Part 11 — CHAPTER XVII. (continued 3)

But see—a policeman tramps near, and he comes with stalwart tread, swinging his burly arms, and clapping his gigantic hands to keep the fingers from freezing, for verily death seems to breathe out in the stealthy, deadening cold. Bravely he glances with searching look up and down the broad avenue, then pauses suddenly by the side of the obstruction just without the pavement.

“God and his holy saints forsake me, if this same bundle ain’t a child! Ugh! but it’s an ugly night for this small specimen to be left here! But come, let’s see, my little man,” and he tried to move him. “St. Patrick save me! if I ain’t afraid that he’ll never feel again!” And he dropped the little arm he held, and the crucifix, falling, lay dark against the glittering snow. The sight of the cross at once touched the stout Irishman, and this sturdy six-footed son of the Green Isle, this huge guardian of the great city, gathered the stray lamb to his bosom tenderly, pityingly, as its own mother, and bore it to the station-house. And, full of the warm impulse of his race, he chafed the poor little hands, and lingered by the pallet on which he lay, till great tears fell from eyes that had not seldom looked unmoved on the misery of the metropolis. He raised the child’s crucifix to his lips, and though he hurriedly summoned a physician, he muttered, “Poor little lamb, if he does come back to life, it will only keep an angel longer from Our Lady’s home!”

The man returned to his duty, and hours passed before he was relieved, but ere he returned to his own home, and the young wife waiting him, he went back to the station-house to look after “the pretty young one” who had died with the cross in his hand; for he fully expected to find him dead on his return.

“We have had hard work to bring him back, Murphy,” said the doctor, as the man walked up to the child. “Only five minutes more, and the cold would have reached the little heart, which was losing all sensation. We have had a time of it, and he has just fallen asleep. These are what we found on him. The card was fastened to his worn jacket, and the crucifix has also a name engraved.” And picking up the card from the table the policeman read, “Kenneth Arnaud, 312 East —— Street.” On the back of the silver cross was the name, “Madelaine Crécy, August 15, 18—.”

“Poor little child! said the policeman. “I’ll take him home, for his house is near my own.”

So he wrapped the sleeping child in an old blanket, and carried him through the storm. A light glimmered on the first-floor front room as he approached the house, and the man stepped in to inquire about his young charge. As he opened the rickety door, the wailing voice of a woman smote him with the agonizing pain it expressed. “The gentleman may remain,” she said, “but for God’s sake find my child. O sir! bring me back my child!” and her sobs and moans were heart-rending. The negress rocked to and fro with the little girl, trying to keep her warm and still her feeble cries for bread, chanting the while in dull monotone, a habit peculiar to her race, and which at this time increased the oppressive gloom of the place, not at all relieved by the flickering tallow-candle, nearly burned out—on the

At this time the policeman tapped with his club, but receiving no answer, and not caring to wait in the cold, he once more opened the door. Standing mute on the threshold, for the scene at first deprived him of speech, then walking to the centre of the room, he asked, “Is the mother of Kenneth Arnaud here? For I have found a child of that name, who wore a crucifix on which was engraved ‘Madelaine Crécy.’”

With one wild scream the mother answered, “He is mine!” and, as she clasped him to her heart, the soft eyes unclosed, and the feeble little voice whispered, “Darling mamma, I asked them all for work that I might buy you bread, but—oh! my head hurts, for a wicked man flung me away from a gentleman who rode in his carriage. But, mamma, don’t cry, for she—the one with the angels—will care for us. Oh! I have just seen her, and I waked to find your own eyes where hers had been. Dear mamma, keep me with you, away from the cruel man, and the ice, oh! the cold snow!” And his little frame shivered with the recollection.

“Madelaine Crécy!” the sick man muttered on his couch in the corner. And the policeman approached. “Yes, sir, that was the name on the crucifix, and I thought the little fellow was dead when I picked him up in front of the millionaire’s house on Fifth Avenue.”

“My God! and it was my servant who cast him from me! Will you take a message to that house, my good man? Do not refuse me, for gold shall pay you well. I—I am that millionaire, and an avenging God has crushed me.” With his uninjured arm, he drew out a card from his pocket, and said, “Take this to my residence, and tell my housekeeper to come to me at once.” Then, placing an eagle, his own valued pocket-piece, in the policeman’s hands, he prayed him to hasten his errand.

But the mother’s weak voice also called the kind Irishman. She had heard nothing of the conversation, for she was absorbed with her darling, who in broken words had told his little story.

“I have nothing to give you, sir,” she said with tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “The rosary was my mother’s, and besides this I have not even food for my children. But I will pray for you, and God will bless and reward you, sir; he will grant what I cannot give.”

She clasped his rough hand, which her tears fell upon, and he hurriedly left the room, for his own eyes were very dim.

Many and varied are the phases which the great city presents to these her guardians, but in his fifteen years’ experience none had touched him more than this.

He closed the door after him, and the solitary candle burned to its socket. It was now past midnight, and a long silence ensued, broken only by the snores of the negress, for the starved infant had cried itself to sleep. The bruised stranger forgot his own suffering as he contemplated the surrounding misery, and for some time the stillness was profound. At last he muttered, “Madelaine Crécy! Madelaine Crécy! can it be the same! Then God have mercy on my soul!”

“Who calls my mother’s name?” asked the sick woman.

