To secure success in tilling the field from which so desirable a harvest

is to be gathered, the most conscientious writers must be content, however

they may deplore the necessity, to sharpen their plough‐shares in the

camps of these Philistines of literature. With no blunt implement can the

soil be compelled to yield such harvest.

We may furnish entertaining and edifying biographies, and gain a few

readers. For this department women are by nature peculiarly fitted, if

they will guard against the tendency to exaggeration which is their

besetting sin. But for one reader of such a book there will be fifty, even

among Catholics, who will prefer the demoralizing trash in cheap

newspapers and dime novels to the best biography that can be produced.

Truth should be presented in a sharp and, to use a phrase of the times,

_taking_ way which shall compel a hearing. The popular absurdities and

glaring depravities of this “enlightened XIXth century” should be set

forth with vehement energy and convincing force.

It is no shadow, but a real, all‐pervading, soul‐destroying power with

which the Christian athlete of this day is brought into close conflict.

The foe must be met by an attitude as firmly hostile to its evil

enticements as it assumes against all good influences. “Beating the air”

will win no victory. Seeking to compromise or modify the stern principles

of eternal truth held and proclaimed by the Catholic Church from first to

last will only ensure defeat.

If our women join in the struggle to resist the forces of infidelity which

threaten to overwhelm our sons and daughters in temporal and eternal ruin,

and, in their zealous enthusiasm, step beyond the sphere of domestic

privacy and humble retirement that is happily their own; if some literary

Judith even throws off for the moment the delicate tenderness of her sex,

and seems to pass the limits of female decorum to strike off the head a

leading Holofernes, let us not cry, Out upon her for such unwomanly act!

Let us reflect that it would have been more in accordance with her nature

and inclination to have remained quietly in her sequestered home and at

her ease, if she could have forgotten the fearful interests that were at

stake.

What woman could look on with apathy when husband, brother, or child was

exposed to certain death, from which her strongest effort might possibly

snatch the dear one, or listen to the remonstrance that it was unbecoming

and improper for a woman to put forth such effort, and that it must prove

a very feeble and faulty one at the best? And shall we ask her to fold her

hands in ease, and remain silent in fitting retirement, when the souls of

her beloved are exposed to eternal death? No; it is her inalienable right

to speak and act when by word or deed she may possibly rescue souls.

Should sentiments of mere human feeling, and affections from which it is

most difficult to detach the heart of woman, enter into, imbue, and even

control the means she uses to promote interests dearer than mortal life,

she has nothing to fear but the critics. Her heavenly Judge will never

condemn her for using such weapons as he has endowed her withal in his

holy cause.

Honey is sometimes better than vinegar, feminine sentiment often more

effective than masculine wisdom, and fervor always to be preferred to

apathy.

We need not fear that the Catholic woman will be carried too far by her

fervent zeal in resisting the “spirit of the age.” She can never be led

into the mistakes of the so‐called “strong‐minded.” Our vigilant and

loving mother, the Holy Catholic Church, arms her daughters with

invulnerable shields against all fanaticism. She holds also in her hands

the power to sanctify all influences by which souls are attracted to her

embrace; to transmute all metals into gold.

If an appeal to the sentimental and emotional element in the heart of a

stranger to her fold has drawn the wanderer to her maternal bosom, her

gentle, all‐prevailing inspiration soon condenses feeling into principle,

and the romantic visionary stands clothed in the panoply of a martyr.

If fitting words bravely spoken have called hither a soul from the slough

of transcendentalism, spiritism, free love, or from the ranks of the

“strong‐minded,” there is no fear that it may prove less docile to the

genial influence than that of the dreamer, or fail to be speedily invested

with all the delicate attributes and simple dignity of the true woman.

All honor to the Catholic women in our own country and in Great Britain

who are striving, each in her own way, to promote the interests of a sound

and truly Catholic literature. When there were but few of these in

America, our sisters beyond the Atlantic reached their hands across the

great waters to rescue souls. It will be known only at the great

accounting day how many they first attracted to the consideration of

eternal verities. From that time they have increased in number, and have

continued to enrich British Catholic literature by their contributions,

while encouraging their American co‐workers.

A feminine Catholic literature may not be faultless, and yet gain numerous

readers, and prove a power for good, not only within the church, but

beyond her pale. Women are human, and therefore liable to imperfection.

When we notice the faults of female writers, we must not forget the

difficulties which encompass them. Few American women who write are exempt

from a multitude of vexatious household cares, or even from kitchen

drudgery. Many are oppressed with poverty, have no power to earn a

subsistence but by the pen, with helpless families dependent upon their

literary exertions. Among the most favored, scarcely one can be found who

has not some invalid—a husband, parent, or child—who requires her

attentions by night and day. It may be safely asserted that such literary

leisure as men devoted to these pursuits ordinarily enjoy is unknown to

American women. With all their disadvantages, the marvel is, not that

their performances should be imperfect, but that they have really

accomplished so much under the shadow of the crowding cares and duties

which surround them in their various domestic relations.

Let them take courage, then, and persevere in their laudable efforts,

striving diligently to make the productions of their pens more and more

perfect. And to this end let them bestow their cordial smiles and most

graceful bows of acknowledgment upon their best friends—the critics who

will take the pains to examine and pass honest and intelligent verdicts

upon their productions. Acute criticism is the purging fire of literature,

without which it would soon become overburdened with nonsense. As the

friend who kindly admonishes us of our faults is entitled to the warmest

corner in our hearts, so the critic who frankly sets forth the defects of

any production may justly claim the most sincere gratitude of its author.

New Publications.

STATE CHARITIES AID ASSOCIATION. Report of a Committee on a new

Bellevue Hospital. New York: American Church Press Co., 4 St.

Mark’s Place. 1874.

This pamphlet is worth reading by all who are interested in hospitals. The

need of reformation in this branch of philanthropic work is only too well

proved. The gentlemen and ladies who interest themselves in the care of

the sick poor merit both honor and gratitude. All that is written or done,

however, by the most zealous and disinterested persons who seek to

accomplish their end outside of the Catholic Church only adds to the

evidence that the church alone is competent to deal with great social

evils and miseries. The state is cold, selfish, and merciless, except so

far as it is Christianized. Mercenaries are always lacking in the

qualities necessary to secure a truly faithful and charitable care of the

sick and miserable. Division among those who are seeking to carry out the

precepts of Christian charity, and the want of organization and of

religious institutions among those who are out of the one true church,

paralyze their efforts. It is only Christian unity which can give the

proper remedy for this lamentable state of things, and without Catholic

faith and obedience this unity is impossible. Religious orders are alone

capable of carrying out great works of charity, and they cannot exist and

flourish except in the Catholic Church. If modern society does not return

to the bosom of the church, its evils are incurable, however much

individuals may do in a partial way. Nevertheless, these partial and

imperfect efforts ought to be encouraged; and during this past winter we

have had occasion to admire and rejoice in the outflow of a stream of

beneficence upon our suffering population in New York which has relieved

an immense amount of misery. In so far as the special subject of this

pamphlet is concerned, it is obvious that the erection of a new Bellevue

Hospital is imperatively demanded, and we trust that it will be

accomplished.

UNIVERSITE LAVAL. SIXIEME CENTENAIRE DE SAINT THOMAS D’AQUIN A S.

HYACINTHE ET A QUEBEC. Quebec: Coté et Cie. 1874.

We are rejoiced to see that the six‐hundredth anniversary of S. Thomas was

celebrated with due splendor and solemnity in at least these two places on

the American continent. The same was done in private at the college of the

Jesuits, at Woodstock. The Quebec pamphlet, besides the two excellent

discourses of M. l’Abbé Bégin and the Rev. F. Prior Bourgeois, O.S.D.,

contains a very remarkable poem by a religious of the Congregation of the

Precious Blood at S. Hyacinthe. We tender our thanks for the courtesy of

the friend who sent us this interesting memorial of a religious _fête_

which does honor to the taste and piety of the devout and cultivated

Catholics of Lower Canada.

The two discourses contained in the pamphlet are of a high order of

excellence in regard both to thought and diction. We have accidentally

omitted to notice among the other discourses that of Professor Pâquèt,

which is fully worthy of the brilliant occasion on which it was delivered,

viz., the soirée which took place in the evening in the grand hall of the

university.

TRUE TO TRUST. London: Burns & Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold by The

Catholic Publication Society.)

This story, the epoch of which is placed during the reign of Henry VIII.,

is almost worthy of Lady Georgiana Fullerton, and its style frequently

reminds us of that accomplished writer of fiction. The character of

Catharine Tresize is truly beautiful and original. We recommend this story

as one of the best which has lately appeared.

IN SIX MONTHS; OR, THE TWO FRIENDS. By Mary M. Meline. Baltimore:

Kelly, Piet & Co. 1874.

