Chapter III (1)

"We may know by a child's actions
If his motives are pure and right."
Proverbs.

As long as it was possible, Robert followed, with burning eyes, the charitable man who had comforted him in his severe affliction. Several times he turned to see if the mountain had yet disappeared, on which he had passed so many happy days. At last the charm was broken, it was no longer visible, and tears chased each other down his checks, but he walked on quickly, saying, "My mother wishes it." His mind was so occupied that he walked on without looking at the road which ran ahead of his thoughts and his regrets, until, involuntarily raising his eyes to the scene before him, he stops in the extremity of his surprise; his eyes refuse to believe their evidence; they wander from object to object without knowing why, without being able to explain the mystery which plunges him into a sort of stupor, and he believes himself under the dominion of a feverish and fantastic dream. He raises his hand to see if he is asleep, but he is wide awake, and laughs at his simplicity. It is easy for us to understand this. He recognizes no longer men, things, or even nature. All that he left behind him was different from what was before and around him. He was in a new world, on strange ground, and everything which was presented to his sight caused him an undefinable sensation. Was there not enough to surprise him? These large fields, these plains of vendure, these yellow harvests, were to him a new spectacle, strange, singular, sometimes even monotonous to the eye of a little mountaineer, habituated to the fantastic forms of the rock and the sombre and imposing verdure of the woods which covered the sides of his native mountain. Where are the great heaps of volcanic rocks among which he had been reared and which were so familiar to his eyes? All had {648} disappeared, and it seemed to him that, without transition he had passed from severe and grand nature to simple and gay, rich with flowers and fruits and corn white and golden. It was the contrast which frightened him, and made him think he had been transported by some invisible hand a thousand leagues from his home. Like a bird slightly wounded which flies to the parent nest and seeks shelter under the warm wings of its mother, so Robert, restless and inquiet, longs for the maternal arms in which he can hide his fears. He feels his loneliness; the road seems longer at every step, and he cannot see the end of it. He invokes through his mother the blessing of God, and his fears are dissipated, and strength and hope are given him to hasten on. With the versatility which is the happy accompaniment of childhood, he put a sweet security in place of the most foolish fears. And now he was brave again. This transition of sentiment, this quick changing of the most lively sorrow into a kind of gayety, is natural to youth. They have extremes of joy and sorrow, and, without being prepared for either, we see them pass suddenly from one to the other. Happy, happy childhood! Robert was now full of a new sentiment, and the birds fluttered round him and sang their merriest songs; the long, low murmur of the insects was delightful to his ears. Why should he be sad when all nature was so joyous? A universal hymn of gratitude and love is being sung by all that exist, by everything that breathes, in honor of our divine Creator; and, no matter how many the sorrows and desolations of man, calmness comes to his heart, in the sweet perfume of joy, the suave harmony and gracious gayety that fill all nature under the life-giving influence of a beautiful summer morning. As we are all, sooner or later, initiated into the sufferings of life, we must feel for others and pour what balm we can into every wounded heart. Robert walked on until he came to an inn where he asked to pass the night. His fresh, open face, his gentleness, and the title of Orphan, gained for him the heart and good graces of his hostess. She asked him whither he was going and if he wished to go. He told her, and that it was his mother's wish, and, of course, if hers, his, that he should go to Paris. The next morning he started off, overwhelmed with the caresses of this woman, for she was a mother, and felt a tear moisten her cheek, as she saw this little boy take up his bundle and resolutely pursue his way, and she prayed God to take care of him. Robert felt his mother's loss hourly when fatigue weakened his limbs and hunger made him cry, but he saw her with the eyes of faith in heaven. Yes; believe me, dear little children who have lost your mothers! turn to heaven, and there you will see them looking at you with eyes of love, and saying to you: "Be good, my darlings, and when you are asleep I will visit you, and kiss your pure and innocent foreheads." Yes; look to heaven, and I promise you you will see your mothers there, if you are good. It was this which recalled to Robert's heart each day the remembrance of his mother and filled his eyes with tears. It carried also to his heart a secret encouragement and gave him strength.