“I, your father’s son, Madelaine Arnaud. I, your brother, who despoiled you, and sold his life for gold, but,” and his voice trembled with

“I should be no daughter of the church which you despise, William Stanfield, if I bore anger to my father’s son. I teach my little children to pray, ‘Forgive us, as we forgive those who sin against us,’ therefore must my heart refuse all malice against God’s creatures, else would my own prayers avail not.”

He could not answer then, for he, the bigot, the scorner of that church which he had ridiculed, felt now the beauty of her teaching when, even in the midst of her sufferings, this desolate woman could forgive one who knew that he was responsible for so much that might have been alleviated.

“Elaine!”—ay, it was the first time that she had listened to her old name since the night when her brave husband had spoken his farewell, and the sound thrilled her with strange memories—“Elaine, your roof has sheltered me to-night, and saved from destruction one who claims as a proof of your forgiveness acceptance of the home which he will share with yourself and little ones.”

And, ere she answered, the chimes of Trinity heralded the dawn of that thrice-blessed morning when the angels sang, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good-will.” And that message of the Incarnation brooded with its holy evangel on the troubled hearts within, as, when the Christmas sun shone over the snow-covered city, the carriage of the rich merchant bore its precious freight to his home, and light, and life, and joy succeeded the gloomy night. And she, when her prayer ascended on that night of shelter and rest, realized the fulfilment of her mother’s benediction: “Adjuvabit eam Deus!”

CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM.

NO. XII.

THE COSMOS IN TIME AND SPACE.

supernatural, which, by raising created persons above their natural sphere, enables them to arise, as it were, to the level of the infinite, and establishes a communication and intercourse between them. This we have shown in the preceding article. The question which now remains to be treated of at present is the following: Who or what is to be the medium of communicating the term of the supernatural moment to created personality?

Although God, in acting outside himself, might have effected everything immediately by himself, without allowing any play to second causes, yet, following the law of his wisdom, he exerted immediately by himself as much power as was required to set second causes in action, and then allowed them to develop themselves under his guidance. The law of wisdom is the law of sufficient reason, which implies that no intelligent [84] Hence, as the Theanthropos is the meritorious cause of the supernatural moment, he is pre-eminently its mediator, and therefore the medium of communicating it to created personality. This consequence of Christ being the medium of the communication of grace, in force of his being its meritorious cause, is so evident that we know of none who has ever disputed it. The only question which remains to be solved—a question of the greatest importance—is this: When the Theanthropos was living on earth, he would communicate the term of the supernatural moment in the personal intercourse and intimacy in which he lived with his followers; but as he has withdrawn his visible presence and intercourse from the earth, how is the term of the supernatural moment to be communicated to human persons in all time and space?

We answer by laying down the following principle: This medium must be such as will preserve the dignity and the prerogatives of the Theanthropos, as will befit the nature of human personality, as will fulfil the object which the supernatural term is intended to attain.

Because, if the medium which is chosen does not fulfil these conditions; if it does not maintain the dignity and prerogatives of the Theanthropos; if it does not befit the nature and constitution of human personality; if it frustrates the ends of the supernatural moment instead of attaining them, it is evident that infinite wisdom could never have chosen it without contradicting itself. The principle is, therefore, evident. Now, what can this medium be in its nature which fulfils all these conditions? It can be nothing else than the sacramental extension of the Theanthropos in time and space. In announcing such a principle, the reader is at once aware that we require some kind of presence of the Theanthropos in the cosmos extending to all time and to all space.

But what is meant by sacramental extension, and why should it be so?

To answer this question, let us get first a true metaphysical idea of the sacrament. The term sacrament in theological language is applied as conveying the idea of an instrument of grace. Hence, to get at the idea, we must inquire into the idea of instrument. Now, what is an instrument? It is an organism which contains a force. And what is force? It, being one of the first I am who am; the sublimest idea ever conceived and ever uttered. The force of expansion at its highest possible act is the external action; and he alone possesses it who, absolutely sufficient to himself in the plenitude of his being, can call to life, without losing of his own, whomsoever and whatsoever he lists—bodies, spirits, worlds, and for ever in ages without number, and in space without limits.

Now, God, in giving us being, has given us force, without which a being could not conceive itself, and has given us this force in its double element of concentration and expansion: the one, which enables us to continue its existence, and to develop ourselves; the other, which enables us to propagate ourselves: the one, by which we tend to the act of eternity; the other, by which we tend to the act of creation.

But there is this difference among others between us and the infinite, that he possesses in himself and by himself the force of concentration and expansion, whereas our force is borrowed and communicated to us by means of instruments, which his infinite wisdom has prepared. Life is kept in us by something forcing to us the instruments to which God has communicated the power of sustaining and repairing it.

We subsist by the invisible force contained in an organism. The same must be said of the force of expansion. We cannot act outside ourselves, on any being at all capable of resistance, by the simple direct act of our will, but must make use of instruments, among which our body is the first.

Now, the reasons of this are, that, if we possessed the force of concentration and expansion in ourselves and by ourselves, it would follow that, as these two forces constitute the essence of life, we should have life in ourselves and by ourselves, we should be to ourselves the reason of our being and subsistence, and consequently we should be infinite and not finite. Hence, pantheism, which admits the unity of substance independent and self-sufficient, and all else as phenomena of this substance, rejects all idea of instrument in metaphysics, and all idea of sacrament in theology.