The story of the two friends, who are two young Americans converted to

Catholicity in Europe, has the advantage of appearing upon tinted paper,

in a neat form, suitable to the polished, ornate diction and poetic fancy

of the lady author, a near relative of the late Mr. Meline, who was one of

our favorite contributors. Miss Meline has a cultivated literary taste and

a decided talent for writing stories. She has, moreover, the genuine

Catholic spirit of fervent devotion to the Holy Father, and in the present

story describes some scenes connected with the invasions of Rome under

Garibaldi and La Marmora. We trust Miss Meline will not suffer her pen to

lie idle, but keep it busily at work.

DR. COXE’S CLAIMS TO APOSTOLICITY REVIEWED. Right Rev. Bishop

Ryan’s Reply to the Attack of the Episcopal Prelate. Buffalo:

Catholic Publication Co. Price 15 cents.

Dr. Coxe is a prelate who has always been conspicuous for arrogance and

reckless assertion in maintaining the pretensions of the High Church party

in the Protestant Episcopal denomination, and for his vituperative and

defamatory assaults on the Catholic Church. In this temperate but severe

criticism, Bishop Ryan has made an end of his claims to possess episcopal

character and mission, and has refuted him out of his own mouth. We trust

that this able and valuable pamphlet will not be permitted to go into

oblivion, as pamphlets are wont to do, but be carefully preserved and made

use of by clergymen and others who have to deal with Episcopalians

searching after the true church, of whom there are so many in these days.

COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT’S LETTERS TO A SCHOOLFELLOW. 1827‐1830.

Translated from the French by C. F. Audly. London: Burns & Oates.

1874. New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.

Goethe somewhere remarks that many of an author’s best thoughts are to be

found in his letters to his intimate friends; written, not for the public,

not for fame but from the strong desire to communicate that which is most

living within him to a kindred spirit.

In the confidential correspondence of great minds there is a yet greater

charm. We feel a kind of personal interest in men who have exercised great

intellectual power over us; they become our heroes, and we endow them with

imaginary qualities, from lack of more certain information concerning

them. The minutest details in their lives become to us affairs of moment.

How they looked, how they dressed, what they thought about the most

trifling subjects, seem to us to be matters worthy of becoming a part of

history. There is a still higher interest in the story of the unfolding of

a powerful intellect. It contains a lesson in psychology more instructive

than any which can be learned from abstract treatises on this subject.

This it is that gives the chief value to autobiographies of philosophers,

poets, and theologians. Yet an autobiography can never be a mirror in

which we may behold the workings of the human mind. It is an after‐

thought, a reflex judgment, the expression of what men now think they once

felt or thought. It does not give us the process of intellectual growth,

but a theory concerning what that process must have been; and a theory

formed by the individual concerning the flux and reflux of the currents of

his own life can never be wholly trustworthy. Autobiography is necessarily

subject to all the vices inherent in special pleading.

The truest history of the intellectual and moral development of a man is

to be found in his letters to his intimate friends. There we have, not

what in after‐years he thinks he thought and felt, but what he really did

think and feel; and in this view of the matter, the egotism which is

always so prominent in letters to friends gives them an additional value.

Instead of being offended with the writer for talking so much about

himself, we are grateful for the weakness which gives us a truer insight

into his character.

These considerations will prepare our readers for a favorable criticism

upon the volume before us. Few men have lived to whom we more gladly give

the homage of admiration and respect than to Charles de Montalembert; and

though we strongly condemn certain words which he uttered when his mind

was troubled by suffering and disease, and which, had he lived longer, he

himself would have been the first to wish unsaid, he was yet so great a

man that we willingly forget that he made this blunder.

These _Letters_, of which Mr. Audly has given us an excellent English

translation, were first published in the _Contemporain_ (June, 1872, to

March, 1873).

They run from 1827 to 1830, and, as the work of a youth from his

seventeenth to his twentieth year, are of course fresh, frank, and ardent;

but they also reveal in the future orator and historian a depth of feeling

and a command of language rarely to be met with in one of so tender an

age.

They are addressed to M. Léon Cornudet, whom Montalembert calls the friend

of his soul, his dearest friend; to whom he is bound by a common sympathy

in every noble feeling and high aim; whom nor time nor absence can make

him even for one moment forget. What chiefly strengthens him in his faith

in the permanency of this friendship is the fact that it is based on

religion, which becomes the immortal mediatrix between his soul and that

of his friend.

When he travels and contemplates the beauties of nature, his only regret

is that his friend is not near him; when he reads a poem, and his soul is

borne aloft on the wings of inspiration, he exclaims, “Oh! if he were but

here to share my delight.” He never dreams of the future, of battling for

religion and freedom, of victories won and defeats nobly borne, that he

does not behold his friend by his side; and when, picturing to himself the

vicissitudes of life, he imagines that possibly, in spite of his high

resolves and strong purposes, he may fail, may be doomed to obscurity and

the contempt of the world, he seeks for consolation in the thought that in

the heart of his friend he will find a better world.

His friend is, as it were, his other self, which gives to him a twofold

life; making him feel always that “joy was born a twin,” and that all who

joy would win must share it, and that sorrow, too, longs to pour itself

into the heart of love.

This strong friendship—“the only impulse of the soul admitting of

excess”—which, like a thread of gold, runs through all these letters, wins

at once our sympathy and our confidence.

There is something noble and great in the youth who is capable of such

pure and deep love. After all, it is the heart that reaches highest and

deepest, and through it man attains to the best.

Of course there is in these letters much that is immature; were it not so,

they would not be the letters of a mere boy; but the infinite faith in the

possibility of divine realities even on earth, the lofty contempt for what

is mean and ignoble, the self‐confidence that never doubts of itself, the

restless activity that no work satisfies, the boundless craving for

knowledge, the freshness of the heart that falls like dew upon every

lovely thing, giving it health and beauty—all this so charms and delights

us that we have no eye for defects.

“A contempt for life,” he writes to his friend, “is, in my opinion, the

finest privilege of youth. As we grow older, the more we cling to a frail

existence which becomes a burden to ourselves and to others.”

What has experience that can compensate for the loss of

“The love of higher things and better days;

The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance

Of what is called the world, and the world’s ways;

The moments when we gather from a glance

More joy than from all future pride or praise

Which kindle manhood, but can ne’er entrance

The heart in an existence of its own”?

Young Montalembert, with wealth and noble birth, which gave him the

_entrée_ of the highest circles, found no charm in what is called society.

His mind was too serious, his ambition too lofty, to permit him to throw

away the precious time of youth in frivolous amusements.

“People usually say,” he writes to his friend during the summer vacations

of 1827, “that in youth we ought to give ourselves up to the pleasures of

society. In my opinion, this amounts to downright absurdity. I should

think that in youth we ought to plunge into study or into the profession

we wish to embrace. When a man has done his duty towards his country; when

he can come before the world with laurels won in the senate or on the

field of battle, or at least when he enjoys universal esteem; when, again,

he is sure of commanding universal esteem and respect, then I can

understand that he has a right to enjoy himself in society, and to mix in

it with assurance.”

Montalembert had a passion for labor, which is the only sure road to

excellence and power, and which is also the greatest evidence of ability.

We find him, when not yet ten years old, shut up in his grandfather’s

library, acting as his secretary, helping him in the designs of his

geographical maps, and absorbed in the study of the great English orators;

and later, at college, giving up his recreations, and devoting fifteen

hours a day to the severest mental discipline. By saving five minutes

every morning in his cell at Sainte‐Barbe out of the time allowed to the

pupils for rising and dressing, he managed in one year to translate a

whole volume of Epictetus. He spent a portion of the summer vacation of

1827 at La Roche‐Guyon, the country‐seat of the Duc de Rohan; and though

the castle was filled with guests, for whom the duke provided every kind

of amusement, this intrepid young worker is able to write the following

lines to his friend:

“While you are idling your time away, pray just hear what I shall have

read during my month’s residence at La Roche: in the first place, all

Byron, which is no trifling job; Delolme, on the _British Constitution_—a

capital and highly important work; the whole of the _Odyssey_, twenty‐four

cantos, at the rate of one a day; Thomson, Cowper, Pliny’s _Letters_; the

_Lettres Provinciales_; the _Life of S. Francis Xavier_, by Bouhours,

which the duke obliged me to read; three volumes of the _Mercure_

newspaper; and, lastly, the poetical part of the Greek _Excerpta_.”

Even in Stockholm, whither he went in 1828 with his father, who had been

appointed French ambassador to the court of Sweden, he is able, in the

midst of the endless and tiresome routine of court etiquette, to devote

six or seven hours a day to study. “In the morning,” he writes, “I read

Kant, whom I study deeply, not finding him over‐difficult in the

beginning. At night I plod in detail over Northern history. In the

afternoon I devote all the time I can catch to my correspondence, to

reading a few German poems and novels, and to certain statistical or

political studies.”