As he walked on he left behind him Clermont, Rion, Aigueperse, and Grannot. Some leagues before this he had bid good-by to the beautiful district of Limagne, which had charmed him by its sea of verdure, it's deep golden foliage, and its rich and fertile plains. This was the first canton of France which was considered worthy of a particular description, and it was of this part of l'Auvergne that Apollo Lidoine said: "It is so beautiful that strangers who go there cannot leave it, and there have even then instances of persons forgetting their own country when there." It was of this country, so favored by heaven, that King Childebert said, "that before dying he desired but one {649} thing, and that was to see beautiful Limagne d'Auvergne, which is the masterpiece of nature, and a scene of enchantment." We cannot say that Robert shared in their opinion, but it is certain that he passed it with regret, although he was drawn by so strange of feeling toward Paris, the object of his hope and his ambition. He walked to St. Pourçain, Moulins, and all the small places, and rested a day when overfatigued. Great was his delight when he reached Fontainebleau, which royal residence had witnessed the first abdication of the emperor. All was still in motion at this place, and more than one old soldier twisted his mustache, and with a fierce and martial air walked on the edge of this great forest, weeping for the liberty of his emperor, his god, his idol. It was with delight that our young hero, the child of the woods and solitude, sought the fresh shades, which recalled to him, by a striking similarity, his cherished mountain home; and the immense piles of irregular rocks attested that this place, too, had been the theatre of some great convulsion of nature. At mid-day, when the sun sheds his fiercest rays, when the tired flowers lean on their stems, when the birds hide under the leaves, when all nature seeks repose, the better to enjoy the freshness of the evening, Robert, too, followed the example, and lay down and slept at the foot of a huge chestnut-tree many centuries old; the vast shade of which form and impenetrable cover from the heat of the sun. He awoke refreshed, rose, and ventured into one of the long alleys or walks to which a sign conducted him. For several hours he wandered about lost in this tangled maze and looking in vain for an opening. But he was a patient child, and obstacles did not stop him, neither was he discouraged by his unfruitful efforts; on the contrary, he redoubled his ardor, and finally reached a clear space, in the center of which was a fountain ordered by rose-beds. Four paths diverged from it, and of such great length were they that it fatigued the eye to look at them. In exploring in turn each of these paths, Robert found in one of them a sign pointing out to strangers the various labyrinths of the forest. He had nothing else for a guide, but thought if he could only find his way to the palace again, there must be some one there who could tell him how to go; so he followed the path which he thought might be right, and it was, and led him into the avenue which wound round by the palace. When he got right in front of the principal and only truly royal edifice of France, or rather of Napoleon, he stopped and wondered at the vast aspect of this assemblage of buildings, producing an effect at once imposing and majestic. Nothing like this had ever entered his imagination, and the most lively astonishment shone on his face, and his eyes burned with the fire of intelligence and pleasure. A few steps from him was an old soldier who was entirely absorbed in contemplating the building, and who looked worn and sad. He, too, was in a sort of ecstasy, but he gazed in silence and seemed lost to all around him. His expression was of one in anguish, and his eyes rested with a strange fixedness upon the steps of honor. He waits and watches as if hoping to see some one whom he ardently loves appear; but his hope is deceived, and two tears trickle slowly down his dark cheeks, scarred and burned by the fires of a hundred battles. At this moment when marks of supreme sorrow told so eloquently of his sufferings, Robert turned, and seeing his tears he was deeply moved at this testimony of profound sorrow, and, eagerly approaching the soldier, said to him in a touching voice: "Why do you cry, sir? Have yon also lost your mother? I fear you have." Robert had never wept but for one sorrow, and that we all know, and in happy ignorance of the other misfortunes of life he thought all wept {650} for the same thing; and in his great loss he looked to older persons to console him, which proved how tender, delicate, and generous are the sentiments that live in the hearts of children. Their young souls are mirrors have to which we should only give pure, chaste, and pious images to reflect and show them good examples, that without effort vice might be crushed out, and the world left an Eden of purity.

