Chapter XXXII: Part VI: They Sang (28)

We will put an end to the series of our proofs by pointing out the intrinsic and radical reason why matter cannot be continuous. The matter which is under the form is _a potency_ in the same order of reality in which its form is _an act_. Now, the only property of a potency is to be liable to receive some determinations of a certain kind; and the property of a potency whose form is an active principle of local _motion_ must consist in its being liable to receive a determination to local _movement_. Hence, as the matter receives its first being by a form of a spherical character, and becomes the real central point from which the actions of the substance proceed, so also the same matter, when already actuated by its essential form, receives any accidental determination to local movement; and, inasmuch as it is liable to local movement, it is in potency to extend through space—that is, to describe in space a continuous line; and when it actually moves, it actually traces a continuous line—that is, it extends from place to place, continuously indeed, but successively; whence it is manifest that its extension is nothing but _Actus existentis in potentia ut in potentia_ Aristotle would say, viz., an actual passage from one potential state to another. Such is the only extension of which matter is capable. Such an extension is always _in fieri_, never _in facto esse_; always dynamical, never statical; always potential and successive, never formal or simultaneous. We can, therefore, ascribe to matter _potential_ continuity, just as we ascribe to its active principle a _virtual_ continuity; for the passivity of the matter and the activity of the form correspond to one another as properties of one and the same essence; and whatever can be predicated actively or virtually of a substance on account of its form can be predicated passively or potentially of the same substance on account of its matter.

These remarks form a complement to our fifth argument, where we proved that no substantial and no accidental act could make matter _actually_ continuous. For, since matter cannot receive any accidental act, except the determination to local movement, and since this movement, although continuous, is essentially successive, it follows that by such a determination no actual and permanent continuity can arise, but a mere continuation of local changes. Thus matter, according to its potential nature, has only a potential extension; or, in other terms, it is not in itself actually continuous, but is simply ready to extend through space by continuous movement.

The preceding proofs seem quite sufficient, and more than sufficient, to uproot the prejudice in favor of material continuity; we must, however, defend them from the attacks of our opponents, that no reasonable doubt may remain as to the cogency of our demonstration.

_First objection._—The globe and the plane, of which we have spoken in our third argument, though destitute of proportional parts suitable for a statical contact, become proportionate to one another, says Goudin, by the very movement of the one upon the other; and thus our third argument would fall to the ground. For a successive contact partakes of the nature of successive beings. Hence, as time, although having no present, except an indivisible instant, becomes, through its flowing, extended into continuous parts, so also the contact of the globe with the plane, although limited to an indivisible point, can nevertheless, by its flowing, become extended so as to correspond to the extended parts of the plane. For, according to mathematicians, a point, though indivisible when at rest, can by moving describe a divisible line.

To this we answer that a globe and a plane cannot by the movement of the one on the other acquire proportionate parts. For, although it is true that a successive contact partakes of the nature of the successive being which we call movement, it is plain that it does not partake of the nature of matter. In fact, the material plane is not supposed to become continuous through the movement of the globe, but is hypothetically assumed to be continuous before the movement, and even before the existence, of the said globe. The continuous movement is, of course, proportionate to a continuous plane; but it is evident that it cannot originate any proportion between the plane and the globe; because this would be against the essence of both. No part of the plane can be spherical, and no part of the globe can be plane; hence, whatever may be the movement of the one upon the other, they will never touch one another, except in a single point.

That time, although having no present, except an indivisible point, becomes extended by flowing on, is perfectly true; but this proves nothing. For, in the same manner as the act of flowing, by which time flows, has nothing actual but a single indivisible instant, so also the act of flowing, by which the contact of the globe with the plane flows, has no actuality but in an indivisible point of space; and as an indivisible instant by its flowing draws a line of time without ever becoming extended in itself, so also an indivisible point by its flowing draws a line in space without ever becoming extended in itself; and as the instant of time never becomes proportionate to any finite length of time, so also the point of contact never becomes proportionate to any finite line in space.

That a line, therefore, arises from the flowing of a point in the same manner as time from the flowing of an instant, is a plain truth, and there was no need of Goudin’s argumentation to make it acceptable. To defeat our argument, he should have proved that the _actual_ flowing of an instant takes up a length of time. If this could have been proved, it would have been easy to conclude that the flowing contact also extends through a length of space. But the author did not attempt to show that an instant of time flows through finite lengths of time. It is evident, on the contrary, that an instant flows through mere instants immediately following one another. And thus the objection has no weight.

_Second objection._—If a material continuum is impossible, all continuum is impossible, and thus we are constrained to deny the continuity of both space and time. For space and time—as, for instance, a cubic‐foot and an hour—include within their respective limits an infinite multitude of indivisible points, or indivisible instants, just as would continuous matter include within its limits an infinite multitude of material points; for it is clear that space and time cannot be made up of anything but points and instants. Hence, if, in spite of this, we admit continuous space and continuous time, we implicitly avow that our first argument against continuous matter is far from conclusive.