Nor would it do to say that God might communicate that double force to us immediately by himself without the aid of any instruments. For two reasons we must reject such a supposition: First, the law of secondary agency, which requires that created substance should act, and it would not for any purpose do so were God to do everything immediately by himself. Second, the law of

We conclude: An instrument in its metaphysical idea is an organism containing a force of concentration and expansion. A sacrament, being an instrument, must therefore be an organism containing a force of concentration and expansion; and, as an organism is something outward and sensible, it follows that a sacrament must be also outward and sensible. And as the force which the sacrament is designed to convey is altogether supernatural, it follows that a sacrament must be an instrument of conveying supernatural force. We may, therefore, define a sacrament to be a sensible instrument or organism containing a supernatural force of concentration and of expansion.

But it is evident that no instrument, no organism in nature, is capable of conveying a supernatural force of concentration and of expansion; for that would imply an act superior to its nature, which is a contradiction. It follows, therefore, that this supernatural force must be communicated to the organism by the Theanthropos, otherwise it could never fulfil its destination and office. The Theanthropos, in order to be the means of communicating to all human persons in time and space the supernatural term, which is nothing else but a supernatural force of concentration and expansion, must communicate and unite his infinite energy and action to an external organism, and thus himself convey through that organism the supernatural life. And this union of the infinite energy of the Theanthropos with an outward organism must not be successive or temporary, but permanent and stable; since the object is to convey the supernatural force to all human persons in all time and in all space.

This is the sacramental extension of the Theanthropos in time and space, the continuation upon earth of the hypostatic union, the filling up, as it were, of his incarnation, a second incarnation; not of the Word with human nature in the unity of his personality, but an incarnation of the Theanthropos, the Word made man, with visible, outward, external instruments, in the unity of one sacramental being, to convey to men in all times and spaces the supernatural life of grace.

This sacramental extension of the Theanthropos must be divided into various moments, owing to the requirements of the object for which it is intended. The object of the supernatural moment is to reproduce the Theanthropos in all human persons by a similitude of his nature, perfections, and attributes, and by a real union with and transformation into his life.

The infinite, from all eternity, under the subsistence of primary, unbegotten activity and principle, begets and conceives intellectually a similitude of himself absolutely perfect under the subsistence of intellectual expression, Logos or Word. This action of the Principle begetting the Word, exhibiting all the essential requisites of generation, constitutes the Principle—Father; and the begotten—Son. In his works ad extra, the infinite, in effecting the mystery of the hypostatic moment, does nothing less than exalt the cosmos, as recapitulated in the human nature of the Word, to the very same dignity which arises in his bosom when in the day of his eternity he begets his eternal Son. For the Theanthropos, or the Word made man, is not the Son of God figuratively, or by adoption,

The infinite wishes to extend this divine Sonship of the cosmos, as recapitulated in the human nature of Christ, to human persons also. This of course cannot be effected except by an adoption founded upon the following elements:

1. A perfect similitude of the nature, properties, attributes, and virtues of the Theanthropos.

2. A real union with him.

3. A communication of his life.

4. A communication of his beatitude.

In other words, a reproduction of Christ and his nature, his attributes, his life, and his bliss.

To effect this reproduction are required: First, a similitude of the nature of Christ; a similitude of his intellect; a similitude of his will; a sharing in his feelings. Second, a real and substantial participation of his life, in order that this similitude may be sustained, and that, initial and germinal as it is in this world, it may grow and develop itself by communing with its proper object, and thus become perfect and able to attain a participation of his bliss in palingenesia.

Thus the eternal Father, seeing all human persons bearing the image of his Son, having his mind, his will, his feelings, communicating with his life, extends to them the feeling of a father and the inheritance of children.[85]

Hence, the different moments of the sacramental extension of the Theanthropos:

1. A moment of supernatural generation by which the Theanthropos attaches his infinite energy to a visible instrument, permanent in time and space, and through which he confers a similitude of himself and the other divine persons; a similitude in essence, in intellect, in will, in feeling, in aspirations, in an initial and germinal state, and which establishes the incipient and germinal union of human persons with the Trinity.

2. A moment by which the Theanthropos attaches his infinite energy to a visible instrument, and through which he carries that initial and inchoative similitude and union to a definite and determinate growth.

3. A moment by which the Theanthropos attaches his infinite energy to a sensible instrument, in order to communicate to human persons the power to perpetuate his sacramental extension in time and space.

4. A moment by which the Theanthropos communicates his infinite energy to human persons, to exalt their natural force of expansion, and enable them to propagate the human and supernatural species.

5. A moment by which the Theanthropos attaches and unites the real substantial presence of his person, that is, of humanity and divinity, both subsisting in his single divine person, to a sensible instrument, in order to communicate to human persons his real, substantial, theanthropic life, in order to put all human persons of all time and space in real living communion with each other, by meeting in him and through him as a common centre, and in order to reside continually in the visible cosmos.

The third and fourth moments follow necessarily from the others, both having the like office.

This third moment is demanded also for another object, that is, the transmitting whole and entire, and without any error, by a personal intercourse, of the whole body of doctrines which are the object of the supernatural intelligence bestowed by the first moment. No other possible way can be thought of transmitting whole and entire the whole body of doctrines, the object of the supernatural intelligence, than a personal intercourse, the only safe, natural, philosophical manner of transmitting doctrine. Hence, for this object, also, a moment was required by which the Theanthropos, attaching his infinite energy to a particular instrument, would fit human persons to teach infallibly the whole body of doctrines he came to reveal, and to put in act his sacramental extension.

The fourth moment relates to the natural union of sexes in reference to generation.