Hearing so touchingly compassionate a voice, the old soldier turned and looked at the child, while tears glistened in his eyes. "No," said he in a coarse tone, "it is not for my mother that I weep, it is for my emperor." "And who is it that is your emperor?" "Alas! I have no father, and have just lost my mother," he said sighing. "Was your emperor good, and did you love him so much that you weep or him? I shall never forget my mother, she was so sweet and good to her little son. But tell me, sir, tell me of your emperor. My mother said I should always love those who were good, and I want to love him too." The old fellow twisted his mustache, and growled some words between his teeth, looking alternately at the palace and the child, who smiled at him with an expression so gentle that it moved the soldier's heart. You could see he was the victim of an emotion he vainly sought to conceal. "Wonderful!" cried he, vanquished by the magical eyes of Robert. "You are a good child, and speak to my heart when you tell me that you love my emperor. But who does not love him, except those cowards! those scoundrels! those traitors! But stop, I have said enough." He saw that Robert was a little frightened, for his ears had only been accustomed to the caressing voice of his mother. "Do you see that staircase? My emperor descended by it to embrace the eagles of his flag, the victorious eagles which have made him immortal, and which led his way to glory. Yes, the embraced them, and wept because he could not embrace all his old soldiers had not betrayed him and would have followed him to the end of the world. And some of his old guard still live. Oh! if they had only sent me with him into the loan island of his misfortunes, if I could be with him there, I should be content. But since I cannot, I must go to Paris and see what is doing there. See, my child, you are going there too, and I believe you said you had neither father nor mother. Have you any relatives?" "No," said Robert. "Why, then, are you going to Paris if you have no friends there?" "My mother said I must go, and I'm going." "I don't wish to be too curious, but tell me from whence you come?" "From the village of Mount Dore, eight leagues from Clermont." "Pretty walk for such little legs, I think; but as we are both going to Paris, and you have no father or mother to protect you, and I and a poor old soldier, I will take care of you, for you have moved my heart by your gentle words, and we will travel together, so that the walk will be shorter for both." "Oh! how delightful," said Robert; "and then you can tell me about your emperor. I know I can walk fast enough in hearing you talk about one whom you love so much." "Yes, my boy," he replied, "I could speak forever of my emperor; but it must be when we are alone, for his glorious name, which once made kings and conscripts alike tremble, is now called usurper, and is forbidden to be pronounced. A thousand thunders! the thought enrages me; and if I had his traitorous subjects I would strangle them, or my name is not Cyprien Hardy." This conversation was held with furious gestures on the one side and great astonishment on the other, until they came to the modest inn where Robert had left his bundle. The child in his new friend, the old soldier, who justified the name, made a frugal repast, and continue {651} their journey. On the way Robert related the history of the twelve years he had passed on his cherished mountain with his beloved mother, which simple recital gained him the lasting friendship of his companion, whom Robert looked upon as a friend provided for him by that kind Providence who watches over orphans. He bore the fatigue of the journey well, and was in perfect health when they reached that magnificent chaos called Paris. The old soldier is, then, the second friend that God has given our little hero. And how strange it was that these two were isolated beings should meet in such a place, before the grand palace of kings--the one a man of resolute energy, who carried on his bold forehead great scars of glory, but who shed tears of despair at the fall of his well-beloved chief, in whom he had found parents, country, family; the other a charming youth, representing brilliant promises for the future, young, beautiful, and full of ambition. Cyprien Hardy was one of those true French hearts to whom the name of patriot was not a vain word. He was moved like many others when dangers threatened the republic and the when powerful allies audaciously invaded its territory. He was one of the first to take up arms, having entered the army as a volunteer at twenty-one. Some years later he served in the first regiment of the soldiers of the guard, after having made the memorable campaigns of Italy, Egypt, and Germany, always following the "Little Corporal," always the first in battle, and always respected. Dangers made him smile; his courage was inexhaustible. One thing alone could move him, and that was the voice of his chief. This electrified him, and made him forget all but noble actions. He had always loved Napoleon, and this affection increased with the fortunes of the great man whose word or look transformed soldiers into heroes. It was in the forts of Moscow that his emperor had given him the "Cross of Honor," for a wound which he received from a cannon ball while waving his flag. In this disastrous retreat the brave soldier, dying with cold, fatigue, and hunger, preserved his heroic exaltation and his confidence in and love for his emperor; and if he ever grumbled, it was only because he could not kill every Cossack that he laid his eyes upon. His courage and energy never diminished, and he believed so implicitly in his emperor that he thought good fortune must return. But it had gone forever. His heart revolted at the thought; and he swore that the author of this infamous treason should repent, and this was why he was going to Paris to see if he could find any of his old companions.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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ONE MOMENT.

A trooping forth of buried griefs like ghosts,--
Temptations gathering swift in serried hosts,--
Of angel guardians a glittering band,--
God watching all--shall we desert or stand?

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{652}

PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. [Footnote 178]

[Footnote 178: erratum: In the last number, p. 524, 2d col. 12th
line, for "created in sanctity and justice," read "constituted."]

(CONCLUDED)

XII.

THE MYSTERY OF REDEMPTION.

The next article of the creed, in order, is that which expresses the Mystery of Redemption: "Crucifixus etiam pro nobis, sub Pontio Pilato, passus, et sepultus est." "Who was also crucified for us under Pontius Pilate, who suffered, and was buried." The redemption implies the incarnation, and is based on it. The incarnation having been already treated of, in immediate connection with the Trinity, we have only to proceed with the exposition of the doctrine of satisfaction for sin and restoration to grace through the sufferings and death of the Divine Redeemer.

It is no part of the Catholic doctrine that it was necessary for the second person of the Trinity to take upon himself human nature and suffer an infinite penalty, in order that God might be able to pardon sin without violating his justice. All Catholic theologians, from St. Augustine down, teach that God is free to show mercy and to pardon, according to his own good pleasure. The reason and end of the incarnation has been shown already to be something far above this order of ideas. The incarnation does not of itself, however, imply suffering or death. We have to inquire, then, why it was that in point of fact the incarnate Word was manifested as a suffering Redeemer; and why his death on the cross was constituted the meritorious cause of the remission of sin and restoration of grace.

The church has never made any formal definition of her doctrine on this point, and it is well known various have been the theories regarding it maintained at different times. We shall endeavor to present a view which appears to us adequate and intelligible; without, however, claiming for it any certainty beyond that of the reasons on which it is based.

