objection which is brought forward by those
who lose sight of the law of immanence in the divine operation.
It is said, If the Word be intelligent, there is nothing to
prevent his engendering another Word, and this second, a third,
and so on _ad infinitum_.
The Word is intelligent, but not intelligent activity. When
intelligence, so to speak, is communicated to him, it has been
exercised in the engendering of himself; or better, the eternal
immanent act of the intelligent activity communicating
intelligence to the Word, is continually being exercised in the
immanent engendering of the Word; therefore it cannot be
communicated to him. [Footnote 290]
[Footnote 290: In Filio non habet _intellectus_ illam
veluti _virtutem_ quia iam habuit actum sibi
adequatum.--_Suarez_, De Trin., lib. 1. cap. 7. v. 11.]
Hence that magnificent expression of the Scripture, "_Semel
loquitur Deus_." "God speaks but once." But because the
activity of engendering another Word is not communicated to him,
it does not follow that he is not endowed with the act of
intelligencing the Father or himself; the Father as his
principle, himself as the product of the Father. For it is one
thing to be intelligent, another thing to be intelligent
principle. To give some examples of this distinction. The
architect of a building who has planned it, is the intelligent
principle of the building; another, who understands the plan of
the building, is the intelligent _beholder_ of the building.
God is the intelligent cause of the world, man is the intelligent
perceiver of the world.
There being, therefore, a distinction between intelligence as
principle or cause, and intelligence as perception, one may
easily conceive how the Word in the infinite may be possessed of
intelligence, without being the principle of intelligence.
The Word, who is one Godhead with the first person, a distinct
person himself, is also the substantial image of the first
person. Because, in force of the act by which he is uttered,
which is essentially assimilative, he is produced as the likeness
of him whose expression and utterance he is; and as he is one as
to substance with the conceiver, he is, consequently, his
substantial image and likeness. We conclude, therefore, that the
production of the second person in the infinite--resulting in a
person, the substantial image of the conceiver, in force of the
act of intelligencing by which he is produced, which is
essentially assimilative--is governed by the law of generation;
and that, consequently, the first person in the infinite is
_Father_, and the second, _Son_. "_Thou art my Son,
to-day I have begotten thee_." [Footnote 291]
[Footnote 291: Ps. ii. 7.]
{821}
The law by which the third person in the infinite is produced, is
different from that which governs the production of the second.
The latter takes place according to the law of generation or
assimilation; the former is subject to the law of aspiration,
which must be understood as follows.
By his Word, the intelligent activity apprehends and conceives
his infinite perfection and goodness. For the Word, as we have
seen, is nothing but the infinite and most perfect expression or
image of the intelligent activity, and as the intelligent
activity is infinite perfection and excellence, so the Word is
the utterance, the intellectual reproduction of that excellence
and goodness. Hence the intelligent activity, by his Word,
conceives and utters himself as infinite perception and
excellence. But perfection or goodness _apprehended_ is
necessarily loved. For goodness, once apprehended, awakens the
will, and necessarily inclines it toward itself; it necessarily
attracts and affects it. The intelligent activity, therefore by
apprehending himself through his Word as infinite perfection and
goodness, necessarily loves himself.
Love implies the insidence or indwelling of the object loved in
the subject loving. The intelligent activity, therefore, who
necessarily loves himself through his Word, must be as object
loved in himself as subject loving.
This love as object must be co-eternal with the infinite, because
by the law of immanence which governs the genesis of infinite
life, every origination in the infinite must be co-eternal with
the infinite.
By the same law also, it must be identical and one with the
infinite; because love, being originated by an immanent act,
terminates inside of the infinite, and is, therefore, identical
with the infinite. The love as object, therefore, is coeternal
and identical with the infinite; it _is_ the infinite.
It is distinct from love as subject and from the Word, by the law
of opposition of origin, which implies that a term which
originates from a principle is necessarily opposed to it, and
consequently distinct. Now, love, as object in the infinite,
originates from the intelligent activity and from the Word. The
intelligent activity, by apprehending himself, as infinite
goodness and excellence, through his Word, loves himself. Hence,
this love proceeds from both--the intelligent activity, who
conceives his infinite goodness--the Word, who represents it, and
makes it intelligible. This love-object is a third person. For,
from what we have said, it appears that love-object is identical
with the infinite, with the divine essence, and consequently
partakes of all the infinite attributes of the essence; hence he
is a spiritual and intelligent being; as distinct from both the
intelligent activity and the Word, he is possessed of a
termination exclusively his own, which makes him the owner of
himself incommunicable and solidary of his notional action. Hence
he is a person.