Human persons being exalted by the first moment to the supernatural order, their personal acts must necessarily become supernatural; much more the highest possible personal act of expansion, which is the transfusion of their united life into a third. Consequently, it was befitting that the Theanthropos should attach a particular supernatural energy to the union of the sexes with a view to the act of generation, in order to exalt and sanctify it, and thus enable them not only to generate as persons exalted to a supernatural state, but to bring up the offspring in the same supernatural order.[86]

All the moments of the sacramental extension of Christ but the fifth imply a personal action of the Theanthropos, attached to each particular instrument constituting the moment.

The fifth moment alone implies a real substantial presence of the whole person of the Theanthropos under the visible instrument. This requires explanation and proof, since it has been denied with the fierceness and rage of an opposition which did not and could not comprehend the grandeur, the sublimity, the magnificence of the elevation of the cosmos, by the fact of the hypostatic moment. Catholicity holds: 1. That, though the Theanthropos has withdrawn his visible presence from the cosmos, he remains in it still, not by a spiritual, figurative, phenomenal presence, but by a real, substantial presence of his whole person, that is, of his body, blood, soul, and divinity—a presence hidden under the modifications of bread and wine.

2. That the manner according to which this real, substantial presence of the Theanthropos is obtained, is by a change of the substances of bread and wine into the substance of the body and blood of the Theanthropos, not still and dead, but as vivified by his soul and divinity; a change effected by the sacramental words impregnated with the infinite power of the Theanthropos, and uttered by the minister over the elements to be changed.

Now the question arises: Is this substantial presence of the Theanthropos necessary? Is it metaphysically

As to the first question, we observe that such a presence is not absolutely necessary when considered of itself, independent of, and previous to, the adoption of the present plan of the cosmos by the infinite intelligence of God. But considered in relation to the present plan of the cosmos and as a complement of it, it is necessary. Infinite intelligence might have selected another plan, but, having once chosen the present plan of the cosmos, the real presence becomes absolutely necessary as a complement bringing it to perfection. This we shall endeavor to prove by the following arguments:

First, the end of the action of the infinite outside himself is the highest possible manifestation of his infinite excellence. To attain this end, an infinite effect would have been necessary. But as an infinite effect was a contradiction in terms, infinite wisdom was to find means whereby to effect the highest possible manifestation of himself, in spite of the ontological finiteness of the cosmos to be effected. This means was to produce a variety of moments; to bring the whole variety of moments to the highest possible unity in the person of the Theanthropos.

1. To produce a variety of moments, in order that the infinity of the perfections of God, which could not be expressed by the terms effected in intensity of being, might be expressed in extension and number.

2. The highest possible unity, in order that the infinity, simplicity, and oneness of God might be portrayed.

3. In the person of the Theanthropos, in order that, if this variety brought into unity could not be ontologically infinite, it might be infinite by a union and communication the highest possible.

These are the three leading principles, according to which infinite wisdom resolved the problem of the end of the external action: highest possible variety, highest possible unity, highest possible communication.

Now, let us see if and how the effectuation of real cosmos was governed by these principles.

In view of these principles, God effected substantial creation and the hypostatic moment, by which the whole substantial moment was united to the person of the Word in the bond of his divine personality.

Was the problem of the highest possible variety and the highest possible unity and communication in the person of the Theanthropos resolved? It was, so far only as nature and substance were concerned; because the hypostatic union only wedded human nature, and through it all inferior natures, to the person of the Word. But this unity and communication excluded, and had to exclude, all human personalities. It excluded them in the fact; it had to exclude them, otherwise human personality would have ceased to exist. Here the problem must be resolved anew—how to raise human personality to the highest possible union and communication with the Theanthropos. Another moment was effected to initiate the solution of the problem; and this was the supernatural moment. By it human personality, by being endowed with a higher similitude of the Trinity and the Theanthropos, and by receiving higher faculties, is brought into a real and particular union with the Word, and through him the other persons of the Trinity. But the supernatural moment does not resolve the problem yet; because the union which results thereby is union between human persons and the Word as God, not a union between human Theanthropos, the Word made man.

A real and efficient union between two terms requires a real relation between them. Now, the supernatural term establishes a relation between human persons and the Word, but not a relation between them and the Theanthropos, because it is wholly spiritual and incorporeal. A true relation between persons composed of body and soul must be a contact, not spiritual only, but also corporeal.

Hence, if we exclude the real substantial presence of the Theanthropos as such, we have a union of human persons united to the Word, but not a real efficacious union of human persons united to the Theanthropos. On this supposition, the cosmos would lack the highest possible unity and communication, and would fail to realize the end of that external action. But, admit the corporal presence of the Theanthropos in time and space, admit that presence incorporating and individualizing itself in human persons, and the whole wisdom and beauty of the design flashes at once upon your mind—the whole cosmos, as abridged in the human nature of Christ, made infinite by the hypostatic union with the Word; all human persons incorporated body and soul into the body and soul of the Theanthropos, built up into his body and soul, transformed, as it were, in them and through them, and in them coming in the closest possible communication with the divinity which a person can attain. In this plan only everything holds together and presents order, harmony, and beauty.

But, if the real substantial presence of the Theanthropos was necessary in order to bring human personality to the highest possible union and communication with the infinite, and thus realize the end of the external action, it was also required that the being and actions of human personality might be elevated to the dignity, excellence, and value of theanthropic being and acts. In the hypostatic union, human nature and all the inferior natures which it eminently contains, as connected in the person of the Word, are deified, and their acts have the value and dignity of divine acts.