The original gift of grace not having been due to Adam, or to any one of his ordinary descendents, injustice, the restoration of that gift, when lost, was not due. Aside from the incarnation, there was no imperative reason why Adam and his race should not have been left in the state to which they were reduced by the original transgression. God, having determined to accomplish the incarnation in the human race, owed it to himself to complete this determination, in spite of all the sins which he foresaw would be committed by men. The foreseen merits of Christ furnished an adequate motive for conferring any degree of grace upon any or all men, he might seek to be fitting and necessary for the fulfillment of his eternal purposes. It was not necessary, however, that the Son of God should suffer or die in order to merit grace for mankind. By the define decree, indeed, the shedding of his blood and his death was made the special meritorious act in view of which remission of sins and grace are conferred. But all the acts of his life had the same intrinsic worth and excellence, which was simply infinite on account of the divine principle of imputability to which they must be referred. There must have been some reasons, therefore, of fitness, on account of which it was determined that Jesus Christ should suffer death for the human race.

{653}

We may find one of these reasons in the law of suffering and death which God had imposed, out of a motive of pure love, on the whole human race. This law was, indeed, promulgated under the form of a penalty, but in its substance it was a real blessing. The way to heaven through the path of penance and by the gate of death is a sure and safer way then the one in which Adam was first placed; it is one, also, affording higher and more extensive scope for virtue, heroism, and merit. It was, therefore, fitting that the chief and prince of the human race should go before his brethren in this way of sufferings. "For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, who brought many sons to glory, to perfect, by suffering, the author of their salvation." [Footnote 179] As a particular consequence of this general law, heroes, patriots, reformers, prophets, and saints, have always been especially exposed to suffering and to violent modes of death. They have been obliged to sacrifice themselves to their own fidelity to conscience and to that sacred cause to which they have been devoted. And this sacrifice of life has consecrated their memories in the hearts of their fellow-men more than any other acts of intellectual or moral virtue, however brilliant. It was fitting, therefore, that the Saint of saints, the Saviour of the world, should not exempt himself from the peril of death, to which the very character of his mission exposed him.

[Footnote 179: Heb, II. 10.]

Another reason for the suffering of the Divine Mediator, is found in the manifestation thereby made of the love of God in Christ to the human race. There is no need of dwelling on this, or of noticing other reasons of a similar kind which have been so frequently and so fully developed by others.

We pass on, therefore, to the consideration of the final and highest reason for the death of Jesus Christ, the expiation of sin.

The true and only possible notion of expiation or satisfaction is that which apprehends it as a compensation for the failure to perform some obligatory act, by performing another act of at least equal value in the place of it. Every noble soul, when conscious of having been delinquent, desires to repair the injury which has been done, as well as to redeem its own honor, by some act which shall, if possible, far exceed the one which it failed to perform. The same principle impels those who have a high sense of honor to make reparation tor the delinquencies of others with whom they are closely related in the same family, the same society, or the same nation. Now, the human race has been delinquent in making a proper return to God for the infinite boon of grace. The fall of man and the innumerable sins of the individuals of the human race have deprived Almighty God of a tribute of glory which was due to him, and have brought ignominy upon mankind as a race. Although, therefore, Almighty God might provide for the glorification of the elect who are to share with the Incarnate Word in his divine privileges, by an act of pure mercy; it is far more glorious both to God and man that a superabundant satisfaction should be made for the injury which has been done to the Creator by the marring of his creation, and a superabundant expiation accomplished of the disgrace which man has incurred. It was, therefore, an act of divine wisdom and love in God to determine that this satisfaction and expiation should be made by the second person of the Trinity in his human nature. The Incarnate Word, being truly man, identified with the human race, and its chief, necessarily made its honor and its disgrace his own. Although he could redeem his brethren without any cost to himself, his solicitude for their honor and glory would not permit him to do it. He desired that they should enter heaven on the most honorable terms, without any of the humiliation of the delinquency of the race attaching to them, but, on the contrary with the {654} exulting consciousness that every stain of dishonor had been effaced. Therefore, as their king and chief, he fulfilled the most sublime work of obedience to the divine love which was possible; he made the most perfect possible oblation to God, as an equivalent for his boon of grace which had been abused by sin. In lieu of that glory which God would have received from the perfect obedience of Adam and all his posterity, and that glory which would have been also reflected upon the human race, he substituted the infinitely greater glory of his own obedience unto death, even the death of the cross. By this obedience Jesus Christ merited for the human race the concession of a new grant of grace, more perfect than the first, by virtue of which not only the original sin which is common to all men was made remissible to each individual, but all actual sins were made also pardonable on certain conditions.

That this statement completely exhausts the true idea of the satisfaction of Christ, we will not pretend to affirm. It appears to us, however, sufficient to give a clear and definite meaning to the language of Scripture and the fathers, and to include all that Catholic faith requires a Christian to believe.