{822}
This third person, not being originated according to a likeness
of nature, cannot, like the second person, be called son. He is
the personal and subsisting love of the Father and of the Son;
and as the object loved exists in the subject loving, as
inclining, and in a certain manner as impelling, the subject
toward it, as raising in the subject an attraction or aspiration
toward it, hence the third person is called the living and
subsisting Spirit of God.
The better to conceive this distinctive termination of the third
term in the infinite, let us suppose an attraction between two
persons. It is needless to remark that we use this term for want
of a better and more spiritual one. Suppose, therefore, an
attraction between two persons; do not make it an accident or
modification, but substantial; carry it to its utmost perfection,
actualize it _ad infinitum_; so that it may be able to
return upon itself, to have consciousness of itself, to possess
and own itself, and in this sense to feel itself distinct from
and independent of all others--and you will have, as product, a
subsisting or _personal_ attraction, a third person.
Such is the idea we can form of the Holy Spirit. The Father
beholds himself totally in the Son as an offspring of himself,
and loves himself in his offspring, his perfect and substantial
expression.
The Son beholds himself totally in the Father as his author, and
loves the Father as his principle and origin. This common love,
this mutual attraction, this aspiration of the Father toward the
Son, and of the Son toward, the Father, being infinite, is most
actual, perfect, and complete--a living, subsisting attraction,
with consciousness and the ownership of himself, a subsistence
personifying their mutual love and binding both in one eternal
tie of affection.
Hence, by this distinctive constituent of common love, the Spirit
is the archetype of harmony and order; since in his personality
he brings the opposition existing between the conceiver and the
conceived into harmony and unity of love.
He is also the archetype of the _beautiful_, being the very
beauty and loveliness of God.
Beauty, in its highest metaphysical expression, is variety
reduced to unity, by order and proportion. Now, the Spirit
harmonizes the reality and the intelligibility of God into a
unity of love. Hence he is the beauty of the Father and the
Son--their personal and eternal loveliness; and as such, the
archetype of the beautiful in all orders.
He is the very bliss of the infinite, because bliss is the
perfect possession of infinite life. Now, it is in the production
of the Spirit that the genesis of infinite life terminates and is
complete. He is, then, the expression of the perfect possession
and enjoyment of the infinite life--the living Blessedness of
the infinite. The last law which governs the mystery of God's
life, and which is a consequence of all the laws we have
explained, is the law of _insidence_.
This implies the indwelling of all the divine persons in each
other. It is founded both on the community of essence and the
very nature of personalities.
For the essence of the three divine persons, being one and most
simple, it follows that they all meet in it, and consequently
dwell in each other. On the other hand, what constitutes them
persons is essentially a relation. Now, a relation necessarily
asks for and includes the relative term. The intelligent activity
is such, because in him dwells the Word, his infinite expression.
The Word is such, because he is the expression of the intelligent
activity, and dwells in him. The Spirit necessarily dwells in
both, because he is the subsisting aspiration of the activity
toward its conception, and of the conception toward its
principle.
{823}
"_Believe that the Father is in me, and I in the Father_."
(St. John.)
With these laws, we conclude the first part of the problem of
multiplicity raised by pantheism. It is true, as pantheism
affirms, that there must be a certain multiplicity in the unity
of infinite essence. For, without a certain multiplicity, no
being can exist or be intelligible. Pantheism, in giving such
prominent importance to the problem, has rendered great service
to philosophy and to religion, and has cut off, in the very bud,
all those objections raised by the superficial reason of Arians
or anti-trinitarians of old, or Unitarians of modern times. But,
as we have seen, however able in raising the problem, Pantheism
utterly fails in resolving it; and, in its effort to explain the
problem, destroys both the terms to be reconciled. Catholicity,
fully conscious of the immense value of the problem,
unflinchingly asserts that it alone has the secret of its
solution. Without at all assuming to explain away its
super-intelligibility, it lays down such an answer as fully
satisfies the mind which can appreciate the importance and the
sublimity of the problem, and follow it into the depths of its
explanation. The infinite, says Catholicity, is not infinite as
an abstraction or potentiality, a germ as Pantheism affirms,
which ceases to be infinite when it passes into multiplicity; the
infinite is actuality itself.
This actuality consists in a first personality unborn and
unbegotten, with full consciousness of himself and his infinite
perfection. This personality is active intelligence, and in
intelligencing his infinite perfection, begets a conception, an
intelligible expression of that perfection, a second person. The
active intelligence loves his infinite personality conceived by
him in his intelligence. This love is a third personality.
Three personalities or terminations of one infinite actuality: a
multiplicity in unity; unity without being broken by
multiplicity; multiplicity without being destroyed by unity.