Not content with working himself, he seeks to rouse the flagging energies

of his friend by pointing out to him’ what great things he may be able to

do for God and his country. The ruling passion in Montalembert’s heart, in

these early years as during his whole life, was the love of the church and

of freedom.

“Religion, liberty,” he writes—“such are the eternal groundworks of all

virtue. To serve God, to be free—such are our duties. In order to fulfil

them, we must use every resource, every means, which Providence has placed

in our hands.” And again: “I have succeeded in preserving my faith in the

midst of one hundred and twenty infidels; I hope that God will not allow

me to lose my independence of mind in the midst of half a dozen

absolutists.”

And then he pictures to himself the great good which might be accomplished

by a writer who, bidding defiance to the prejudices of youth and the

public, would raise a bold and eloquent voice in defence of freedom and

the church. “What a noble part he would have to play!” he exclaims. “What

blessings he would confer upon mankind! What services he would render to

religion! Ah! wherefore has not God deigned to give me talent? With what

passionate ardor I would have embraced such a glorious future!” Who does

not perceive here how the thoughts of the boy were father to the deeds of

the man?

No author of our time has written more feelingly or eloquently of Ireland

than Montalembert. He was drawn to her by a double attraction—he loved her

for her faith, and he sympathized with her because she was wronged. The

finest portion of his history of _The Monks of the West_ is that devoted

to the Irish saints. Nothing could be more beautiful or more consoling

than the noble pages which he has devoted to this subject. As his

_Histoire de Sainte Elisabeth_ opened a new path across the vast field of

Catholic history, his studies on S. Columba and S. Columbanus called

attention to the wealth of religious poetry and Christian example which

was suffered to remain buried in the archives of the early Irish Church.

In these letters we perceive the first awakening of his love for Ireland,

and are able to trace the causes which led him to study the history of

that most interesting but unhappy land.

“By reading the admirable speeches of Grattan,” he writes in 1828, “I have

discovered, as it were, a new world—the world of Ireland, of her long‐

sufferings, her times of freedom and glory, her sublime geniuses, and her

indefatigable struggles. The universal interest now felt for Ireland, and

the remarkable circumstances in which she is placed at present, have

tempted me to unfold before the eyes of those Frenchmen who care for

Ireland the highly interesting annals and the sundry revolutions of her

history. My Irish parentage on my mother’s side, my deep knowledge of

English, and my acquaintance with several families in that country have

confirmed my first ideas on this matter, and I have determined upon

writing a history of Ireland from the year 1688, and to do it as soon as

possible, in order that it may be published, if that can be done, before

the vital question of the emancipation is solved. There is perhaps no

country presenting such a plentiful harvest of events equally interesting

and unknown.”

Montalembert was in Sweden when he wrote this letter, and he at once sent

to England for books, that he might without delay set to work on his

proposed history of Ireland. In addition to this, he proposed at the end

of the year to visit Ireland itself, that he might consult libraries and

make a thorough study of the people and country. This somewhat ambitious

project of the youthful Montalembert led to no other immediate results

than an article on Ireland in the _Revue Française_, and a journey to the

Emerald Isle in 1830; but to it we are no doubt in part indebted for the

eloquent chapters on the Irish Saints in _The Monks of the West_. His

first letter from Ireland to his friend is full of the enthusiasm with

which the history of that country had inspired him:

“As for the Irishwomen,” he writes, “they are bewitching. They form the

most beautiful female population I ever beheld. But I reserve all my

remarks on the country and the people for our conversations in Paris. For

the present I must simply beg of you to pray that my passion for Ireland

may not become criminal, for it threatens really to lead me astray from

the lawful object of my affections; and I am but too often tempted to turn

away my thoughts from our France to a country so completely responding to

my beliefs, my tastes, and even my most trifling prepossessions.”

He visited the county Wicklow in September, 1830, and wrote to his friend

from the “meeting of the waters in the vale of Avoca.” “No, never,” he

exclaims, “in France, England, the Netherlands, or even in Germany, have I

met with anything comparable to the wild and picturesque defiles of this

Wicklow County.... Only figure to yourself the grandest and yet the most

lovely landscape; torrents abounding in numberless cascades, struggling to

make their way through perpendicular rocks; forests of almost fabulous

depths; meadows and swards full worthy of the Emerald Isle; and then old

abbeys, modern residences, and lodges built in the purest Gothic style.

Place, moreover, in such a landscape, the most pious, most cheerful, most

poetical population in the world. Then, again, say to yourself that

Grattan passed his childhood here; that he meditated his speeches along

these torrents; that one of these residences was bestowed on him by his

fatherland, and that therein he lived in his old age; that all these

beautiful lands were sanctified and immortalized by the Rebellion of 1798.

Well, figure to yourself all this, and you will still have but a faint

idea of what I have felt for the last few days.”

As in his eyes Irishwomen were the most beautiful, and Irish scenery the

most lovely, he was prepared to admire enthusiastically the men of the

country. At Carlow College he dined with the celebrated Bishop Doyle and

several of his professors, who, he says, received him with a truly Homeric

hospitality.

“I really don’t know,” he writes, “which I ought to admire most, the

people or the clergy. I feel confounded at the sight of this people,

equally faithful—as I said in my article, whilst myself hardly believing

it—equally faithful to its old misery and to its old faith, who, of all

the possessions of their forefathers, have preserved nothing but their

religion, the only relic snatched from the conqueror, without ever

allowing themselves to be carried away by the invincible attraction of

imitation.... As for the priests, they are all model priests—manly, open,

cheerful, energetic. No hypocrisy, no assumed reserve, to be read on their

candid and serene countenances; they talk of freedom with all the buoyancy

of a Paris school‐boy, and of their country, of their dear and unfortunate

Ireland, with an accent that would melt a heart of stone. One can see that

over their hearts religion and patriotism hold equal sway. Indeed, in

order to comprehend fully what patriotism is, one must hear an Irish

priest talk of his country.”

It is a mistake to affirm, as has been done, that Montalembert made this

journey to Ireland merely, or chiefly even from a desire to see O’Connell.

The great Liberator had indeed fired his young heart with enthusiasm, and

he rode sixty miles through a dreary country to have the pleasure of

talking with him; but from these letters it is evident that a feeling,

higher and more general than any which could be inspired by an individual,

however great, had drawn him to the Isle of Saints. At Derrynane he found

O’Connell, surrounded by his twenty‐three children and nephews, looking

like a plain country farmer. “I was struck,” he writes, “but not dazzled,

by him. He is by no means the most interesting object in Ireland.”

He heard O’Connell speak, and, in spite of his enthusiastic and

impressionable nature, was disappointed.

“He is but a demagogue,” he tells his friend, “and by no means a great

orator. He is declamatory, inflated, full of bombast; his arguments are

loosely strung together; his fancy is devoid of charm or freshness; his

style harsh, rough, and choppy. The more I see of him, the more I hear

him, the more I am confirmed in my first opinion—to wit, he is not stamped

with the mark of genius or with true greatness. But he defends the finest

of all causes. He has before him no mighty antagonist or rival, and

circumstances—as is the case with many others—will stand him in lieu of

genius.”

We have given our readers but a faint idea of the warmth, and glow, and

freshness that pervade these letters; of the frank and unaffected candor

with which their youthful author lays open his whole heart to his friend;

of the deep spirit of religion and reverence which runs through them; of

the noble sentiments and generous resolves which, as from an inexhaustible

fountain, well up from young Montalembert’s heart. In reading them, we

have felt our own heart grow younger and kindle with new fire; we have

seemed to catch the accent of the olden time, when men lived for honor,

and were glad to die for faith and truth, rather than the metallic tone of

this age, “when only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie.”

We know of no book which we would more gladly see in the hands of our

Catholic youth who lack enthusiasm and are without the courage which a

noble and high purpose in life can alone give.

They need the education which will lift them above low and petty aims, and

cause them to take an interest in things of an unselfish kind. They must

learn that worth is more than success, and honor better than wealth; they

must be taught to outgrow the narrow, calculating spirit of the huckster

and the shopkeeper, the disposition to sneer at enthusiasm and to

depreciate high principles of action; and to this end we know of nothing

that is likely to contribute more effectually than the example and

writings of such men as Montalembert, who devoted the labor of a lifetime

to high aims and noble purposes; who loved the truth for its own sake, and

freedom, not for himself alone, but for all men; who never worshipped the

rising sun or paid court to success, but fought for the just cause without

stopping to reflect whether he would win or lose.

“Let us never forget,” said Montalembert, towards the end of his life,

speaking to his friend—“let us never forget that Rio, when we were young,

cultivated enthusiasm within our souls, and for such a blessing we must be

bound to him by the deepest gratitude.” This is a debt which many a

Catholic to‐day, not in France alone, but throughout the world, owes to

Charles de Montalembert.