We reply that there is no parity between the continuity of space and time and the continuity of matter; and that the impossibility of the latter does not show the impossibility of the former. The continuity of space and of time is intimately connected with the continuity of local movement. Movement, though _formally_ continuous, or rather owing to its formal continuity, is necessarily successive, so that we can never find one part of the movement coexisting with another part of the same movement; and consequently there is no danger of finding in such a movement any _actual_ multitude, whilst we should necessarily find it in continuous matter. Time also, as being nothing else than the actuality or duration of movement, is entirely successive; and consequently no two parts of time can ever be found together; which again prevents the danger of an _actual_ multitude of coexisting instants. As to space, we observe that its continuity is by no means formal, but only virtual, and that space as such has no parts into which it can be divided, whatever our imagination may suggest to the contrary. We indeed consider space as a continuous extension, but such an extension and continuity is the property of the movement extending through space, not of space itself. Space is a region _through which movement can extend in a continuous manner_; hence the space measured, or mensurable, is styled _continuous_ from the continuity of the movement made, or possible. We likewise consider the parts of the extension of the movement made or possible as so many _parts of the space measured or mensurable_. And thus space is called _continuous_, _extended_, and _divisible into parts_, merely because the movement by which space is, or can be, measured is continuous, extended, and divisible into successive parts; but space, as such, has of itself no _formal_ continuity, no _formal_ extension, and no _formal_ divisibility, since space, as such, is nothing else than the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of divine immensity, as we may have occasion hereafter to show.

Hence neither space, nor time, nor movement is made up by composition of points or of instants; but time and movement owe their continuous extension to the flowing of a single instant and of a single point, whilst space, which is only virtually continuous, owes its denomination of continuous to the possibility of continuous movement through it. But if there were any continuous matter, its formal extension would arise from _actual_, _simultaneous_, and _indivisible_ points constituting a _formal infinite multitude_ within the limits of its extension. Hence there is no parity between continuous matter and continuous space or time; and the impossibility of the former does not prove the impossibility of the latter.

_Third objection._—Accelerated movement is a movement the velocity of which increases by continuous infinitesimal degrees—that is, by indivisible momenta of motion. It is therefore possible for a quantity of movement to arise from the accumulation of indivisibles. Why, then, should not the quantity of matter arise in a like manner from the accumulation of indivisible points? That which causes the acceleration of movement is, in fact, continuous action—that is, a series of real, distinct, and innumerable instantaneous actions, by which the movement is made to increase by distinct infinitesimal degrees; which would show that it is not impossible to make a continuum by means of indivisibles.

We reply, first, that there is no degree of velocity which can be styled indivisible; for however small may be the acceleration of the movement, it may become smaller and smaller without end, as we shall presently explain.

But, waiving this, we reply, secondly, that intensive and extensive quantity are of a very different nature, and, even if it were true that intensive quantity can arise from an accumulation of indivisibles, the same would not be the case with extension. The degrees of intensity never unite by way of composition; for all intensity belongs to some _form_ or act, whilst all composition of parts regards the _material_ constituents of things. Hence movement, though increasing or decreasing, by continuous degrees, is not _composed_ of them; whereas the continuum of matter, if any such existed, should be _composed_ of its indivisible elements. In movement the increased velocity is not a multitude of distinct acts, but a single act, equivalent to all the acts which we may distinguish under the name of degrees of velocity. Hence such degrees are only virtually distinct, and do not constitute a formal multitude; whence it follows that there is no absurdity in the notion of accelerated or retarded movement. But with a material continuum the case is entirely different; for such a continuum would be an extensive, not an intensive, quantity, and would have parts not only mentally or virtually, but entitatively and formally, distinct, and making an actual infinite multitude within the limits of a finite bulk.

As to the continuous action which causes the acceleration of movement, it is not true that it consists of a sum of distinct instantaneous actions. The action may be considered either _in fieri_ or _in facto esse_. The action _in fieri_ is the exertion of the agent, and the action _in facto esse_ is the determination received by the patient. Now, the exertion of the agent is successive; for its continuity is the continuity of time, and is therefore _continuation_ rather than _continuity_. Hence nothing exists of the action _in fieri_, except an instantaneous exertion corresponding to the moment of time which unites the past with the future. All the past exertions have ceased to be _in fieri_, and all the future exertions have still to be made. Accordingly, continuous action is not made up of other actual actions, and, though passing through different degrees of intensity, is not an actual multitude.

On the other hand, if we consider the action _in facto esse_—that is, the determination as received in the patient—we shall find that, although such a determination is the result of a continued exertion, and exhibits its totality under the form of velocity, nevertheless this result consists of intensity, not of continuity, and therefore contains no formal multitude, but is, as we have said, a simple act equivalent to many. Hence accelerated movement is one movement, and not many, and a great velocity is one velocity, and not a formal multitude of lesser velocities. In a word, there is not the least resemblance between continuous acceleration and continuous matter.