Jesus Christ having merited by his death the right of conferring grace without stint or limit upon mankind, and all the grace given after the fall and before the redemption having been bestowed in the foresight of his death, every spiritual blessing enjoyed by men is referred to the death of Jesus Christ as its cause and source. Strictly speaking, it is only the meritorious cause. By giving himself up to die, he merited the right to communicate the grace contained in the incarnation to men, notwithstanding the failure of the father and head of the race to fulfil the probation on which the transmission of the grace to his descendants depended. He merited also the right to renew this grace in those individuals who should lose it after having once received it, as often as these, without regard to the number or grievousness of their sins, or the frequency of their lapses. It is, however, the Holy Spirit; dwelling in the Incarnate Word in the plenitude of his being, and communicating to his human nature the fulness grace, not for itself alone, but for all men; which is the ultimate and efficient cause of all spiritual life. It is the grace of the Holy Spirit which actually removes all guilt and stain of sin from the soul, and constitutes it in the state of justice and sanctity. The Holy Spirit is, therefore, the efficient cause of justification. The formal cause is the personal sanctity of each individual. That is, this personal sanctity is that which makes each one worthy of the complacency of God, of fellowship with him, and of everlasting life. The work of the incarnation and redemption must, therefore, produce its results and attain its consummation through the Holy Spirit as the sanctifier of the human race. Consequently, the creed, after finishing it's expression of the Catholic faith so far as the person of Christ is concerned, proceeds to enunciate it as regards the person and operation of the Holy Spirit, is sent by Christ to complete his work. The articles containing this enunciation complete the creed, and bring man to his final destination.

XII.

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, AS THE INSTRUMENT OF THE SANCTIFICATION OF THE HUMAN RACE.

The next articles of the creed are: "Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et Vivificantem, qui ex Patre Filioque procedit, qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur, qui locutus est per prophetas; et in unam sanctam, Catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam; confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum." "And in the Holy Ghost, the Lord and Lifegiver, who proceedeth from the Father and the Son, {655} who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified, who spake by the prophets; I confess one baptism for the remission of sins."

The relation of the Holy Spirit to the Father and the Son in the Trinity has been already considered. The temporal mission of the Holy Spirit as the consummation of the divine work _ad extra_ is exercised through the Catholic Church; and, therefore, the article concerning the church follows immediately in the creed the one concerning the Holy Spirit. [Footnote 180]

[Footnote 180: Vid. Archbishop Manning's Mission of the Holy Ghost.]

The organic unity of the Catholic Church follows necessarily from the principles laid down in the foregoing essays. It is an immediate consequence of the unity of the race, and of the incarnation, which are two distinct facts, but which have one principle. The order of regeneration must follow the order of generation. Mankind exist essentially as a race; as a race they received the original gift of supernatural grace; as a race they lost it. All human life and development is generic. The redemption of mankind must, therefore, re-establish the generic relations which were disturbed by the fall. Jesus Christ, the second Adam, must become the head of a redeemed and regenerated race of men, organized in a supernatural society. Continuity and perpetuity of life are, therefore, the essential notes of the divine society, or human race regenerated, in which true spiritual life is communicated to the individual. The sole possession of these notes demonstrates the divine authority of the Catholic Church. [Footnote 181] The continuity of life, embracing integrity of doctrine and law and the faculty of conferring grace, descended from the patriarchal church through the Jewish, with the increment added by the immediate intervention of the divine Lord of the world in person, to the Catholic Church.

[Footnote 181: Vid. Leo, Univ. Hist., vol. I. Lacordaire's
Conferences, and the Works of Dr. Brownson, passim.]

The Catholic Church is, therefore, the human race, in the highest sense. In early times, one nation after another broke away from the unity of the race, carrying a fragment of the integral, ideal humanity with it. Integrity, continuity, and perpetuity of life were, therefore, rendered for them impossible. The same phenomena are exhibited at the present time in all nations and societies outside of the Catholic Church. Partial and temporary developments only can be made of that integral, universal, perpetual life, whose seat is in the bosom of the church, and which is sufficient to vivify the whole human race, if the impediments were removed. The proof, _à posteriori_, or by induction, of the Catholic Church, must be sought for in those works which treat professedly of the subject. Our object is merely to show the conformity of the idea of the Catholic Church with the idea of reason, by deduction from primary, ontological principles. The attributes of the church follow so immediately from its primary note, as the human race restored to unity in the fellowship of God in Christ, that they require no special elucidation; especially as this particular branch of theology has been so repeatedly and so amply treated by authors.

In regard to special dogmas of the church, most of those which present any great difficulty to the understanding have already been discussed in the former part of this essay; and the remainder find an easy explication from the same principles.