Hence, so far, the end of the external action which is to raise the cosmos in its nature and acts to an infinite dignity by union and communication, is attained. But human personality, not being an element of the hypostatic union, could not acquire in its being and in its acts the dignity and excellence of divine being and acts, and consequently the end of the external action could not by the hypostatic moment be realized as regards the same personality. Here another problem arose in the divine mind—how to raise human personality to such a union with the Theanthropos as, without infringing upon its nature, to raise its being and its acts to the value, excellence, and dignity of theanthropic being and acts, and thus to exhibit in it the most perfect image of the infinite. This problem was resolved by the incorporation of the Theanthropos, under the modifications of bread and wine, in human persons. This plan does not imply an hypostatic union, which would do away with human personality, but a union so strict, so close, and so intimate, as merely to fall short of the hypostatic. For, in it and by it, the Theanthropos, the God made man, in his whole person, composed of body, soul, and divinity, is incorporated in human personalities by the act of eating, and his body pervades their bodies, his blood circulates in their blood, his soul inheres upon and clings to their soul, [87] The fathers have endeavored to express the intimacy of the union by adopting various similitudes. Some have likened it to a piece of glass when impregnated by the rays of the sun, and appearing like a smaller sun. Others have compared it to the action of fire upon iron, which, when heated and become red hot, looks exactly like fire, and could fulfil the functions of fire. St. Cyril of Alexandria has chosen the similitude of two distinct pieces of wax, which when melted and mingled together are so intimately united as to form one single piece, defying every possible recognition of their former separation. But all these similitudes, possible as they may be, can never express the mysterious intimacy and closeness between human personalities and the Theanthropos in the eucharistic banquet.

Now, how does this resolve the problem? Most perfectly. The infinite intends to exhibit in human personalities an image, an expression of himself as pure and as perfect as possible—an image of his being and of his life or action in obedience to the end of the external action, always preserving the conditions of human personalities. Now, what does the cosmos of personalities when united to the Theanthropos in the mystery of the Eucharist, when pervaded by him, when so closely and so intimately united to him as to feel his flesh come in contact with their flesh, his blood glowing in their blood, his heart beating against their hearts, his mind illumining and guiding their minds, his will captivating and mastering their will, his divinity ennobling and exalting their whole being and faculties—I say, when the cosmos of personality is thus united to the Theanthropos, does it not represent most vividly the infinite being of God? Does the infinite in looking at such a cosmos see anything but as it were one Theanthropos filling and pervading all?

As to expressing the action of the life of the infinite, and thus raising the acts of a human person to the dignity and value of theanthropic life, it will appear evident if we recollect that the life of the infinite establishes the eternal religion in the bosom of God which expresses itself in the mystery of the ever blessed Trinity. For the Father, in recognizing himself intellectually, and as it were theoretically, produces an intellectual image of himself, absolutely perfect in every sense. Both in recognizing themselves aspire a practical acknowledgment of themselves, the Holy Ghost, who completes the cycle of infinite life, and perfects the eternal religion.

Now, this eternal religion are human persons destined to express, to realize in themselves, that they may be a most perfect image in their action and life of the life of the infinite. This they could never do either naturally or supernaturally. Naturally, because such acknowledgment requires an infinite intellect to apprehend the infinite excellence and perfection of God, and an infinite power of appreciation to value, esteem, and love it practically. Now, naturally these faculties of human persons are simply finite. Even the light of as the mother presses her offspring close to her bosom in the intensity of maternal love, I know and I feel that I am adoring God as perfectly as a human person could possibly do, and the finite personal act of my adoration becomes infinite because mingled with the infinite act of the Theanthropos.

Hence the Eucharist is necessary, because it resolves the problem, how to elevate human persons to the most perfect image of God by incorporating the Theanthropos in human persons, and sharing with them his perfections and his acts.

So far, we have proved the necessity of the real presence, because, in force of the end of the external action, the cosmos, not only in the natures which it contains, but in the personalities also, required to be brought to the highest possible union and communication with the infinite.

We shall prove the same necessity from the requirements of supernatural life.

The supernatural term conferred upon human persons, consisting of a superior essence engrafted on their natural essence, and of supernatural faculties, must live, that is, act and develop itself.

Now, life, in the highest metaphysical acceptation of the term, consists in communion—the communing of a subject with an object. In the infinite, this communication is active. For the first principle lives inasmuch as he communicates his life to his conception, and both transfuse it into the spirit. But as the finite cannot contain life in itself, it must communicate with an object in order to appropriate it to itself. A person elevated to the supernatural moment cannot therefore live, except by communion with the objects proper to that moment. Now, what is the proper object of the supernatural faculties will. Thus, in union with the Theanthropos by the eucharistic presence, they come in communion with all the objects which are to bring them to perfection by a gradual development and transformation.

Take the corporal presence of the Theanthropos away, and the supernatural faculties would only be in communication with the infinite, but not with the finite; with God, but not with his cosmos; because these faculties could never come in contact with the whole cosmos, except inasmuch as it exists and lives in the Theanthropos.

This argument introduces us to another. Every elevated person, to live fully and perfectly, must be in communication not only with the infinite and the finite as to nature, but also as to personality. Every elevated person must commune in a real, living, actual, quickening manner with elevated persons in time and space. The perfection of unity of the cosmos claims this communing, as it is evident; and the fulness of life of each particular person demands it, because life in its plenitude[88] results from communing with all its proper objects.