Although the preceding answer sufficiently shows the flimsiness of the objection, we may yet observe that actions having an infinitesimal duration are indeed infinitesimal, but are not _true indivisibles_. For the expression of an accelerating action, in dynamics, contains three variable functions—that is, first, the _intensity_ of the action at the unit of distance in the unit of time; secondly, its _duration_; thirdly, the _distance_ from the agent to the patient. Hence, in the case of an action of infinitesimal duration, there still remain two variables, viz., the _intensity_ of the power, and the _distance_ from the patient; and their variation causes a variation of the action in its infinitesimal duration. Thus it is manifest that actions of infinitesimal duration can have a greater or a less intensity, and therefore are not _true indivisibles_ of intensity. If, for instance, two agents by their constant and continuous action produce in the same length of time different effects, it is evident that their actions have different intensities in every infinitesimal instant of time; hence such infinitesimal actions, though bearing no comparison with finite quantities, bear comparison with one another, and form definite geometric ratios.

_Fourth objection._—If the contact of one indivisible with another cannot engender a continuum, we must deny the existence of time and of local motion. For time is engendered by the flowing of an instant towards the instant immediately following, and movement is engendered by the flowing of a point in space towards the point immediately following. If, then, indivisibles cannot, by their contact, give rise to continuous extension, neither time nor local motion will acquire continuous extension.

Our answer to this objection is that time and movement are not engendered by a formal contact of a real instant with the instant following, or of a real point with the point following. Duration is not a sum of indivisible instants formally touching one another, nor is the length of space a sum of indivisible points touching one another. We may have points _in space_, but not points _of space_; and in like manner we have instants _in succession_, not instants _of succession_, though in common language we usually confound the latter with the former. Yet, when we talk of a point of space, our meaning is not that space is made up of points, but simply that a point of matter existing in space marks out its own ubication, thus lending to the space occupied the name of _point_. Hence no movement in space can be conceived to extend by successive contacts of points, or by the flowing of a point towards other points immediately following; for these _points immediately following_ exist only in our imagination. Nor does a flowing point engender a line of space, but only a line of movement; and even this latter is not properly _engendered_, but merely _marked out_ in space; for all possible lines are already virtually contained in space, and therefore they need no engendering, but simply marking out by continuous motion.

The same is to be said of the origin of time. Time is not a formal sum of instants touching one another. The instant just past is no more, hence it cannot touch the instant which is now; and the instant which is to follow is not yet, hence it cannot be touched by the instant which is now. Accordingly, as the movement of a single point marks out a continuous line in absolute space, so also the flowing of a single instant extends a line in absolute duration. For, as S. Thomas teaches, in the whole length of time there is but a single instant _in re_, though this same instant becomes virtually manifold _in ratione prioris et posterioris_ by shifting from “before” to “after.” And in the same manner, in the whole length of a line measured in space by continuous movement, there is but a single point _in re_ actually shifting its ubication from “here” to “there,” and thus becoming virtually manifold in its successive positions. And for this reason both movement and time are always and essentially developing (_in fieri_), and never exist as developed (_in facto esse_); since of the former nothing is actual but a point, and of the latter nothing is actual but an instant.

It is scarcely necessary to repeat that, if there were any continuous matter, its parts would all be actual and simultaneous. Its continuous extension would therefore be properly engendered by the contact of indivisible points, not by the shifting of a point from one end of its dimensions to another. This sufficiently shows that from the continuity of movement and of time nothing can be concluded in favor of continuous matter.

_Fifth objection._—Between two given points in space infinite other points can be placed. Now, what is possible can be conceived to be done; and thus we can conceive an infinite multitude between the two points. Accordingly, an infinite multitude can be contained within limits; and if so, continuous matter is not impossible, and our first argument has no weight.

We answer that, although an infinite multitude of points can be placed between any two given points, yet nothing can be inferred therefrom in favor of continuous matter. For those innumerable points either will touch one another or not. If they do not touch, they will not make a continuum; and if they touch, they will, as we have shown, entirely coincide, instead of forming a continuous extension. It is plain, therefore, that the distance between the two given points cannot be filled _continuously_, even by an infinite multitude of other points. And therefore the objection has no force.

Nor is it true that by the creation of an infinite multitude of points between two given points such a multitude would be an infinity _within limits_. For the two given points are limits, or rather terms, of a local relation, but they are no limits of the multitude, or discrete quantity, which can be placed between them; for, without altering the position of those two points, we can increase without end the number of the intervening points. As volume is not a limit of density, so the distance of two points is not the limit of the multitude that can be condensed between them.

_Sixth objection._—All the arguments above given against the continuity of matter are grounded on a false supposition; for they all take for granted that _a continuum must be made up of parts_—an assumption which can be shown to be false. For, first, in the geometric continuum there are no actual parts; for such a continuum is not made up by composition, but is created, such as it is, all in one piece. Whence it must be inferred that the primitive elements of matter, though exempt, as primitive, from composition of parts, and really simple, may yet possess extension. Secondly, who can deny that God has the power to create a solid body as perfectly continuous as a geometric volume? Such a body, though divisible into any number of parts, would not be a compound; for its parts would be merely possible, not actual; and therefore it would be simple, and yet continuous. Thirdly, those who deny the possibility of continuous matter admit a vacuum existing between simple points of matter. Such a vacuum is a continuous extension intercepted between real terms, and is nothing else than the possibility of real extension. But the real extension, which is possible between real terms, is not, of course, a series of points touching one another, for such a series, as all admit, is impossible. It is, therefore, an extension really continuous, not made up of parts, but only divisible into parts. Hence matter may be continuous and simple at the same time.(111)

This objection tends to establish the possibility of _simple‐extended_ matter. Yet that simplicity and material extension exclude one another is an evident truth; in other terms, material continuity, without composition of parts, is utterly inconceivable. If, therefore, we persist in taking for granted that a material continuum must be made up of actual parts, we do not make a gratuitous supposition.