The doctrine of the sacraments is explicated from the principle that the church is the instrument of sanctification. The sacraments are the particular acts by which the church communicates the spiritual vitality which resides in her to individuals. They have an outward, sensible form, because the nature of man is corporeal, and all human acts are composed of a synthesis of the sensible and the spiritual. They contain an inward, spiritual grace, because the nature of {656} man is spiritual, and receives life only from a spiritual principle. The only one of the sacraments which presents any special difficulty to the understanding is the holy eucharist; on account of the mystery of transubstantiation which is included in it's essence. The ground of this difficulty, which lies in crude, philosophical notions, and is, therefore, purely a spectre of the imagination, has been already removed by the doctrine we Have laid down respecting the nature of substance and the proper conception of space and extension. The senses transmit to the soul nothing more than the impressions of the phenomena, which the soul, by an intellectual judgment, refers to a real, intelligible substance, or active force, as their productive cause. The substance itself is not sensible, but intelligible; is not seen as an essence by the eye, but concluded by a judgment of the mind. By divine revelation it is disclosed to us, that the substance of bread and wine is the eucharist is succeeded by the substance of the body and blood of Jesus Christ; the phenomena or sensible effects of the former substance still continuing to be produced in an extraordinary manner. There is a mystery here it is true; but it is only the mystery which belongs to the inscrutable nature of the essence of matter as active force, and the mode in which this active force produces various sensible phenomena. The definitions of the church do not furnish a complete explanation of the Catholic dogma, which is left to theologians; and even theologians do not precisely coincide in their conceptions or expressions. All we can do then, after stating the Catholic dogma, is to give the explanation which appears to be the most probable, according to the judgment of the best authors and the most weighty intrinsic reasons. This is enough, however, for our purpose; for all that is required is to furnish a conception which is, on the one band, theologically tenable, and, on the other, rationally intelligible.

We may separate the synthetic judgment pronounced by the church, in the definition of the dogma, into four analytic judgments. First, the absence of the substance of bread and wine after the consecration. Second, the presence of the substance of the body of Christ. Third, the absence of the natural phenomenon of the body of Christ. Fourth, the presence of the natural phenomenon of bread and wine. In order to reconstruct these elements of the church's dogmatic judgment into a more perfect synthesis, it it is necessary to analyze further these separate propositions. There are three principle, distinct conceptions contained in them: the conception of substance; the conception of presence, or relation in space; and the conception of phenomena, or, to use the precise term employed by the schoolmen, of _accidents_. There is, also, the conception of the mode in which the phenomena of bread and wine subsists out of relation to their proper productive substances, or, the conception of the immediate, efficient cause to which they must be referred. These first three conceptions have been sufficiently analyzed in a former part of this treatise. The absence of the substance of bread and wine after consecration may be explained, in accordance with the conception of substance, by annihilation, removal, or identification with the substance of the body of Christ. The senses cannot take cognizance of its presence before consecration, it being there office merely to report phenomena; they cannot, consequently, take cognizance of its absence. They are not, therefore, deceived in reporting the phenomena as unchanged after the consecration, since they really remain unchanged; nor is the mind qualified to pronounce on the report of the senses, that the substance is unchanged, by an intellectual judgment; since the judgment which would otherwise be validly made is superseded by a divine judgment, made known through revelation, that in this instance the substance has been {657} changed for another by the creative power of God. The simplest mode of conceiving the effect of consecration on the substances of the bread and wine is to suppose their annihilation. St. Thomas, however, denies that they are annihilated, because the terminus of annihilation is nothing, whereas the terminus of the act of transubstantiation is the body of Christ. In plain words, the argument is: if the substances were annihilated, the effect of consecration would be properly expressed by saying that they are reduced to nothing, whereas the language of the church is, that they are converted into the body and blood of Christ. The same argument applies to the notion of their removal elsewhere. Nevertheless, since they are not supposed to be annihilated or removed simply for the sake of getting rid of them, and their destruction or removal is not the end or final term of the act of divine power, but only its proximate term, in order to the substitution of the body of Christ, this argument is not decisive. It is proper to say that the substance of bread is changed into the body of Christ, if the body of Christ is substituted for it; The natural phenomena which formerly indicated the presence of the one substance remaining the same, and indicating the presence of the other substance instead of that of the former substance.

Another explanation is based on the notion of one generic substance individualized in all distinct, material existences. According to this explanation, the bread and wine, being deprived of their individual existence, are not thereby destroyed; but, as it were, withdrawn into the generic substance, which is identical with the substance individualized in the body of Christ; and therefore properly said to be converted into the substance of his body. We are unable to understand how the notion on which this explanation is based, which appears to require us to accept the realism of William de Champeaux and the schoolmen, can be made intelligible; and, therefore, prefer the former, which, we believe, is the one more commonly adopted.