THE CONSOLING THOUGHTS OF S. FRANCIS OF SALES. Gathered from his

writings and arranged in order by the Rev. Père Huguet. Boston:

Patrick Donahoe. 1874.

This work is really beyond the scope of the reviewer or the critic, as it

is made up wholly from the writings of a great saint. To every one who

knows the works of S. Francis of Sales, it will be a fresh pleasure to see

such well‐arranged parts of them in an English dress. Père Huguet has had

the happy thought of choosing from the saint’s spiritual treatises

everything that could console the sorrowful, strengthen the weak, and

encourage the doubtful. The translator made it a labor of love to put

these thoughts within the reach of many millions of English‐speaking

people. S. Francis has been read and admired by every one, within or

without the church; and there is between him and the modern mind a

peculiar sympathy which makes him essentially welcome to men of our day.

Non‐Catholics would call him a thoroughly _reasonable_ saint. Everywhere

his counsel will be found on the side of moderation. The “smoking flax”

and the “bruised reed” need not fear him; his gentle touch is the very

thing they require. The care with which Père Huguet has made this

compilation is apparent; for though the sentences that compose one page

may, as he says, have been taken from twenty various treatises, they all

follow each other in admirable order. The author has also supplemented

them with footnotes, consisting of appropriate passages from other

spiritual writers, ancient and modern, bearing on the same subjects as

those treated of by S. Francis. A few of these notes are signed with no

name, and are probably the adapter’s own. S. Francis has a wonderful power

of expressing spiritual truths in little terse sayings that might well be

called proverbs. A few quotations will give an idea of this peculiarity of

his style:

“Persecutions are pieces of the cross of Jesus Christ; we should scruple

very much to allow the smallest particle of them to perish.”

“It is not with spiritual rose‐bushes as with material ones; on the

latter, the thorns remain and the roses pass away; on the former, the

thorns pass away and the roses remain.”

“It is necessary that all these sentiments should sink deep into our

hearts, and that, leaving our reflections and our prayers, we should pass

to our affairs sweetly, lest the liquor of our good resolutions should

evaporate and be lost, for we must allow it to saturate and penetrate our

whole soul; everything, nevertheless, without strain of mind or body.”

Some very beautiful thoughts will be found on death, and the sorrow of the

living for the loss of their dear ones; also some merciful and encouraging

conjectures on the number of the saved, which S. Francis thinks will be

the greater number of Christians.

SERMONS, LECTURES, ETC., ETC., OF THE REV. MICHAEL B. BUCKLEY,

(LATE) SS. PETER AND PAUL’S, CORK. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1874.

This volume, containing the literary remains of the lamented F. Buckley,

will, we have no doubt, be well received by his numerous friends both here

and in Ireland. Though a young man, he had earned a high reputation as a

speaker and a writer; and the contents of this volume prove that his

reputation was not undeserved.

The subjects of the sermons and lectures are varied and interesting, and

are, for the most part, well handled. The memoir of the devoted young

priest attached to the volume will be found edifying and instructive, and

the whole book we deem well worthy the careful perusal of both clergy and

laity.

NOVENA TO OUR LADY OF LOURDES; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE APPARITION.

From the French Edition. Approved by the Bishop of Tarbes.

Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1874.

The devotion to Our Lady of Lourdes has spread so rapidly, and miraculous

favors coming from it have become so common, even in this country, that

this little book is extremely welcome, and will, no doubt, be very

popular. It cannot fail, also, to do much good by making the apparition

more generally known, and increasing the love of the faithful for Our

Lady, and their confidence in her intercession.

MEDITATIONS ON THE HOLY EUCHARIST. By Brother Philippe, Superior‐

General of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. Translated from

the French. West Chester: New York Catholic Protectory. 1873.

All who are acquainted with other meditations by the lately‐deceased and

much‐regretted Brother Philippe will not need to be assured of the

excellence of the present work. We have eighty‐two meditations on the

Eucharist, admirably chosen and thought out. Among them we are delighted

to see one entitled “The Holy Eucharist and the Most Blessed Virgin,” and

another upholding “Frequent Communion.”

Subjoined to these meditations are some on the Sacred Heart of Jesus, by

the same author. These are twenty‐four in number, and will prove of

service for instructions and conferences to sodalities of the Sacred

Heart.

May our glorious Lady, to whom this volume is dedicated, secure it the

reception it deserves. We have never seen anything to surpass these

_Meditations_, which Brother Philippe has left us as a precious legacy.

SNATCHES OF SONG. By Mary A. McMullen (Una). St. Louis: Published

by Patrick Fox, No. 14 South Fifth Street. 1874.

There are several reasons which incline us to speak favorably of this book

of poems. The first, perhaps, is the appearance of its printed pages,

which are neatly executed upon tinted paper. We notice, also, that the red

on the edges does not rub off on our fingers, which is a great source of

satisfaction to one who is obliged to handle new books. On turning the

book over, it occurs to us that green muslin does not form a pleasant

contrast with red edges; but as we notice a gilded harp and shamrock on

the cover, the arrangement of color is perhaps intended to be typical of

the sentiments of the authoress.

The book‐noticer—for we shall not claim the august title of critic—pauses

with instinctive reverence at sight of the works of a poet, and, above

all, of a poetess. The rhymes must be either good or bad. If good, how

shall he condense the ecstasies, the harmonies, of one volume into the

prosaic compass of a notice? If bad, how shall he run the risk of breaking

by rude treatment the strings of a lyre which is perhaps just working into

tune, or inflict a wound on those gushing hearts which sing with the birds

or bubble with the brooks? In the present instance, we are glad to be able

to say that the verses are not bad. The writer has talent. While there is

no marked or striking originality in the subjects chosen, and not much of

deep and moving pathos, there are many well‐turned and pretty stanzas, and

at times quite a wealth of imagery and illustration. The lines on “The

Nightingale,” “To Cashel,” “The Wayside Shrine,” will furnish instances of

this; and the volume will be found agreeable to lovers of poetry. The

writer deserves to be encouraged. We wish her success in the fortune of

her volume.

There is, however, a tone in some of the strains which grates somewhat

upon our ears. Although no one suffers from the abuse of arbitrary power

as greatly as the holy church, it is not her spirit to seek relief by

violence, nor is this permitted to her children, even under oppressive

tyranny, excepting when it promises to be a true remedy. There is much

more to be feared in these days from the spirit of lawlessness and

rebellion than from intelligent submission to governments, even when

imperfect in form and unjust in practice. Our Holy Father, while branding

with his apostolic eloquence the iniquities of which he is the victim, has

forbidden violent resistance, for the time being, to the oppressors of

Italy. The Catholics of Germany, under the most diabolical tyranny, have

not sought relief by agitating insurrection. And while we do not propose

to submit to injustice, or to call bad things by good names, we will never

wilfully stain our hands by unnecessary bloodshed. Under these

circumstances, the “Hymn to Liberty,” page 39, strikes us as a piece of

heated declamation.

Some lines which we have noted at intervals, and which seem to look

forward to the emancipation of Ireland as the work of the sword, though

highly gratifying to martial spirits, will not wholly commend themselves

to those friends of Ireland who are now seeking it by peaceful means, and

tread in the paces of the great O’Connell. There is no beauty without

truth; and those who lose sight of it, even in minor details, run the risk

of a false inspiration. We are glad to notice, on the other hand, several

poems in the volume full of Catholic thought and piety. As for the

melodies, harmonies, etc., before alluded to, those who wish for them must

lay aside our notice and read the book.

THE PARADISE OF GOD; or, The Virtues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

By a Father of the Society of Jesus. Baltimore: John Murphy & Co.

London: R. Washbourne. 1874. (New York: Sold by The Catholic

Publication Society).

The idea of this book is to show that the lovers of the Sacred Heart find

in that “masterpiece of creation” an Eden more beautiful than that from

which sin expelled us. The various chapters treating of the “Virtues,”

will be read with delight by all who are capable of appreciating them. The

book is one of the “Messenger Series,” and uniform with the _Happiness of

Heaven_ and _God Our Father_—two works which have been widely read.

Books and Pamphlets Received.

From D. & J. SADLIER & Co., New York: Sadliers’ Catholic

Directory, Almanac, and Ordo for 1874. 12mo.

From the AUTHOR: The Anæsthetic Revelation and the Gist of

Philosophy. By Benj. P. Blood. 8vo. pp. 37.

From J. MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: Circular of the Catholic

Commissioner for Indian Missions, to the Catholics of the United

States. Paper, 8vo, pp. 14.

From COMPTON & CO., Halifax, N. S. The Evil of our Day: A Lecture

by Rev. A. Chisholm. 8vo, pp. 15.