The three reasons adduced in the objection are far from satisfactory. The first makes an unlawful transition from the geometric extension of volumes to the physical extension of masses. Such a transition, we say, is unlawful; for the geometrical extension is only _virtually_ continuous, and therefore involves no actual multitude of parts; whereas the physical extension of the mass of matter would be _formally_ and _materially_ continuous, thus involving a formal multitude of actual parts perfectly distinct from one another, though united to form one continuous piece. The geometric extension is measured by three linear dimensions, and has no density. Now, a geometric line is nothing else than the trace of the movement of a point; and accordingly its continuity arises from the continuity of the movement itself, which alone is _formally_ continuous; for the space measured by such a movement has no formal continuity of its own, as we have already explained, but is styled “continuous” only inasmuch as it is the region of continuous movement. There is no doubt, therefore, that geometric extension is merely virtual in its continuity; and for this reason it is not made up of parts of its own, but simply corresponds to the parts of the movement by which it can be measured. Material extension, on the contrary, would be densely filled with actual matter, and therefore would be made up of actual parts perfectly distinct, though not separated. To apply, as the objection does, to material extension, what geometry teaches of the extension of volumes, is therefore a mere paralogism. It amounts to saying: _Vacuum is free from composition; therefore the matter also which would fill it is free from composition._

We may add that even geometric extension, if real, involves composition. For, evidently, we cannot conceive a geometric cube without its eight vertices, nor can we pretend that a figure requiring eight distinct points as the terms of its dimensions is free from composition. Now, if an empty geometric volume cannot be simple, what shall we say of a volume full of matter? Wherever there is real extension, there are real dimensions, of which the beginning, and the end, and all the intermediate terms are really distinct from one another. Hence in a material extension there should be as many distinct material terms as there are geometric points within its limits. And if this is _simplicity_, we may well ask what is _composition_?

The second reason adduced in the objection is a mere _petitio principii_. For he who says that God can create “a solid body as perfectly continuous as a geometric volume” assumes that such a continuous body involves no contradiction; he therefore begs the question. On the other hand, to affirm that God can create a solid body as perfectly continuous as a geometric volume, is to affirm that God can create a body of infinite density—that is, an infinite mass within finite dimensions. For the mass of a body of matter is the product of its volume into its density; hence, if its volume be finite, and its density infinite, the mass will be infinite. Now, a body materially continuous implies infinite density; for it excludes porosity, and it supplies matter for an endless division. Hence a continuous mass of matter filling a finite volume would be _an infinite mass contained within limits_. We think we are not presuming too much when we say that God cannot create such a metaphysical monstrosity.

“Such a body,” says the objection, “though divisible into any number of parts, would not be a compound.” This is evidently false; for all that is divisible into parts has parts, and therefore composition. Nor is it true that the parts of a continuous body “would be merely possible, not actual”; for if such parts are not actual, how can the body be actual? No actual continuum can exist without actual parts. The divisibility of continuum is not the possibility of actual parts, but the possibility of their actual separation.

The third reason is based on our admission of a vacuum between material points. Such a vacuum, it is objected, is a continuous (virtual) extension, founding the possibility of some other (formal) extension. This we concede; but when it is argued that this other extension which is possible between the material terms is the extension of continuous matter, we deny the consequence. It is only continuous local movement, not continuous matter, that can formally extend from term to term, as we have proved. When two real points of matter have a distinct ubication in space, the interval between them cannot be estimated otherwise than by the extent of the movement which can be made from one point to the other. We cannot perceive the distance between two terms, except by drawing, at least mentally, a line from the one to the other; and for this reason, as we have remarked elsewhere, the relation of distance is conceived by us as a quantity measured by movement, not by matter, and representing the extension of continuous movement, not of continuous matter. Hence a vacuum intercepted between real points is a _real_, though only _virtual_, extension; and that other _real_ and _formal_ extension, which is possible between the same real points, is the extension of local movement. Our opponent concedes that “the real extension possible between real terms is not a series of points touching one another; for such a series, as all admit, is impossible.” Now, this suffices to show that the real extension possible between such real terms is not the extension of continuous matter; for such an extension, as we have abundantly proved, would be made up of nothing but of a series of points touching one another.

Nothing, perhaps, more evidently shows the unquestionable solidity of the thesis we have undertaken to defend than the necessity felt by our opponents of admitting in matter _an extended simplicity_ and a _simplicity divisible into parts_, as witnessed by this last objection, which we have transcribed from a grave and learned professor of philosophy. _Extended and simple matter_ is such an absurdity as few would admit to be a corollary of their own theories; yet it cannot be escaped by those who consider the _first_ elements of matter as endowed with bulk. For physical simplicity is an essential attribute of all primitive beings; and, if primitive elements are nevertheless supposed to be intrinsically extended, it is plain that their simplicity will be an extended simplicity.