The presence of the body of Christ, without its natural phenomena, and under the phenomena of bread and wine; which presents usually much the greatest difficulty to the understanding, is really capable of a much more easy and certain explanation. It is present not by its extension, but by its pure substance, or _vis activa_, that is, as Perrone says, _per modum spiritâs_, after the manner of spirit. Spirit, as all Catholic philosophers teach, is related to objects in space, by the application of its intrinsic force to them. The presence of the body of Christ in the eucharist is, therefore, the application of its _vis activa_; which is, indeed, finite, but, by virtue of its supreme excellence in the created order, through the hypostatic union, commensurate with the whole created universe and all its particular parts. The body of Christ, therefore, while it is circumscribed as to its extension; and, according to the ordinary sense of the word, is present only in one place; is, in a different but real sense, present everywhere where the species of the eucharist are present. These species or phenomena of bread and wine in the eucharist, are the signs indicating its presence by its substantial force or _vis activa_. They may be produced, as every one will admit they can be, by the immediate act of God; or, by the _vis activa_ of the body of Christ; which, as a perfect body containing eminently all the perfection of inferior material substances, can produce their proper effects. The body and blood of Christ contain substantially and essentially the virtue of bread and wine, and, being in hypostatic union with the divine nature, may be capable of producing the phenomena and effects proceeding naturally from this virtue in many places at once. It appears to us more in accordance with the language of Scripture and the church to make this latter supposition. We sum up, there fore, the explanation of the mystery {658} which appears to us the most probable and rational, in this short formula. By the effect of the divine power, exercised through the act of consecrating the eucharist; the sensible phenomena, indicating before the act the presence of the _vis activa_, of bread and wine, cease to indicate it; and indicate instead of it, the presence of the _vis activa_ of the body and blood of Christ, The language of the definition pronounced by the church is thus exactly verified. There is a change of substance, without any change of phenomena. There is a transition of the substance of the bread and wine; which ceases either altogether as a distinct existence, or, at least, as the cause of the phenomena; in order to give way to the substance of the body of Christ; which is properly called a transubstantiation.

The mystery still remains, and must remain, incomprehensible by the human understanding, however clear the explanation of the difficulties which beset it may be made. Neither the senses nor the intellect can perceive the presence of Jesus Christ in the eucharist. It is believed by an act of faith in the word of Jesus Christ. The mode of this substantial presence and of its action on the soul is, moreover, but dimly apprehended; because substance itself, as a _vis activa_, and the mode of its activity, are impenetrable to reason. The rational argument respecting the dogma of faith, therefore, merely proves that it is not contrary to reason; and that it is partially intelligible by analogy with other known truths and facts. We thus understand that the presence f Jesus Christ in the species of the eucharist is _possible_. And, the revelation of its reality once made, we see also its fitness. It is most fitting and congruous that Jesus Christ should unite himself in the most perfect manner which is consistent with the condition of man in this life, with his human brethren; and that this union should be manifested to the senses. This is accomplished in the eucharist in such a way that the intellect, the imagination, or the heart of man, cannot conceive or desire anything more perfect and admirable. [Footnote 182]

[Footnote 182: _Vide_ F. Dalgairn's on the Holy Communion for a
more complete elucidation of the philosophy of substance and accidents.]

We shall simply note with the greatest brevity the remaining doctrines whose consideration falls under the present head.

The absolute necessity of grace for works worthy of eternal life, and the inability of man to perform them by his natural strength, is explained by the supernatural principle of which we have already given exposition.

The merit of good works is explained by the doctrine of probation; and the distinction between this kind of merit and the merits of Christ, as well as their natural relation and harmony, is obvious from the exposition which has been made of the latter.

The Catholic doctrine respecting the Blessed Virgin and the Saints is explained by the doctrine already laid down of the glorification and deification of human nature through the incarnation.

The whole exterior and visible _cultus_ of Catholic worship is explained by the doctrine, of sensible things as signs and representations of the invisible, and of the essentially corporeal constitution of man. These, and all other particulars of Catholic doctrine, are contained in the universal or Catholic idea, which shines by its own light, and proves itself by its sublimity, integrity, symmetry, and correspondence with all the analogies of the natural world.

XIV.

THE FINAL DESTINATION OF ANGELS AND MEN; CONDITION OF THE UNREGENERATE IN THE FUTURE LIFE; ETERNITY OF THE PENALTY OF SIN; STATE OF FINAL THE BEATITUDE.

The closing articles of the creed are: "Expecto resurrectionem mortuorun et vitam venturi saeculi, Amen." "I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world of come, Amen."

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Thus, the creation, which proceeds from God as first cause, is shown to have returned to him as final cause. This is especially accomplished in the beatification of the elect; and consequently it is the glory and blessedness of heaven which is immediately and explicitly affirmed in the creed. The entire creed, however, implies, what the Catholic church in her exposition of the creed teaches dogmatically, that only a portion of the angelic hierarchy and the human race attain heaven. The doctrine of hell, or the place and state of those who are excluded from heaven, is, therefore, the necessary correlate of the doctrine of heaven. So far as the human race is concerned, we have to consider, first, what is the condition in eternity of those who are subject to the consequences of original sin only.