From the AUTHOR: Speech of Hon. N. P. Chipman in the House of

Representatives, Feb. 28, 1874. Paper, 12mo, pp. 31.

From METCALF & CO., Northampton: Sixth Annual Report of the Clarke

Institution for Deaf Mutes. Paper, 8vo, pp. 40.

From C. LANGE & CO., New York: Fourth Annual Report of the

Manhattan Eye and Ear Hospital. Paper, 12mo, pp. 34.

From J. LOVELL, Montreal: The Labor and Money Questions. By Wm.

Brown. Paper, 24mo, pp. 58.

From J. A. MCGEE: Ireland Among the Nations. By Rev. J. O’Leary,

D.D. 12mo, pp. 208.

From P. FOX, St. Louis: Snatches of Song. By Mary A. McMullen

(Una). 18mo, pp. 203.

From SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., New York: The History of Greece.

By Prof. Dr. Ernst Curtius. Translated by A. W. Ward, M.A. Vol.

IV. 12mo, pp. 530.

From J. MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: The Paradise of God; or, The

Virtues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By a Father of the Society

of Jesus. 18mo, pp. 365.

From The NEW YORK CATHOLIC PROTECTORY, West Chester: Meditations

on the Holy Eucharist, and Meditations on the Sacred Heart of

Jesus. By Brother Philippe. 12mo, pp. xvi., 508, 153.

From P. DONAHOE, Boston: Holy Week in the Vatican. By Thomas Canon

Pope. 12mo, pp. xxiv., 416.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XIX., NO. 111.—JUNE, 1874.

The Principles Of Real Being. VI. Principles of Nominal Realities.

There are beings which are called _real_, not because they have any

special reality of their own, but only on account of their objective

connection with real beings. Thus possibilities are called “real,”

although the things possible have no formal existence and no actual

essence; relations are called “real” when they have real terms and a real

foundation, although they are not found to possess (unless they be

transcendental) any new and special reality; distinction, too, is called

“real” from the reality of those things that are distinct, although

distinction in itself is neither a new thing nor aught of any real thing.

Hence possibility, relation, and distinction are to be looked upon as

entities having only a conventional reality, from which their denomination

of “real” has been desumed. Let us therefore inquire what are the

principles on which these nominal realities depend.

Principles of possible being.

It has been proved, in one of our preceding articles, that every created

being is constituted of an act, of a potential term, and of their formal

complement. It is now to be observed that an act, when conceived as ready

to be produced and to actuate its term, is called a “first act”—_actus

primus_; whilst the same act, when already produced and existing in its

term, is called a “second act”—_actus secundus_. In the same manner, the

potential term, or the potency, when conceived as ready to be first

actuated by an act and to complete it, is called a “first

potency”—_potentia prima_; whilst the same term, when already actuated and

completing its act, receives the name of “second potency”—_potentia

secunda_.(85)

When treating of being as possible, it is evident that we cannot consider

its act as really actuating a term; for such a real actuation would

immediately be followed by the real actuality of the being. Yet the

quiddity of a possible being is always conceived through the same

principles and the same ratios through which the quiddity of the actual

being is conceivable. For a being is adequately possible when an act is

terminable or can give existence, when a term is actuable or can receive

existence, and when, from the concurrence of the two, one complete

actuality can result. The act, the term, and the complement are therefore

implied in the possible no less than in the actual being; with this

difference, however: that in the actual being the act and the term are

actually existing in one another, whereas in the possible being the act

and the term are not really existing in one another, but only mentally

conceived as ready to conspire into one common existence. In other words,

in the actual being the act is a _second act_, the term is a _second

potency_, and the complement is a real and formal _result_; whilst in the

possible being the act is a _first act_, the term is a _first potency_,

and the complement is a mere _resultability_.

Hence the intrinsic possibility of a being may be regarded under two

correlative aspects—that is either as the terminability of a first act, or

as the actuability of a first potency. Under the first aspect, possibility

involves a positive reality, because it implies a real entity which is

eminently (that is, in a more perfect manner) pre‐contained in the entity

and power of its cause. Under the second aspect, possibility does not

_involve_ anything positive—unless we speak of the possibility of

accidents, which require a positive subject—but only _connotes_ something

positive, to wit, the first act by which the term is to be formally

actuated. Possibility, under this second aspect, and with reference to

primitive beings, is nothing else than the potentiality with which we

clothe nothingness when we conceive it as a term out of which beings are

educed by creation; for nothingness thus conceived connotes the act by

which the non‐existing term can be brought into being.

Every possible being has, therefore, a twofold incomplete possibility—the

_formal_ and the _material_. The formal consists in the terminability of a

first act; the material in the actuability of its term; while the complete

and adequate intrinsic possibility of the being is a simple result of the

concurrence of the two.

It must be manifest, as a consequence from the preceding remarks, that a

possible being is not truly, but only _nominally_, real. For its material

possibility, or its possible term, is only an entity of reason, since it

means nothing more than a non‐entity conceived as liable to actuation; and

its formal possibility, or its possible act, although involving, as we

have said, the notion of a positive reality eminently contained in the

entity of the Creator, is still nothing formally in that line of reality

to which we refer when we speak of its possibility. Thus the possibility

of man, so far as it is eminently contained in the entity of the Creator,

is no human entity at all, but simply God’s entity and power; just as the

possibility of velocity, so far as it is eminently contained in the entity

of its cause, is no formal velocity at all, but simply the entity and

power of the agent by which the velocity can be brought into being.

Certainly, the velocity with which a drop of rain falls to the ground has

no formal existence in the earth which produces it, but only in the drop

itself; it being evident that the attractive power of the earth is not

velocity, but the principle of its production. And the same is to be said

of any other effect inasmuch as it is eminently contained in its efficient

cause. Nothing, therefore, that is merely possible has any _formal_ being

in its cause; whence it follows that whatever is merely possible is

nothing more than an entity of reason—that is, an unreality—whether we

consider its material or its formal possibility. All entities, in fact, of

which the act and the term are beings of reason, can have no actuality but

an actuality of reason. Hence possible beings are themselves only beings

of reason, and have no reality, either physical or metaphysical. Why,

then, are they called _real_? Certainly not for what they are, but simply

because their possibility is the possibility _of real beings_. Many

philosophers are wont to style them _metaphysical realities_; but this is

a mistake, for all metaphysical reality implies existence.

Possibles, as mere beings of reason, have neither actuality nor formal

unity, except in intellectual conception; whence it follows that they do

not constitute number, except in intellectual conception. This inference

is evident. For every multitude is made up of distinct units; and

therefore no real multitude can be conceived without real units really

distinct. On the other hand, possible beings are not real, but conceptual,

units, nor are they really, but only mentally, distinct from one another.

As, however, they are distinctly conceived, and have a distinct ideal

actuality in the intellect that conceives them, they constitute what may

be called an _ideal_ multitude. Such a multitude, as seen and exhaustively

comprehended by God’s intellect, is absolutely and positively infinite;

for possibilities are nothing but the virtual degrees of being which God’s

infinite reality eminently contains, and which God’s infinite power can

produce outwardly. The range of possibilities is therefore co‐extensive

with God’s infinity, and thus actually comprises an infinite (not an

_indefinite_) multitude of distinct terms.

This infinite multitude is distinctly and _positively_ known to God in the

perfect comprehension of his own infinite being, which is the

inexhaustible source of all possible beings; to our intellects, however,

which cannot comprehend infinity, the same infinite multitude is known

only _negatively_, inasmuch as we understand that the multitude of

possible beings admits of no limit whatever. We have, in fact, no positive

intuition of the infinite, but acquire a notion of it by means of

abstraction only, as we remove the limits by which any finite reality

directly perceived by us is circumscribed. In other terms, our notion of

the infinite is not an intuitive _idea_, as the ontologists assume, but

only an abstract _concept_.(86)

Thus far we have spoken of what is called _intrinsic_ possibility. Besides

this possibility, which is theoretical and absolute, there is also a

relative possibility which is _extrinsic_ and practical. Extrinsically

possible we call that which is in the power of some being to do. With

regard to God, all that is intrinsically possible is also extrinsically

possible; for his omnipotence has no bounds. With regard to creatures,

whose power is confined to the production of accidental acts, the range of

extrinsic possibility is very limited, since it is reduced to acts of a

determinate species, and depends on extrinsic conditions. Still, as the

efficient power of created substances is never exhausted by exertion,

creatures virtually contain in their own power a multitude of possible

acts which has no limit but that of the multitude of terms or subjects

which can be placed within the sphere of their activity. This amounts to

saying that the active power of creatures can be exerted, not only

successively, but even simultaneously, in the production of any number of

accidental acts of a certain kind. Thus the attractive power of the sun

sufficiently accounts for the possibility of innumerable movements which

can take place at any time and at all times in any number of planets,

comets, or particles of matter around it; so that the multiplication of

the effects does not require the multiplication of the power, but only

that of the number of subjects, or potential terms, in which the acts

proceeding from that power must be received.