Now, how to bring together all elevated persons living at a distance of time and space—some in the initial and germinal state, others in the state of completion and palingenesia? We come into communion with things and persons distinct and separate from us by time, space, or individuality, by a medium common to us and those things or persons we wish to enter into communion with. Thus, I come into communication with persons at a certain distance from me by the mediums of light and air, which are between me and them, and common to both. Suppose I was communion of saints—communion of all persons elevated to the supernatural moment. Communion! What is the medium which brings them together? It is the real, living, substantial presence of the Theanthropos incorporated in them, and on which they have fed and shall feed for eternity.[89]

How beautifully, how divinely was this communication of the Theanthropos given to us in the shape of food and at a banquet! Men in all times and in all places, by a prophetic instinct implanted in them by the Creator, have recognized the banquet as the supreme and the best expression of union and communication; because it was to appropriate, to drink life at one common source, from one common food. In the eucharistic banquet this is realized truly. Imagine a banqueting-hall as unbounded as space, and a banquet as long as time. Suppose millions upon millions of elevated persons entering the banqueting-hall to partake of the same repast. It is nothing less than the flesh and blood of the Theanthropos, not dead, but living and quickening, by the indwelling of his soul and divinity, under the appearance of the simplest and most primitive elements of life—bread and wine. All partake of it; it penetrates and fills them all. A glow of theanthropic life runs through their supernatural being; their supernatural intelligence grows brighter at the flashes of his infinite, finite intelligence; their will expands at the embraces of infinite and finite loveliness; their hearts swell with virtues under the pressure of the heart of Jesus; their affections are purified, cleansed, ennobled, divinized at the contact of the affections of Jesus; their very flesh is spiritualized at the touch of his flesh; a seed, a germ of immortality is sown in it, to bud and blossom in the end of time. They live; not they, it is the Theanthropos who lives in them. And what wonder is it, then, that their natures, coming in contact in him, their intelligences meeting in him, their will harmonizing in him, their hearts beating together in him, their emotions mingling in him, their flesh touching in him and through him—what wonder, I say, is it, then, that [90]

We feel that withal the arguments we have brought forward in vindicating the beautiful and sublime dogma of the real presence of the Theanthropos in his cosmos will have no effect on some minds, unless we remove the metaphysical difficulties which are raised against it, and show consequently its possibility. Therefore, we willingly hasten to the task. And as these objections are very popular, we shall put them in the popular form of a dialogue. The dialogue is between W. and D., the first a Protestant, and the other a Catholic.

W. I shall begin by a very strong objection. I cannot conceive the possibility of the body of a full-grown man being within the small portion of space filled by a wafer. Christ was a full-grown man. He is so now. How, then, can he reside or be contained in such a small particle of space as the host?

D. You will be kind enough to observe what the Catholic Church teaches, that it is the substance of the body and blood of Christ, which is under the modifications of bread and wine.

W. Suppose it is; what difference does that make?

D. All the difference in the world. Pray, what is a substance?

W. It is that part of a being which remains immutable amid all the vicissitudes and changes of the being. These changes or vicissitudes are called accidents or modifications; that which remains always the same and immutable is called substance.

D. Right; and, pray, has substance

W. It must have no dimensions, because dimensions may change and vary, and the substance must be always the same.

D. Then substance is a simple being, that is, it has neither height, depth, length, or breadth.

W. So it would seem, and so, if I recollect aright, all the metaphysicians worth the name hold it to be.

D. Right again; and, if you remember, Leibnitz calls it a monas, or a unit, and distinguishes two kinds of substances, the simple and the composite. The simple is one substance; the composite is an aggregate of simple substances or units. Thus, bodies are an aggregate of substances or units.

W. Well, suppose that bodies as to substance are an aggregate of simple units, what of that?

D. Why, then your objection is answered.

W. How?

D. Did we not say that the Catholic Church teaches that it is the substance of the body and blood of Christ, which is under the modifications of bread and wine? Did we not agree upon the theory that substance has no dimensions? Did we not admit that a body is an aggregate of simple units, as to substance, and that consequently in that respect it has no dimensions? Then it matters not how large or how small you may imagine the wafer to be, it cannot make the least difference; seeing that our Lord’s body in the holy Eucharist is there in its substance, or as an aggregate of simple units, and consequently has no dimensions, and occupies no space whatever. And remark, that what happens in this particular case happens in every other being under the class of bodies. The substance or the number of simple units forming a body occupies no space whatever, and is whole and entire under each and every modification. What is particular to the Eucharist is that the substance of the body of Christ lies not under its own, but under foreign modifications. But I trust you see no difficulty in this?

W. Not much; the main difficulty of space being removed, I can very well conceive that God could easily cause a substance to appear under foreign modifications; for I see no contradiction to any essential attributes of a substance in appearing under the garb of the modifications of another. But what I cannot conceive is this: if we admit composite substances to be an aggregate of units, that is, of beings having no dimensions or parts, how do you account for the phenomenon of extension? A monas, or unit, is like a mathematical point, that is, a cipher with regard to extension; multiply, therefore, the units as much as you like, and the result will always be a cipher with reference to space. How, then, do you explain the phenomenon of extension?

D. First of all, you will be kind enough to understand that it is not the Catholic Church who is bound to explain the phenomenon of extension. It is the metaphysicians who hold the theory, though it is the only true one. It is enough for the church to say, Your best and most universal theory is, that a body is an aggregate of units devoid of extension. I show you that my dogma agrees perfectly with your theory. But it may be as well to mention the explanation which the metaphysicians just mentioned give to the objection. They hold that extension, as it falls under [91]

W. But the greatest difficulty remains yet. Nobody can be in different places at the same time. You hold that the body of Christ is in as many places as there are hosts in the universe. This would establish the astounding phenomenon of a body in millions of different places at the same time. This is certainly absurd, and I conceive that you will find much more trouble in explaining away this difficulty than you did the first.