Hence the infinite is not a dead, immovable, unintelligible
unity, but a living, actual, intelligible unity; because it is
unity of nature and a trinity of persons; because the unity falls
in the essence, the multiplicity, in the terminations of the
essence.
----------
{824}
A Legend for Husbands.--1699.
Which Wives, Too, May Read--possibly Not Without Profit.
My story is of people that have long since passed away, so that
no one need take it as personal.
American travellers sometimes differ--though for my part, I do
not see why they should--as to the relative attractions of Paris
and London. But they seldom fail to concur in their estimate of
Brussels as one of the most interesting and agreeable cities in
Europe.
And really the Flemish metropolis presents a remarkable variety
of attractions. Parks, boulevards, botanic gardens, museums,
quaint old streets, quainter old houses, libraries, great
pictures, treasures of Rubens, wealth of old MSS., and last, not
least, grand specimens of middle-age architecture, such as the
Hotel de Ville and the Cathedral of St. Gudule.
Indeed, in mediaeval monuments no country in Europe is richer
than Belgium.
In presence of her grand old cathedrals you can well understand
the enthusiasm of those artists who maintain that our age takes
entirely too much credit to itself for its encouragement of the
fine arts. Neither the past nor the present century, they
maintain, will leave to posterity monuments of such grandeur,
boldness, beauty, and originality as have been bequeathed to us
by the period that immediately followed the crusades; and
strangely enough, these bequests of the "dark ages" can bear any
test of critical scrutiny, even in the full blaze of our
nineteenth century enlightenment.
Will our architectural legacies appear as well in the eyes of
future generations?
"Why, look around you," said to me a Flemish artist; "in those
days the erection of a costly edifice was not handed over to mere
mechanics. The body of it was intrusted to architects. Sculptors
created its woodwork. Carvers executed what is now turned out by
machinery; painters gave you pictures where you now get plaster,
and the Benvenuto Cellinis of the day worked their miracles of
art in metals which today the blacksmith hammers out at his
forge. Ah! that was the golden age of artists, when the pulpits,
the altars, the stalls, and the organ-lofts were monuments; when
furniture, doors, chairs, and tables were poems in wood; when the
family goblets, the mere handle of a poignard or a sword were
chased and embellished; when exquisite miniatures, illuminated
missals, and wood engravings made a picture-gallery of the dryest
chronicle; when fresco and encaustic decorated the walls and
floors; when ceilings and beams shone with arabesques, windows
were bright with stained glass; when, in short, all the arts
brought their tribute of beauty to a church or to a palace. It
was in the fading twilight of these artistic glories that
sculpture in wood still flourished among the artists of ancient
Flanders."
Somewhat thus discoursed to me an enthusiastic young Belgian
painter, as we stood together admiring that grand work of art,
the carved oak pulpit in the cathedral of St. Gudule, at
Brussels.
{825}
This pulpit is a work to which the term unique may be applied
with scrupulous fidelity.
The admiration drawn from you by sculptures in wood elsewhere
culminates in presence of this singular creation of genius. No
description can adequately place it before you or render it
justice. In its exquisite architecture and sculpture, a poem as
grand as that of Milton is spread out before you.
An outline, only, the merest outline, can be attempted to supply
description.
Adam and Eve apparently sustain the terrestrial globe. An angel
chases them from Paradise, and Death pursues them. The life-size
figure of Adam, in particular, is admirable. Carved in marble, it
would have been something for Canova to have been proud of. The
preacher stands in the concavity of the globe, which is
overshadowed by the branches of the tree of good and evil,
covered with birds and animals characteristically grouped. By the
side of Adam is an eagle; on that of Eve, a peacock and a
squirrel.
To the top of the tree is attached a canopy upheld by two angels
and a female figure symbolical of truth. Above stands the Blessed
Virgin with the infant Saviour, who, with a cross in his hand,
crushes the head of the Serpent, whose hideous body, in huge
folds, twines around the tree. "This pulpit was made," said, or
rather sang, to me, the old gray-haired sexton or _bedeau_,
to the tune in which he had shown the lions of the cathedral for
more than thirty years--"This pulpit was made by Verbruggen, of
Antwerp, in 1699, for the Jesuits of Louvain. Upon the
suppression of their order, it was presented to this cathedral by
the empress Maria Theresa. This pulpit--"
Here I interrupted him with questions as to Verbruggen--what was
known of him? Had he left any other works? and so on, to the end
of the chapter. All in vain; I could obtain nothing but a
negative shake of the head, and a hint that it was time to close
the cathedral doors.