From what we have just said of real possibility, it will be easy to

determine in what real impossibility consists. Really impossible we call

that which cannot exist in nature. Now, nothing can exist in nature which

is not an act completed by a suitable term, or a term actuated by a

suitable act, or an actuality resulting from the conspiration of an act

and a suitable term, as we have shown in a preceding article. That,

therefore, is absolutely and intrinsically impossible in which this

essential law of being is not fulfilled. Thus passion without action is

absolutely and intrinsically impossible, because a term cannot be actuated

without an act; whiteness with nothing white is absolutely impossible,

because no mode of being is conceivable where there is no being; a

material form actuating an intellectual term is absolutely impossible,

because the one cannot give that kind of reality which the other should

receive, and thus they cannot conspire into one essence; rotundity and

triangularity in the same subject are absolutely impossible, because they

exclude and destroy one another. Generally, whenever the assumed

principles of a thing do not conspire into one essential ratio, the thing

will have no essence, and consequently no possibility of existence. Hence

everything is intrinsically impossible which lacks some constituent, or of

which the constituents cannot meet together.

Things intrinsically impossible are no beings, not even ideal beings; for

since they have no essence, they have no objective intelligibility.

Nevertheless, they are said to be _really_, _truly_, _entitatively_

impossible, inasmuch as they are the opposite of possible entity, reality,

and truth.

Besides this intrinsic and absolute impossibility, there is a relative

impossibility, which is styled _extrinsic_, arising from a deficiency or

limitation of extrinsic power. It is evident that a thing intrinsically

possible may be extrinsically impossible to causes possessing limited

power. To God nothing is impossible. When we say that God cannot sin or

make a square circle, we do not limit his power, but only point out the

_intrinsic_ impossibility of the thing. And let this suffice with regard

to possibles and impossibles.

Principles of real relation.

Relative we call “that which connotes something else”—_id quod se habet ad

aliud_. Thus the greater connotes the less, as nothing can be styled

“greater” except as compared with something less; and, similarly, the less

connotes the greater, as nothing can be styled “less” except as compared

with something greater. Hence greater and less are both relative.

That one thing may connote another, there must be some link between

them—that is, a communication in something that reaches them both, and

thus connects the one with the other. Hence, to constitute a relative

being, three things are required: 1st, that which is to be related, or the

_subject_ of the relation; 2d, that to which it is to be related, or the

_term_ of the relation; 3d, that through which it is related, or the

_foundation_ or _formal reason_ of the relation.

It is worth noticing that the word “relation” is used by philosophers in

two different senses. Sometimes it is used as meaning simply “the respect

of a subject to a term”; as when we say that the father by his paternity

is related to his son, or that the son by his filiation is related to his

father. Here paternity and filiation are simple _relativities_, which may

be called “transitive relations,” as the one leads to the other. But

sometimes the word “relation” is used as meaning “the tie resulting

between two terms from the conspiration of their distinct relativities”;

as when we say that between the father and his son there is a tie of

consanguinity. Relation in this sense is nothing else than the actuality

of two correlatives, inasmuch as connected by their distinct relativities,

and may be styled “resultant relation,” or “intransitive relation,” as it

does not lead from the subject to the term, but is predicated of both

together.

The precise distinction between relativity and resultant relation is

marked out by the two prepositions _to_ and _between_. Relativity relates

the subject _to_ its term; resultant relation, or correlation, intervenes

_between_ two terms. Relativity needs completion in a term having an

opposite relativity, as it is evident that paternity has no completion

without a son; and thus one relativity essentially needs to be completed

by the other; but correlation is perfectly complete, as it is the result

of the completion of one relativity by the other. And, lastly, the formal

reason or foundation of the simple relativity is that which induces the

connotation, or the respect of one term to another; whilst the formal

reason of the correlation is the conspiration of two relativities. Thus

the foundation of paternity and of filiation is _generation_, active on

the part of the father, and passive on the part of the son; but the formal

reason of consanguinity is not the generation, but the conspiration of

paternity and filiation into a relative unity. This shows that these two

kinds of relation are entirely distinct, though they are essentially

connected with one another in the constitution of the relative being.

Let us now inquire in what the _reality_ of relations consists. Here again

we have to make a distinction; for among the relations which are called

_real_, some are real in fact, as the transcendental relations, and others

are real by denomination only, as all the predicamental relations.

Transcendental relation is that which intervenes between the act and the

term, or the formal and the material principles of one and the same being.

Such a relation is called “transcendental,” because it transcends the

limits of any particular predicament, and, like _being_, extends to all

predicaments. This relation is truly real, whether we take “relation” as a

simple relativity or as a resultant correlation. For the relativity of an

act to its term is nothing less than the _actuality_ of the act in the

same term; in like manner, the relativity of a term to its act is nothing

less than the _actuality_ of the term in the same act. We know, in fact,

that the common foundation of the two relativities is _actuation_, active

on the part of the act, and passive on the part of the term; and from

actuation nothing but actuality can result. And since by such an actuation

the act and the term are _really_ constituted in one another, hence their

relativities need nothing extrinsic for their completion, but the one

intrinsically completes the other in the same individual being, and both

conspire into one absolute actuality, which is the formal complement of

the same being, as we have shown in another place.

But with predicamental relations the case is different. The subject and

the term of the predicamental relation do not communicate with one another

through themselves immediately, but through something else, and are always

physically distinct, as we shall see hereafter; whence it follows that the

predicamental relativity always refers the subject to a term extrinsic to

it, and thus needs something extrinsic for its entitative completion. But

nothing which is extrinsic to the subject can complete anything intrinsic

to it so as to form a real entity. Therefore the relativity of the subject

to its term is not a real entity of the subject, but only a real

denomination. The minor of this syllogism can be easily proved; for two

things which are, and remain, extrinsic to one another cannot conspire

into _one_ real unity; but the subject and the term of predicamental

relations are, and remain, extrinsic to one another; they cannot,

therefore, conspire into one real unity. Hence they cannot give rise to

any new real entity; for _unity_ and _entity_ are convertible terms.

Moreover, predicamental relations arise between two absolute terms without

anything new being introduced into them. For if we have two real terms,

_A_ and _B_, possessing something which is common to both, their

communication in this common thing will make them relative. Yet such a

communication leaves _A_ and _B_ in possession of that reality which is

said to be common, and adds no real entity to them. If _A_ and _B_ are

both white, the whiteness which is in _A_ is by no means modified by the

existence of whiteness in _B_. The fact that _A_ and _B_ are both white,

simply means that whiteness is not confined to _A_; but it does not imply

any new real entity in _A_, and therefore _A_ remains identically the

same, whether there is another white body, _B_, or not; and if there were

one thousand white bodies, _A_ would become related to them all, and

acquire a thousand relativities, without the least real modification of

its entity.

Not even the relation between agent and patient, which is the nearest

possible imitation of the transcendental relation between the essential

constituents of absolute being, is a new entity. A being which acts is an

_agent_; and a being which is acted on is a _patient_. Agent and patient

are connected by predicamental relation, the _act_ produced by the first,

and received in the second, being the foundation of their relativities.

Now, is the relativity of the agent to the patient a new real entity above

and besides the substance of the agent and its action? By no means. For

such a relativity arises from this only: that the act produced by the

agent _is received in the patient_; and as the patient is a being distinct

from the agent, the _reception_ of the act in the patient cannot concur to

the constitution of any new reality in the agent. Hence the whole reality

of the agent, as such, consists in its substance and its action; while the

reception of its action elsewhere can add no real entity to it, but simply

gives it a real denomination desumed from the reality of the effect

produced. For the same reason, the relativity of the patient to the agent

is no new real entity above and besides the substance of the patient and

its passion. This relativity, in fact, arises from this only: that the act

received in the patient _comes from the agent_; and as the agent is a

being distinct from the patient, the _coming_ of the act from the agent

cannot concur to the constitution of any new reality in the patient. Hence

the whole reality of the patient, as such, consists in its substance and

its passion, or reception of the act; while the coming of this act from a

distinct being can add no real entity to it, but simply gives it a real

denomination desumed from the reality of the causation.

From what precedes we may conclude that the reality of predicamental

relations requires no new real entity superadded to the real terms and the

real foundation of their relativity, and accordingly predicamental

relations are only nominal realities.

Relations are either _virtual_, _formal_, or _habitual_. Virtual

relativity is predicated of a subject which contains in itself virtually

(_in actu primo_) something through which it can communicate with a

distinct term. Thus everything visible has a virtual relativity to the eye

before it is seen; because all that is visible has the power to make an

impression upon the eye. Hence _visibility_ is a virtual relativity, or,

if we may so call it, a mere referability. In Latin, it is called

_ordo_—“ordination”; and in the language of the schools, the visible would

be said to have “a special ordination to the eye”—_visibile ordinem habet

ad oculum_. In the same manner, the eye has a special ordination to the

visible, the intellect to the intelligible, etc.