D. I must beg leave to call your attention again to the fact that the Catholic Church teaches that it is the substance of the body of Christ which is in different places at the same time.

W. Oh! you are there again with your substance! I must own you have an ingenious way about you, and, if you succeed in making me see how this circumstance removes the objection, as it did the first, I give it up.

D. But it does remove it. And let me tell you that you Protestants, in fighting against the dogmas of the Catholic Church, commit two very serious faults: First, you do not provide yourselves with philosophy enough to cope with her. Secondly, you do not sound the depth of her statement. Then it generally happens that, when you think you are proposing your strongest objections, and you are very sure you have her in a corner, you are merely combating a phantom of your own imagination.

Now, let us see if the substance of the body of Christ can be in different places at the same time. To do this, we must examine the other question, How can a simple being reside in space? Metaphysicians teach that a body may reside in space in two ways, according as it is considered either in its phenomenal representation or in its real objective nature and substance. In its phenomenal representation, a body resides in space by contact of extension; in its real objective nature and substance, by acting upon it. I lay my hand flat upon the surface of a table, and suppose I consider both my hand and the table in their phenomenal extension. Under this respect, all the points and parts which form the phenomenal extension of my hand come in contact with all the respective parts of the table which my hand is able to cover.[92] Under this respect, a body naturally cannot be in different places at the same time without a contradiction, because the supposition would imply that the parts of my hand which are in contact with the respective parts of the table are also in contact with parts of other bodies at any given distance.

[93] In this case, a body in its substance and objective nature does not reside in space except by its action upon it.

Now, naturally, a body in its objective nature and substance is limited in its action to a certain defined space, and cannot extend its action beyond it. But there is no possible contradiction in supposing that a body may be endowed by the infinite with the power and energy to act upon any indeterminate amount of space at the same time.

Now, with regard to the body of our Lord, we have seen that it is in the holy Eucharist in its objective state, and consequently is there by its real action. The miracle in this case is, that the infinite power of the Word to which it is hypostatically united intensifies its natural sphere of acting upon space, and makes it extend to thousands of places at the same time. To conclude: The question, Can the body of Christ be in different places at the same time? resolves itself into this other: Can the substance of the body of Christ act really and truly in different places at the same time? Who could give a reason worth anything to show that it cannot? Who could prove any contradiction in the supposition? There would be a contradiction in saying that the phenomenal dimensions of the body of Christ, at the same time that they touch the dimensions of one definite space, touch also the dimensions of numberless other spaces. But there is no contradiction in saying that the substance of the body of Christ can act by virtue of the Word, to whom it is united, in numberless places at one and the same instant.

The completion of the theory of the cosmos in time and space will be given in the next article.

NO. IV.

The Neapolitans, and, with them, Catholic writers generally, hold it to be a miracle. On the other hand, such a visible substantiation of the claims made by the Catholic Church that miracles do continue in her fold, as the Saviour promised, and are the seal and confirmation of her divine authority, has not failed to arouse the opposition of those who deny that authority.

In meeting the argument, or the facts of the case, they have not always followed the same line. Two or three centuries ago, they contended that the liquefaction was a lying wonder produced by witchcraft or magic, or by the power of Beelzebub. A little later, natural philosophy was appealed to. This liquefaction of the blood, when the vial was brought near to the head, arose, they said, from a law of sympathy in nature, akin to if not merely a peculiar form of that law which causes blood to flow from the wounds of a corpse if the real murderer lay his hand on the dead body.

These replies, or attempts at a natural solution, are antiquated. We need not seriously consider them.

In the last century, the objectors took a very different ground. The whole thing, they said, was a device of the priests. Some called it a “trick of long standing and great ingenuity”; others stigmatized it as “one of the most bungling tricks ever seen.”

This style of objection still holds its own.

During the present century, another style of objection has come into vogue, based on the ever-increasing spirit of rationalism. The laws of nature, we are told, are invariable and supreme. No violations of them are possible. All miracles—in the sense of occurrences above and beyond those laws of nature, occasional interruptions in the grand scheme of universal order, law, and causation—are to be at once rejected. “The idea of their possibility can only occur to those who have failed to grasp the great inductive principle of invariable uniformity and law in nature.” “It is hardly a question of evidence. The generality of mankind habitually assume antecedently that miracles are now inadmissible; and hence, that, in any reported case, they must in some manner be explained away.... Of old, the sceptic professed he would be convinced by seeing a miracle. At the present day, a visible miracle would be the very subject of his scepticism. It is not the attestation, but the nature of the alleged miracle, which is now the point in question. It is not the fallibility of human testimony, but the infallibility of natural order, which is now the ground of argument.” (Rev. Baden Powell, Order of Nature.)

Neither is it necessary to confute at length the opinion accepted so blindly by Protestants, that the age of miracles has long since past, and that miracles have entirely ceased since the days of the apostles. If God can work miracles, what man can limit him in the exercise of that power, either in time or place? And did not the Saviour promise the continuance of signs among them that believe—a continuance to which he put no limitation?

The assertion that the Catholic Church is erroneous, and that consequently there can be no miracles in her fold, is more than akin to the words of the Pharisees to the blind man, whom our Lord had restored to sight: “Give glory to God; we know that this man is a sinner.” The appropriate answer was: “If he be a sinner, I know not: one thing I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see” (John ix. 24, 25).