The main reason why some philosophers still cling to material continuity is their fear of _actio in distans_. We have already shown that such a fear, though very common, cannot be justified. We grant that, owing to popular prejudice and an incorrect notion of things, many are apt to dread action at a distance as a dangerous shoal; but when they resort to an “extended and divisible simplicity,” they steer their ship directly against the reefs.

To Be Continued.

Christmas In The Thirteenth Century.

Few are the hearts that do not feel the benign and joyful influence of Christmas. It is the one feast that neither the all‐destroying zeal of the Reformation nor the cold indifferentism of the present age has dared to abolish or desecrate. To how many is it the sole remaining word that reminds them of the sacred name of Christ! There _was_ a time when Christmas was but one of the many holydays that with each succeeding month recalled to Christian hearts some great event in the life of their divine Master; but heresy has swept away one by one those sacked days of repose and prayer. Even in Catholic countries the church has found it necessary to reduce the number of Days of Obligation, so cold have grown both faith and devotion.

Wealth and material prosperity—these are the sole ends for which a heartless world would have us exert all our energies, and it would fain clog with the sordid love of gain all the higher aspirations of the soul.

But we are forgetting that this is Christmas time—a time for innocent pleasure, and not for moralizing; so, leaving the present age, with all its faults, we will ask our readers to transport themselves with us, in imagination, some six centuries back, and witness how was celebrated in those Ages of Faith the holy night of the Nativity of our Lord.

The period selected is about the middle of the XIIIth century. Religion was then in the fullest splendor of its power. It was the light of civilization, the custodian of all learning. Every art had combined to render its outward expression worthy of the great and holy mysteries it taught. Gothic architecture had at this date attained its highest perfection; painting and sculpture were almost exclusively devoted to the decoration of God’s temples; poetry and music were united to render attractive the sublime and rarely‐interrupted Offices of the church. The liturgical works of the period are mines of poetic and musical riches that for the most part lie hidden and uncared for in their musty tomes.

Some will doubtless smile when we speak of the Latin poetry of the middle ages, and certainly those who seek in it the polished and classical verses of a Horace or a Virgil will be disappointed. They will, however, find that, despite their somewhat strange Latinity, these productions of a so‐ called barbarous age contain a depth of feeling, a strength and freshness of expression, quite unknown to the pagan poets, and were as appropriate to those grand old cathedrals under whose roofs they were to resound as were the classic odes and songs to the luxurious banquet‐halls of Rome or the effeminate villas of Naples. In fact, to adequately judge of the poetry contained in the Offices of the mediæval period, we must place ourselves amid the surroundings in which they were performed; we must _not_ view it from the stand‐point of the present age, with its entirely different ideas of both religious life and religious art.

It will be, then, in an old French cathedral that we shall ask our readers to spend this Christmas night; for the office, or rather religious drama, at which we intend to make them assist, is taken from a Roman‐French missal of the XIIIth century.

The night has closed in. Within the city walls the tortuous and narrow streets are nearly deserted; but lights gleam from many a diamond pane, for inside joyous circles are gathered around the glowing logs that brightly sparkle in the ample chimneys. Old stories are repeated by venerable grandfathers to merry grandchildren, who in return sing with silvery voices quaint old carols. Suddenly a well‐known sound fills the air; from the high cathedral towers burst forth the joyous chimes that herald the approach of Christ’s natal hour. The notes that ring out so clearly in the cold December air are those of the familiar Christmas hymn, _Christe Redemptor omnium_.(112) Soon a hurrying throng begin to fill the streets, all wending their way towards the same point, through narrow and winding streets. By gabled house and arched doorway, by mullioned window and jutting tower, they press forward until they reach the central square, where rises, in all its splendor, the old cathedral church.

Beautiful and imposing at all times is a Gothic cathedral, but never more so than when the trembling light of a winter moon throws around it a soft halo, just enough to make its grand proportions visible amid the surrounding gloom, while leaving all the finer details wrapt in sombre mystery. Doubly lofty appear tower and spire, and strangely weird each fantastic gargoyle, as a stray moonbeam falls athwart its uncouth countenance.

Let us follow the crowd, and enter beneath the richly‐sculptured doorway. Dim is the light within, only just sufficient to find your way among the throng that now begins to fill every part of the vast edifice. The numerous assemblage of priests and choristers are singing the Office of Matins, the grand old melodies of S. Gregory resounding beneath the vaulted roof with that wonderful effect that makes them, when sung by choir and congregation, the most truly religious music that exists. As the last solemn notes of the _Te Deum_ die out, a white‐robed chorister‐boy representing an angel advances into the centre of the choir, and in sweet, clear accents chants the words of the angelic message, “Nolite timere: ecce enim evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum, quod erit omni populo, quia natus est vobis hodie Salvator mundi, in civitate David. Et hoc vobis signum: Invenietis infantem pannis involutum, et positum in præsepio”—“Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, that shall be to all the people: for this day is born to you a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, in the city of David. And this shall be a sign unto you: You shall find the infant wrapped in swaddling‐clothes, and laid in a manger.”