My stay in Brussels was prolonged many weeks; and besides my
attendance on Sundays, I frequently, in my rambles between the
grand park and what Mrs. Major O'Dowd calls the _Marchy
O'flures_, strayed into St. Gudule to admire the finest
specimens of stained glass in the world; to read the inscriptions
on the tombs of the Dukes of Brabant, and to feast my eyes and
imagination on the grand old pulpit.
In the course of these visits I became better acquainted with the
_bedeau_ in charge, and after some persuasion and a few
well-timed attentions, the old man at last acknowledged to me
that there was something more than mere names and dates connected
with the history of the pulpit.
Finally, upon my solemn assurance that I was not an Englishman,
and would not write a book and put him and the pulpit therein, he
promised to tell me all he knew about it.
Accordingly, by arrangement with him, I loitered in the cathedral
one evening after vespers until the faithful had finished their
devotions and left the church.
Taking a couple of rush-bottom chairs from one of the huge
pyramids of them piled up at the lower end of the building, we
seated ourselves just outside the grand portal, and the old man
began his recital. Years have since gone by, and I cannot repeat
it in his quaint manner; but, substantially, he thus told me the
{826}
Story Of The Carved Oak Pulpit.
Henry Verbruggen was heart and soul an artist. Gay, careless,
pleasure-loving, he appeared to live but for two things; his art,
first, and then his amusements.
Verbruggen married Martha Van Meeren, the pretty, the timid, the
good Martha Van Meeren. In the mirage of his artist's enthusiasm
her sweetness, her grace, her beauty, made her at first appear to
him a sylph, a muse, an angel.
Alas! though gentle and attractive, Martha was, after all, only a
woman, of the earth, earthy. In a quiet, well-ordered household
Martha would have been a treasure; but in the eccentric home of
the artist she was out of her element.
A pattern of neatness and economy, an accomplished Flemish
house-wife, a neat domicil and well-spread table possessed for
Martha more attraction than the imaginary world of beauty in
which her artist husband revelled, even when poverty threatened
or want oppressed them. Poor Martha! In vain she remonstrated; in
vain she implored. Henry would neglect his work; he would be idle
and spend his days at the _cabaret_, in the society of those
who were even more idle and more dissipated than himself.
Thus years went on. Martha was not happy. A tinge of moroseness
shaded the clear sunshine of her usual mildness. Occasionally,
too, she came out of her quiet sadness and found sharp words of
reproof for Henry, and anger for the companions who kept him from
home. And so it came about that soon, in Verbruggen's eyes,
Martha appeared harsh and repulsive. Then swiftly followed
dispute and recrimination. His early enchantment had disappeared;
Martha was not the wife for him, thought Verbruggen. He should
have had one as careless, as enthusiastic as himself. Would such
a wife have suited him, think you--you who know the human heart?
Meantime things went from bad to worse. Verbruggen scarcely came
home, totally neglected his art, fell into utter idleness and the
slough of despond, and his family was soon reduced to
want--almost to beggary.
In this crisis--it was in the year 1699--a Jesuit father who had
heard of Verbruggen's talent, called upon him, supplied him with
means, and ordered a pulpit, the most beautiful his art could
produce, for the church at Louvain.
Surprise, gratitude, joy, enthusiasm, all contributed to arouse
the dormant energies of the artist. He set himself energetically
at the composition of a design for his work.
"I will make," said he, "of this pulpit my greatest production.
It shall be," he exclaimed, growing radiant with artistic
inspiration, "something that shall display at a glance the
history of the Christian religion. I will place," thus he mused,
"under the terrestrial globe, Adam and Eve the moment after the
fatal act of disobedience. This globe shall be the pulpit. Around
it shall watch the four Evangelists. Over it shall hang the
canopy of heaven, supported on the right by angels, on the left
by Truth herself. The date-tree shall lend its shade. The long
scaly wings of the serpent shall encircle it, reaching from man
on earth to the Blessed Virgin in heaven. By the side of man I
will place the cherubim armed with his flaming sword, and near
Eve, young and beautiful, a hideous figure of Death. Higher up
shall be the divine infant, with one foot on the head of the
serpent; he shall stand by the side of his august mother,
resplendent in her crown of stars, surrounded by angels, cherubs,
and seraphs.
{827}
Yes, all this and more will I do. The very wood shall grow into
life under my hands, and ages yet unborn shall hear of Henry
Verbruggen of Antwerp."
The artist went at his work with all the enthusiasm of genius,
and had completed the body of the pulpit without placing the
Evangelists according to his original design, when, in a moment
of malicious spite, he imagined he would punish Martha by
displaying near Eve various satirical emblems of her sex's
qualities.