The formal relativity is predicated of a subject which is formally (_in

actu secundo_) connected with its correlative by the formal participation

of a common entity. Thus, when the visible object strikes the eye, the

action of the one upon the other entails a formal link of relativity

between the two, and it is thus that the previous virtual relativity of

the one to the other becomes formal. This formal relativity in Latin is

often called _respectus_—“a respect”; and the things thus related are said

“to regard”—_respicere_—one another.

The habitual relativity is predicated of that which has been brought into

relation with its correlative by something in which both originally

communicated, but which, owing to the destruction of one of the two, has

ceased to be common. This relativity in Latin is properly called

_habitudo_—that is, “habitual connotation”; and the subject thus related

is spoken of as _habens se ad aliquid_—a phrase which we do not attempt to

translate, and which is used by philosophers in a more general sense to

express all kinds of relations.(87) Thus a murderer is still habitually

related to the man whom he has killed, although the man killed is no more

a man; and, in the same manner, a son is habitually related to his father,

even after his father’s death; for he is still the same son of the same

father, and it would be absurd to pretend that he has lost his own

relativity and ceased to be a real son only because his father is no more.

It must be remarked, however, that this habitual relativity cannot be

real, except when the relation has an intrinsic foundation. For when the

foundation is extrinsic, there is nothing formally remaining in the

subject which, after the suppression of the term, can keep up its

relativity. Thus, if the moon were annihilated, the distance from the

earth to the moon would totally vanish, as every one will easily admit.

Much might be said about predicamental relations, both intrinsic and

extrinsic; but, in a general treatise like this, we cannot well enter into

matters of detail. We will only state that relations are divided according

to their foundations. Intrinsic relations are respectively founded on

substance, on action and passion, on quality, and on quantity; and

therefore may be reduced to four kinds. Extrinsic relations also may be

divided into four kinds, as they are respectively founded on a common

cause, on a common region of ubication, on a common duration, or on a

common extrinsic term of comparison.

Substance, and everything else considered absolutely, founds the relations

of _unity_ and _plurality_. Action and passion found the relations of

_causality_ and _dependence_. Quality founds the relations of _likeness_

or _unlikeness_. Quantity founds the relations of _equality_ or

_inequality_. All these relations are called _intrinsic_, because their

foundation is something intrinsic to the terms related.

A common cause founds the relation which we may call of _collateralness_

between two terms proceeding from it. Thus two brothers are connected in

mutual fraternity, inasmuch as they are the offspring of the same parents.

A common region of ubication and movement founds the relation of

_distance_. A common duration founds the relation of _succession_. A

common extrinsic term of comparison founds the relation of _site_ or

_situation_. All these relations are called _extrinsic_, because their

foundation is extrinsic to the terms related.

Principles of real distinction.

Distinction is nothing but a negation of identity; and therefore there

must be as many kinds of distinction as there are kinds of identity which

can be denied. Hence we cannot properly determine the principles of real

distinction without first ascertaining what are the principles of real

identity.

Identity is a _relative unity_, or a relation founded on the _unity_ of a

thing. For the thing which is to be styled _the same_ must be compared

with itself according to that entity on account of which it is to be

pronounced to be identical with itself; and it is evident that such an

entity must be _one_ in order to be _the same_. Thus if I say: “The pen

with which I am now writing is the very same which I used yesterday,” the

pen with which I am now writing will be the subject of the relation, the

pen which I used yesterday will be the term of the relation, and the

oneness of its entity will be the foundation of the relation and the

formal reason of the identity.

As relations, like everything else, are specified by their formal reasons,

it is clear that there must be as many kinds of identity as there are

kinds of unities on which the relation of identity can be founded. Now,

three kinds of unities can be conceived: first, the formal unity of a

complete being, or a complete unity, which may be called _physical_ unity;

secondly, the unity of an incomplete or metaphysical reality, which may be

called _metaphysical_ unity; thirdly, the unity of a being of reason,

which may be called _logical_ unity. Accordingly, there can be three kinds

of identity, viz., the physical, the metaphysical, and the logical. Let us

say a word about each.

Physical identity is a relation founded on the unity of a physical entity,

and is the most real of all identities. Some philosophers taught that this

identity is merely a logical relation, or a relation of reason, because a

relation cannot be real unless its subject be really distinct from its

term—a condition which cannot be verified when the subject and the term

are identical. But they did not reflect that a thing must be called

_really_ identical with itself then only when it cannot be _really_

distinguished from itself, and _inasmuch as_ it excludes real distinction

from itself. It is therefore manifest that real identity excludes real

distinction in that in which there is identity. Nevertheless, the thing

which is substantially identical with itself may still really differ from

itself in the manner of its being, and may, as the subject of the

relativity, involve a real entity, which it does not involve as the term

of the same relativity; and accordingly the substantial identity of a

thing with itself does not exclude _all_ real distinction. The pen with

which I am now writing, although identical with the pen that lay on the

table one hour before, is now in different accidental conditions, and has

some real mode, which was wanting one hour ago. And this shows that there

can be a sufficient real distinction between the subject and the term of

the relation, even though they are substantially identical.

Physical identity may be divided into _complete_ and _incomplete_. It is

complete, or total, when a being is compared with itself through the unity

of its physical entity, as in the preceding example of the pen. It is

incomplete, or partial, when a physical part is compared with a physical

whole, or, _vice versa_, as when we compare the whole man with his soul or

with his body.

Metaphysical identity is a relation founded on the unity of a metaphysical

entity, and possesses a metaphysical reality. It may be divided into

_adequate_ and _inadequate_. It is adequate when a being is compared with

itself through the unity of some metaphysical reality which belongs to it.

Such is the _personal_ identity of John when old with John when young; for

although he has undergone many physical changes in his body, and therefore

has not preserved a perfect physical identity with himself, still his

formal personality, which is wholly due to his soul, has not changed at

all. The identity will be inadequate when any metaphysical constituent of

a complete being is compared with the being itself, or _vice versa_. Such

is the identity of the substantial act with the substance of which it is

the act, of the matter with the material being, and of any property or

attribute with the thing of which it is the property or the attribute.

Such is also the identity of the divine Personalities with the divine

essence; for, although the divine Paternity identifies itself perfectly

with the divine essence, this latter requires further identification with

the divine Filiation and with the passive Spiration; for it must be as

whole and perfect in the Second and the Third Person as it is in the

First.

Logical identity, or identity of reason, is a relation founded on the

unity of a being of reason. It may be divided into _objective_ and

_subjective_. The objective has its foundation in the real order of

things; the subjective has no foundation except in our conception. Thus

the identity we conceive between a horse and its owner as to their

animality is an identity of reason only, although it is grounded on a real

foundation; for animality is indeed to be found really in both, but its

unity is only a unit of reason; for animality, as common to both, is only

a logical entity, which we call “genus.” The same is to be said of the

identity between Peter and Paul as to their humanity; for humanity, though

real in both, is not numerically, but only specifically, one, and its

unity is therefore a unity of reason; for “species” is a logical being. On

the contrary, when we say that “a stone is heavy,” the identity between a

_stone_ and the _subject_ of such a proposition has no foundation except

in our reason, and therefore is purely subjective; and the same is to be

said of the identity of the verb _is_ with the _copula_ of the

proposition, of _heavy_ with the _predicate_, etc. It is evident, in fact,

that the ground on which these last relations are founded is not a real

unity, and not even a unity having anything corresponding to it in the

real order; since subject, predicate, etc., are mere conceptions and

creations of our mind.

We have thus three kinds of identity: the physical, which is either

complete or incomplete; the metaphysical, which is either adequate or

inadequate; the logical, which is either objective or merely subjective.

Since distinction is the negation of identity, it is obvious that the

distinction between two terms always results from the non‐unity of the

same, and is conceived by the comparison of the one with the other

according to something which can be affirmed of the one, and must be

denied of the other. Those things, in fact, are said to be distinct of

which the one is not the other, or in one of which there is something not

to be found in the other.

First, then, to deny real physical identity is to assert real _physical_

distinction. Physical distinction may be either _complete_ or _incomplete_

as well as physical identity. It will be complete, or major, when,

comparing two complete wholes with one another, we deny that the one is

the other; as when we deny that the sun is the moon. It will be

incomplete, or minor, when, comparing together the whole and any of its

parts, we deny that the whole is any of its parts, and _vice versa_; as

when we deny that Germany is Europe, or that the roof is the house. It is

evident that incomplete physical distinction always coexists with

incomplete physical identity.