Then from the high triforium‐gallery seven pure young voices ring out, as if from heaven, the words sung by the angel‐host on the first Christmas night: “Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis.” These familiar words that herald the pious representation of the holy scenes whose reality centuries ago hallowed this night in the mountains of Judæa, are listened to by the vast congregation with rapt and devout attention. In their simple and earnest faith the assistants feel themselves transported back to the days of Herod and to the village of Bethlehem, as they behold emerging from the western porch, and slowly advancing up the nave, a train of shepherds with staves in their hands, singing, as they proceed in search of their newborn King, the following hymn. Both words and music are full of beauty, and the cadence is well suited to a Christmas carol:

Pax in terris nunciatur,
In excelsis gloria.

Terra cœlo fœderatur,
Mediante gratia.
Mediatur homo Deus
Descendit in propria,
Ut ascendat homo reus
Ad amissa gaudia.
Eia! Eia!

Transeamus, videamus
Verbum hoc quod factum est
Transeamus, ut sciamus
Quod annunciatum est.

In Judea puer vagit,
Puer salus populi,

Quo bellandum se præsagit
Vetus hostis sæculi.

Accedamus, accedamus
Ad præsepe Domini,

Et dicamus:
Laus fecundæ Virgini.

(Peace on earth is announced, and in heaven glory,

Earth is reconciled through divine grace. The Mediator God‐Man
descends amongst his own, that guilty man may ascend to lost joys.

Let us go over, let us see this word that is come to pass.

Let us go over, that we may learn what has been announced.

In Judæa an infant cries

An Infant, the salvation of his people,

By whom the ancient enemy of the world foresees he must be warred
upon.

Let us approach, let us approach the cradle of our Lord,

And let us sing: Praise to the fruitful Virgin.)

A crib has been arranged at the extreme end of the choir, containing the figure of the divine Infant and our Blessed Lady. It is surrounded by women, to whom naturally is given the charge of watching over the Virgin Mother and her new‐born Babe. Towards this crib the shepherds wend their way, passing beneath the carved rood‐screen through the open portals of the choir. Two priests advance to meet them, and greet them with the following versicle: “Quem quæritis in præsepio, pastores, dicite?”—“Whom seek ye in this manger, shepherds, tell us?”

They reply: “Salvatorem Christum Dominum infantem pannis involutum secundum sermonem angelicum”—“Christ our Lord and Saviour, an infant wrapped in swaddling‐clothes, according to the word of the angel.”

The women around the crib now draw back the curtains that have, until this moment, kept it concealed from view, and, showing to the shepherds the divine Infant reclining in the manger, sing these words: “Adest hic parvulus cum matre sua de quo dudum vaticinando Isaïas dixerat propheta: Ecce virgo concipiet et pariet filium: euntes dicite quod natus est”—“Here is the little Child and his Mother of whom of old Isaias prophesied: Behold, a Virgin shall conceive and bring forth a son; go forth and announce that he is born.” The shepherds salute the Virgin and Child, and sing the following charming little carol in honor of the Virgin Mother:

Salve Virgo singularis;
Virgo manens, Deum paris,
Ante sæcla generatum
Corde patris;

Adoremus nunc creatum
Carne matris.

Nos, Maria, tua prece
A peccati purga fece;
Nostri cursum incolatus
Sic dispone,
Ut det sua frui natus
Visione.

(Hail, O Virgin incomparable! remaining a Virgin, thou hast
brought forth the Son of God, begotten of his Father before all
ages.

Now we adore him, formed of the flesh of his Mother.

O Mary! purify us from all stain of sin; our destined course on
earth so dispose, that thy Son may grant us to enjoy his blessed
vision.)

After this hymn they fall on their knees and adore the divine Babe; then, turning towards the choir, they with joyful accents exclaim, “Alleluia, Alleluia. Jam vere scimus Christum natum in terris, de quo canite omnes cum prophetis dicentes”—“Now we truly know that Christ is born on earth, let all sing of him with the prophet.” Answering to this invitation, the choir intone the prophetic words of the introit of the midnight Mass: “The Lord has said to me, Thou art my Son; this day I have begotten Thee.”

The priests and assistants advance slowly in procession to the foot of the altar, and the solemn celebration of High Mass commences.

The lessons conveyed by this beautiful and symbolic representation are happily continued when the reality of the divine mysteries has taken its place. The priests who represented the shepherds, quitting the crib where they were the first to do homage to the Child‐God, proceed to occupy the most exalted places in the choir, and to take the leading parts in the chants that accompany that Holy Sacrifice in which the same Child‐God once more descends on earth.

Among the many impressive ceremonies of the Catholic Church, there is none more touching than the celebration of the midnight Mass. Whether it be in a vast cathedral or in a modest village church, it never fails to bring home to the heart, in a wonderful manner, the realization of the two great mysteries of the Incarnation and the Eucharist, awakening in the soul a lively devotion towards them. If such be the effect of the sacred rite on men who have only just quit the bustle and turmoil of life, as they enter the church, what must it have been on minds prepared by so graphic a representation of those very mysteries that the Mass not only commemorates, but actually reproduces in a manner far more perfect, if less perceptible to the outward senses.