It follows from the doctrine already laid down, namely, that the state to which man is reduced by original sin, is entitively the same with that in which consists the state of pure nature; that the condition of this class of human beings in eternity is the same that it would be if they had never been constituted in the order of the supernatural. They are destitute of supernatural beatitude, but attain to all the felicity of which they are capable in the natural order. They are elevated in the due course of nature to that integrity and perfection of soul and body which, in the case of Adam, was anticipated by a gratuitous gift. Their felicity consists in a perfect exemption from an liability to sin, in the complete evolution of their natural capacities, and in the possession of the proper object of their intelligence and will, that is, in the knowledge and fruition of the works of God, and of God himself by abstractive contemplation. This last expression needs some explanation in order to show its conformity with the doctrine we have laid down at the beginning of these essays respecting the primitive intuition of reason. We have there affirmed that the original intuition of reason is the intuition of that idea which is afterward demonstrated by reflection to be identical with the being of God. Some, rejecting this doctrine of the idea, object to it that it leads to a confusion of the act of intelligence constitutive of rational nature with the act proper only to beatified nature, that is, the intuitive vision of God. Others, who accept it, endeavor to rebut this objection, and to show the distinction between the knowledge of God derived from rational intuition and that which is communicated by the light of glory. But in doing this they make the first to be only the inchoation of the second, and the second the completion or full evolution of the first. It would follow, then, that a rational creature cannot attain to the proper object of his intelligence and will, consequently cannot attain perfect felicity, without the beatific vision. We cannot admit either that the objection is a valid one or that the explanation which is made in order to do away with it is sufficient. We venture, therefore, to suggest another.

It is real and concrete being, not possible and abstract being, which is the intelligible object of reason. Reason, however, does not, by an intrinsic, perceptive power, actively elicit the intuition of its intelligible object. In other words, it is not by its virtue as intelligence that real being, or the intelligible, becomes intelligible to it. The intelligible has the precedence and the superiority in the act of intelligence. The presence of the object makes the subject intelligent in the first act, and this first act is one in which the creative spirit is the agent and the created spirit the terminus of the act. The original, immediate contact of the intellect with real, concrete being, that is, with God, is, therefore, a contact in which the soul is passive, because this contact precedes and is the cause of its activity. It is only by reflection, or bending backward upon itself, that the intellect can have distinct self-consciousness and elicit thought. When it does so, it takes always the affirmation of real, necessary being, by which {660} God created it rational, as the first and absolute elements of its thoughts. But this affirmation, as soon as it enters into reflection, and becomes an element of the spontaneous activity of the soul, becomes _abstract_. It is not a pure abstraction, or an act which terminates on the abstract or possible as its ultimate object, but an abstraction formed from the concrete object as apprehended by the passive intelligence, or an abstract conception of the concrete idea. It would require too much time to develop this statement fully. But it is plain at a single glance that it is justified by the facts of consciousness. All our judgments respecting necessary and universal truth are abstract. The judgment respecting necessary cause, that respecting the infinite and the eternal, that respecting ideal space and time, those which respect mathematical relations, and those which form the data of logic, are all of this kind. There is no direct, immediate intuition of God as the infinite, concrete, personal truth, to be found in our consciousness; as we have previously proved in our demonstration of the being of God. The necessity of using the term _intuition_ in reference to our apprehension of the idea is, therefore, an unfortunate one, and gives rise to a confusion of the act in which we conclude the existence and attributes of God by a rational, deductive judgment, with the act in which the soul immediately beholds him by an intellectual vision. Intuition and vision are, strictly speaking identical. Experience teaches us that our first distinct vision is the vision of sensible objects, and that we refer constantly to this as the standard of clear vision, since there is nothing which appears to us equally clear and distinct. By the aid of our perception of the sensible, we attain to the perception of ourselves as existing, thinking spirit, and of other spirits like our own. But we never attain a similar intuition of God by the mere exercise of our intellective activity. It is of the essence of a created spirit that its active intuition or intellective vision is limited to finite objects as its immediate terminus, commensurate to its finite visual power. It sees God only mediately, as his being and attributes are reflected and imaged in finite things, and therefore its highest contemplation of God is merely abstractive. The natural felicity of created spirits is, therefore, at its maximum, when they attain the most perfect exercise of their faculties in this mode of action which is connatural to them. It is the fruition of God mediately through his creation.

We now proceed to show that the Catholic doctrine permits us to believe that this perfect felicity which is possible without supernatural grace is actually conceded to those who die in original sin only. It is reasonable to believe that any felicity which those souls can attain, consistently with their position as liable to the eternal consequences of original sin, will be actually attained by them. For God has created them for good; and to what end as he made them capable of this felicity, unless it be that they may possess and enjoy it? We shall quote from a treatise written in the seventeenth century by F. Maria Gabrielli, in defense of the doctrine of Cardinal Sfondrati, a very thorough summary of the opinions of the theologians on this point: [Footnote 183]

[Footnote 183: Dispunctio Notarum, 40 etc, Colon. 1699.]

"Joseph Maria de Requesens [Footnote 184] enumerates in his little book on the state of infants many theologians of great name who concede to these infants a certain kind of imperfect natural beatitude.

[Footnote 184: de Statu Parvui. Rom. 1684.]