The true and certain sign of real physical distinction between two things

is their separability or their state of actual separation. For when two

things are completely distinct as to their physical entity, they are each

in possession of their own distinct existence; and consequently the

existence of the one does not depend on the existence of the other. On the

other hand, although a physical whole cannot exist as a whole, if its

parts be separated, yet each of its physical parts can exist separated, as

each of them has its own existence independent of the existence of the

whole.

Secondly, to deny real metaphysical identity is to assert real

_metaphysical_ distinction. Metaphysical distinction may be either

_adequate_ or _inadequate_ no less than metaphysical identity. It will be

adequate, or major, when, comparing together two metaphysical

constituents, we deny that the one is the other; as when we deny that the

act is the potency. It will be inadequate, or minor, when, comparing a

metaphysical compound with any of its constituents, we deny that the

constituent is the compound, and _vice versa_; as when we deny that

existence is the thing existing, or that person is personality. The

inadequate metaphysical distinction always coexists with an inadequate

metaphysical identity.

Thirdly, to deny an identity of reason is to assert a distinction _of

reason_. A distinction of reason may be either _objective_ or merely

_subjective_, no less than the identity of reason. It will be objective,

or major, when, comparing together two entities which are really

identical, we find in their identical reality a ground for denying their

conceptual identity; as when we deny that God’s eternity is God’s

immensity, or when we deny that in any given being one essential

attribute, as animality, is another, as rationality. This distinction is

objective, because its ground is found in the object itself; and yet it is

not real, because each term represents the same thing under two distinct

aspects. Thus, in man, animality really includes a rational soul, and

therefore implies rationality. But the distinction will be purely

subjective, or minor, when, comparing together two entities, we find no

ground whatever for denying their identity, except in our subjective

manner of viewing them. Thus, although _man_ is identical with _rational

animal_, we can distinguish man from rational animal as a subject from a

predicate; and it is evident that this distinction has no ground but in

our conception.

Accordingly, we have three kinds of distinction: the real physical, which

is either complete or incomplete; the real metaphysical, which is either

adequate or inadequate; the logical, or of reason, which is either

objective or merely subjective. This division is exhaustive. Some will say

that we have forgotten the _modal_ distinction. But the fact is that we

have abstained on purpose from mentioning it in connection with any

special kind of distinction, because it may fall under the physical as

well as the metaphysical distinction, according as it happens to be

understood; for it is differently understood by different writers.

Some authors consider that there is a modal distinction between the

spherical wax and its sphericity, between the soul affected by fear and

its affection, between the finger inflected and its inflection, and

generally _between the modified subject and its mode_. Others, as Suarez,

seem to admit a modal distinction between the wax simply and its

sphericity, between the soul simply and its affection, between the finger

simply and its inflection, and generally _between the subject simply and

its mode_. And others, again, admit a modal distinction between the wax

having a spherical form and the same wax having a different form; between

the soul affected by a movement of fear and the same soul affected by a

different movement; between the finger inflected and the same finger not

inflected; and generally _between a subject having one mode, and the same

subject having another mode_.(88)

These different opinions have been occasioned by an imperfect analysis of

distinction. Those who originally treated of this matter called _real_ all

distinction which was not a mere distinction of reason, and overlooked the

necessity of subdividing real distinctions into physical and metaphysical.

Hence the modal distinction was simply called _real_, without further

examining whether it had a physical or a metaphysical character; the more

so as it was assumed that real modes were physical entities—which would

convey the idea that real modal distinction is of a physical nature. But

the assumption is not to be admitted, because, as we have remarked in

another article, modes cannot be styled “physical” entities, as they have

no possibility of separate existence. This being premised, let us briefly

examine the three aforesaid opinions.

The first admits a modal distinction between spherical wax and its

sphericity. Sphericity cannot exist without a subject; and therefore it

must be ranked among metaphysical entities. On the other hand, spherical

wax is a metaphysical compound of wax and sphericity. Hence, from what we

have said above, the distinction of the one from the other is an

_inadequate metaphysical_ distinction.

The second opinion admits a modal distinction between the wax simply and

its sphericity. Sphericity, as we have stated, is a metaphysical entity,

and so is “wax simply” also; for wax, as such, is not yet spherical,

although, as a subject of sphericity, it excludes every other form. Such a

wax therefore has no form, and, as such, it cannot exist; and accordingly

it is an incomplete being. Hence the distinction between the wax simply

and its sphericity is that which intervenes between two principles of a

complete being, and therefore is an _adequate metaphysical_ distinction.

The third opinion alone gives the true notion of the _modal_ distinction.

For if a piece of wax which is spherical happens to acquire another form,

say the cubical, the comparison of the cubical with the spherical wax will

involve two terms physically real; and as the substance of the wax is

still the same, no distinction will be found between the two terms, except

that which arises from denying the identity of the cubical with the

spherical form. We have thus a real and physical modal distinction: _real_

and _physical_, because the spherical wax really and physically differs

from the cubic wax; _modal_, because the negation of identity falls on the

two modes, and not on the substance.

From this we learn that neither the first nor the second opinion above

mentioned gives the true notion of modal distinction. The first denies

only the identity of the spherical wax with its sphericity; the second

denies only the identity of wax simply with sphericity. Now, it is evident

that neither spherical wax nor wax simply is a mode. It is evident,

therefore, that neither opinion denies modal identity. But modal

distinction cannot be anything else than a denial of modal identity.

Therefore neither opinion gives the true notion of modal distinction.

As modes are accidental formalities, the modal distinction may also be

called _formal_. The Scotist philosophers imagined a formal distinction of

another kind, which, according to them, was to be admitted between the

attributes of real being, and which was neither real nor a mere

distinction of reason, but something intermediate. They called it “formal

distinction arising from the nature of the thing”—_distinctio formalis ex

natura rei_. We need not refute this invention. We have already given in

full the general theory of distinction, and we have found no room for any

formal distinction intermediary between real distinctions and distinctions

of reason; and, as to the attributes of real beings, we have shown, in the

article before this, that they are not really distinct from one another,

but admit of a simple distinction of reason, which, however, has a real

foundation in the thing.

Sometimes distinction is styled _formal_ as contrasted with _virtual_.

Thus we may say that there is a formal distinction between two terms

formally existing—_e.g._, two existing men, and a virtual distinction

between two virtual terms—_e.g._, two possible men. And generally,

whenever one and the same thing virtually contains two or more, these

latter, as thus contained, are said to be _virtually_ distinct. Thus

intellect and reason are only virtually distinct, as they are one concrete

power of acquiring knowledge which can perform its task by two different

processes. This virtual distinction is, of course, nothing but a

distinction of reason.

Sometimes, again, distinction is called _positive_ as contrasted with

_negative_. It is positive when the two terms of which we deny the

identity are both positive, and it is negative when one of the two terms

is negative; as when we distinguish the existent from the non‐existent.

Negative distinction is a _real_ distinction; for the negation of _real_

identity can be predicated not only of two real beings, but also, and with

greater reason, of the existent as compared with the non‐existent.

It may be remarked that _distinction_, _difference_, and _diversity_ are

not synonymous. Diversity is most properly predicated of two things that

are not of the same genus; difference of two things that are not of the

same species, and distinction of two things that are not numerically

identical. Nevertheless, the terms _distinct_, _different_, and _diverse_

are very frequently employed for one another, even by good authors.

We observe, lastly, that distinction, as such, is not a relation; for all

relation presupposes some distinction between the terms related, as a

condition of its possibility. Yet two positive terms really distinct have

always a certain _relative_ opposition, inasmuch as there is always

something common to both (at least their being) which may be taken as a

foundation of mutual relativity.

And here we close our investigation about nominal realities. We have shown

that possibles, relations, and distinctions are no _special_ realities,

but are called _real_ from the reality of other things. Real possibility

is only the possibility of a real being; real relation is only the

actuality of two terms really communicating in something identical; and

real distinction is only the existence of things of which the one is not

really the other.

As this is our last article on the principles of real being, we beg to

remind the reader that our object in this treatise has been only to point

out distinctly, and to express with as great a philosophical precision as

our language could permit, all that concerns the constitution of being in

general. We may have failed to employ always the best phraseology, but we

hope our analysis of real being is philosophically correct, and the

principles we have laid down under the guidance of the ancients will be

found to shed a pure and abundant light on all the questions of special

metaphysics. But the student of philosophy should not forget that the

greatest difficulty in the settlement of all such questions arises, not so

much from the nature of the subjects investigated, as from the imperfect

knowledge and mis‐application of philosophical language. And this is the

reason why we did our best to determine the exact purport of the terms

most frequently employed in metaphysical treatises.

Antar And Zara; Or, “The Only True Lovers.” II.

An Eastern Romance Narrated In Songs.

By Aubrey De Vere.