How conspicuous, then, was the wisdom of the church in encouraging the performance of these pious dramas—not only as affording an innocent pleasure to the spectators, but as a preparation for the better understanding of the sacred mysteries that were commemorated in each succeeding feast; for on the popular mind how far more powerful than the most eloquent sermon is the effect of any ceremony that appeals directly to the senses!

At the termination of the Mass the officiating priest, turning towards the shepherds, intones the following anthem: “Quam vidistis, pastores? dicite, annunciate nobis in terris quid apparuit”—“Tell us, O shepherds, whom you have seen? Announce to us who has appeared on earth.” To which they reply: “Natum vidimus et choros angelorum collandantes Dominum. Alleluia, alleluia”—“We have seen the Lord, who is born on earth, and the choirs of angels praising him.”

The office of Lauds, which terminates the night‐office, then commences. The shepherds, still occupying the places of honor, but divided in two choirs, sing the poetic paraphrase which on all solemn feasts in those days took the place of the Benedicamus and Deo Gratias. After which they all unite in chanting the following antiphon, which forms a fitting termination to the ceremonies of the night: “Ecce completa sunt omnia quæ dicta sunt per angelum de Virgine Maria”—“Behold, all things are accomplished that were announced by the angel concerning the Virgin Mary.”

Such were the pious festivities that six hundred years ago filled with joy and devotion many a vast congregation in cathedral and church throughout France on Christmas night. We have described them as far as they can be gathered from the Office‐books of the period; but how many beautiful details, handed down by tradition and introduced from time to time, must necessarily have escaped us at this distant period! We venture to hope, however, that we have succeeded in giving our readers at least a slight idea of the deep religious feeling, and at the same time poetic beauty, that characterized these sacred dramas of the middle ages.

The Civilization Of Ancient Ireland.(113)

The greatest difficulty experienced by students of Irish history, whether foreigners or to the manner born, arises out of the crudeness of the mass of fables and myths, contradictions and harsh criticisms, which confuse and disfigure many histories of the country. Unfortunately, native Irish historians and annalists have been wont to indulge much too freely in exaggeration and romance, substituting the airy creations of the poets for authenticated facts, and dogmatically putting forward the most minute details of remote, and therefore necessarily indistinct, actions in a manner to overtax our credulity and weaken our faith even in well‐ established authorities. English writers, on the contrary, from Giraldus Cambrensis downward, have erred on the other side. Always ignorant of the Gaelic tongue, and generally of the customs, laws, and religion of the people whose history they assumed to chronicle, they invariably attempted to conceal their defective knowledge by ignoring the claims of the Irish to a distinctive and high order of civilization, not only before the advent of the Anglo‐Normans, but anterior to the introduction of Christianity. The want of adaptability of the English mind to historical composition, even in relation to domestic matters, may account for much of this unfair method of treating those of a subjugated nation. National and, of late centuries, sectarian animosity has been, however, the leading motive of the British historiographers, with one exception, for falsifying the records of the past, no matter to what country they belong. To have acknowledged that S. Patrick preached the Gospel to a race possessing considerable social refinement and mental culture; that, under Providence, an entire people were converted to Christianity without any material change in their civil polity or disruption of their general domestic relations; and that, even in his lifetime, he had the happiness to see his work completed, and to feel that he would leave behind him a native priesthood, whose piety and learning were for ages afterwards to edify and astonish Europe, was to concede the glory and the wisdom of the church in introducing and perpetuating the faith of her divine Founder at that early period of her existence.

With the Irish historians, who fully admitted this great central fact in the annals of their country, it was different. They knew the language, laws, and habits of their countrymen, but the circumstances by which they were surrounded rendered it impossible for them to consult freely the original records then existing, or to compare and collate them with that scrutiny and care with which documents of such antiquity ought to be regarded. Thus, Dr. Keating wrote his work in the recesses of the Galtee Mountains, while hiding from the “Priest‐hunters” of James I.; and the Abbé McGeoghegan composed his while in Paris, a fugitive from William of Orange’s penal laws, where at best he could only consult second‐hand authorities. As for Moore, though illustrious as a poet, his knowledge of his native country was of the most meagre and inaccurate description, and his ignorance of its language and antiquities, as he subsequently confessed, is apparent in every page of his book.

At the time of the Norman invasion, and for two or three centuries afterwards, the number of Irish MSS. in Ireland, including histories, annals, genealogies, poems, topographical and otherwise, historical tales, and legends, was immense. Many of them, fortunately, are still extant, bearing date from the Xth, XIth, and XIIth centuries; but the greater portion are either destroyed or hidden in inaccessible places. As the civil wars progressed, and the ancient nobility were slaughtered or driven into exile, the cultivation of native literature gradually ceased, and consequently many of the most valuable national records were ruined or lost, so that their titles only remain to us; while others, escaping the general spoliation, became scattered among the libraries of the Continent, or found their way into careless or hostile hands. At the present day several are in the British Museum; the Bodleian Library, Oxford; in Paris and Brussels; St. Gall, in Switzerland; and St. Isidore’s, in Rome. One hundred and forty are yet preserved in the library of Trinity College, Dublin; while many of the most valuable are the property of the Royal Irish Academy and of private collectors.

The decline of learning in Ireland, like so many of her other calamities, can be dated from the period of the “Reformation,” as its revival may be said to have been contemporary with the uprising of the people, which led to the partial emancipation of the Catholics, less than half a century ago. Then it was that the Irish, breathing something like the air of freedom, began in earnest to gather up the broken threads of their ancient history, and to demonstrate to the world that, though long enslaved and silenced, the spirit of true nationality was as indestructible in their hearts as was the faith for which they had so long and heroically suffered. In 1826 appeared O’Conor’s translation of the first part of the _Annals of the Four Masters_; some years after Dr. Petrie published his masterly work on the _Round Towers_, and in 1851 Dr. O’Donovan issued the entire _Annals_, the great vertebræ of Irish chronology, in seven large volumes, containing more than four thousand pages; the text in Irish characters, the translation and copious, critical notes in English. Late in the next year a commission of Irish scholars was appointed by the government to collect, transcribe, translate, and publish the _Ancient Laws and Institutes of Ireland_, which, after a great deal of labor and expense, has now been accomplished. The first volume of this most valuable work appeared under the title of _Senchus Mor_, in 1865, the second four years later, and the third, we learn, has recently been issued from the press in Dublin. Meanwhile, the Celtic and the Archæological Societies, separately and combined, for many years past have been publishing several valuable detached works on Ireland, which have attracted much attention in literary circles in Europe, and quickened at home the popular desire for productions of a similar character. In 1867 Dr. Todd’s _Wars of the Gaedhil with the Gaill_, a translation of all the original documents extant bearing on the wars of the Danes and other Norsemen in Ireland during the two centuries preceding the battle of Clontarf, A.D. 1014, was added to the collection of historical records.

But the merit of elevating the study of Irish history to the dignity of a profession belongs to the Catholic University of Ireland; thus constituting a claim on the affections of the Irish people in every clime which will long remain among the foremost of its many distinctions. At its foundation a chair of Irish History and Archæology was established, and the late Eugene O’Curry, of all men then living the most fitted for the position, was selected to fill it. In 1855‐56 Prof. O’Curry delivered before the students a course of twenty‐one lectures, afterwards published at the expense of the University under the title of _Lectures on the MS. Materials of Ancient Irish History_. This work, including a valuable appendix, embraces six hundred and sixty pages, and contains a full and most interesting account of all known documents relating to Irish history. These lectures were followed by a series _On the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish_, delivered during the years 1857‐62, and recently published in two handsome volumes, with an introduction and explanatory notes by the editor, W. K. Sullivan, in an additional volume of six hundred and forty‐four pages. The value of O’Curry’s last work, as well as of the very profound introduction by Prof. Sullivan, can hardly be over‐ estimated. In them are contained a complete, vivid, and harmonious series of pictures of the laws, religion, territorial and class divisions, literature, art, social habits, weapons, dress, and ornaments of the people of ancient Ireland from the remotest times to the Xth or XIth century. The style of O’Curry in presenting these instructive historical tableaux is clear, concise, and sufficiently varied to attract the attention of the least diligent student; while any of his statements which may appear to savor of an over‐fondness for the things of antiquity, or undue reverence for the past, find an efficient corrective in the critical and exhaustive commentaries of the editor, who, in addition to being a distinguished chemist, is evidently an excellent philologist and ethnologist; as familiar with the genius of the continental languages and antiquities as he is with those of his own country.

With the results of the labor of two such men before him, the student of Irish history, though unacquainted with Gaelic, and beyond the reach of the original documents, has now no excuse for not becoming as familiar with Gaelic historical and archæological lore as with those of the other races of the Old World. He will be rewarded, also, in his studies, by the contemplation of a system of civilization without a parallel in the records of any other nation of which we have a knowledge; equally removed from the elaborate, artificial life of the Greeks and the oligarchical paganism of Rome, as it was from the rude barbarism of the Northmen and the refined sensuality of the East.

Before the commencement of our era the history of the various tribes who are said by tradition to have visited Ireland as colonists or invaders is, of course, obscure, and can be traced only through the legend‐tales of the poets and story‐tellers of more recent but still very remote times. There is no doubt, however, that about the middle of the first Christian century the island was peopled by two distinct and to some extent hostile tribes; one described as a tall, red or golden haired, blue‐eyed, and fair‐ complexioned people; the other dark and small of stature—evidently the subject race. About this time a revolution, or rather a series of revolts, by those known by the name of the _Aithech Tuatha_, or rent‐paying tribes (the _Atticotti_ of continental writers), broke out, and resulted in the temporary success of the servile race and the annihilation of the greater part of the nobility. The aristocracy, however, regained their power after some years of violent and varying struggle, and to prevent the recurrence of such bloody scenes, as well as to disunite their enemies, they redistributed them throughout the island, while at the same time they built a number of duns, or forts within easy supporting distance of each other, the better to consolidate their authority and ensure the protection of their families.