We therefore leave the general subject of miracles to be treated by others; and we confine ourselves to the fact of the liquefaction. In this, as in every other case of alleged miracles, the decision depends entirely on the character of the testimony and on the nature of the facts which that testimony establishes.

The testimony in this case is overwhelming in amount and unimpeachable in character. The liquefaction with its marked features and details are clearly established. We have only to seek its cause.

Is it due to the regular action of the natural laws which, under the given circumstances, produce the liquefaction, independently of any special act of men designed to bring it about? How does a solid body naturally pass into a fluid condition?

A solid body may become fluid by deliquescence. Certain substances drink in water from the atmosphere around them to such an extent as to become fluid. They are said to deliquesce.

Is this liquefaction a deliquescence? Most assuredly not.

1. The substance within the ampulla—the indurated blood—so far as the eye can judge of it, through the glass of the ampulla and the glass sides of the reliquary, bears no resemblance to any of the substances which are known to deliquesce.

2. The process of deliquescence is well known and is not to be mistaken. It is gradual; and the exterior of the deliquescing substance, being in immediate contact with the water-bearing atmosphere, is always seen to yield first to the liquefying influence of the water. On the contrary, the liquefaction is often instantaneous—in un colpo d’occhio; in un tratto. Even when gradual and not instantaneous, the differences are marked. The upper portion will become perfectly liquid while the lower portion remains still hard; or the lower portion will liquefy while the upper portion retains its hardness; or, again, the upper and lower portions may both remain hard while the middle portion becomes fluid; or the middle

The difficulty becomes greater if we consider the obstacles to a freer communication between the outer atmosphere and the substance within the ampulla. The ampulla is a tightly-closed glass vessel, and is itself held within the reliquary, another tightly-closed vessel of metal and glass. This twofold barrier must forbid any ready and rapid passage of atmospheric water from the air to the substance within the ampulla.

Again, no connection whatever can be discovered between the superabundant moisture or the dryness of the atmosphere at Naples and the occurrence or non-occurrence of the liquefaction. We may take a series of twenty days, which the diary marks as very rainy, or occurring in a long-continued rainy season; and a series of twenty others, when the weather was dry—so dry, they were praying for rain. It will be seen that the phases of the liquefactions for each series are so alike that they might be interchanged. The general hygrometric condition of the atmosphere evidently has no perceptible influence for or against or on the liquefactions.

Nay, more, it frequently happens that the blood, after liquefying, grows solid again on the same day, and then liquifies, perhaps solidifies anew, and liquefies a third time. All these changes have sometimes taken place within one hour. Now, did the atmosphere, during that hour or during that day, pass through corresponding extreme changes of its hygrometric condition? Ordinary men did not feel them. Meteorological observers have not noticed them. Registering instruments do not record them. And yet, the habit of watching their neighboring and often threatening volcano has made the people of Naples as observant of such changes as sailors at sea, and has given to that city one of the ablest schools of meteorology on the Continent.

We may well conclude, therefore, that the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius is not the deliquescence of a solid body, arising from humidity of the air to which it is exposed.

Is it the melting of a solid substance through the action of heat?

This is a more important question. Many of those who charge bad faith and trickery on the “priests and monks” officiating at the expositions, maintain that it is by an adroit application of heat that the liquefaction is brought about. Others, who admit the sincerity and good faith of the Neapolitan clergy—which, knowing the men, they feel cannot be impugned—still attribute the liquefaction to the heat of the altar, all ablaze with lighted tapers, and of the crowd thronging the chapel, and packed most closely just in the sanctuary itself and around the altar.

I. Often, when the crowd is greatest, and the heat most intense—say in September—the liquefaction is delayed for hours; perhaps does not occur at all, or only a portion liquefies, while another portion remains solid.

II. On the contrary, it has occurred quickly and for the entire mass, even though the crowd was comparatively small. This is especially seen in the extraordinary expositions, even in winter, when not a score of persons were present.

III. It has taken place in the open air, while the reliquary, placed upright in an open framework, and held aloft above the heads of the people, was borne in procession through the streets; and this in the winter months of December and January, as well as on the vigils at the beginning of May.

IV. It has occurred on days when snow covered the streets, or the cold was so excessive as to cause the usual procession through the streets to be dispensed with. As the churches in Naples are not heated, the temperature within the cathedral must have been very low, probably not above 45° Fahrenheit.

V. This very question has been submitted to scientific investigation. The professors of the Royal University of Naples, headed by Dr. Nicholas Fergola, the most eminent physicist of the faculty, instituted a number of interesting observations, which Dr. Fergola published. We copy from his work a table giving the actual temperature in a number of instances, as shown by a standard thermometer which they stationed on the altar in close proximity to the reliquary at the time of the liquefaction:

TABLE.

Observations for Temperature and Time and Character of the Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius, made by the Professors of the Royal University, Naples.

A, date; B, temperature, Fahr.; C, number of minutes which elapsed from the commencement of the exposition of the relics on the altar, until the liquefaction of the blood; D, character of the liquefaction.

A.B.C.D.

1794. Sept. 19.80°27´ From hard to perfectly liquid.

20.80 21 ” ” ” liquid.

21.80 19 ” ” ” ”

22.78 24 ” ” ” ”

23.77 25 ” ” ” ”

24.78 5 ” ” ” ”

25.80 10 ” ” ” ”

26.77 5 ” ” ” ”

1795. May. 2.76 12 ” ” ” semi-liquid.

3.76 2 ” ” ” perfectly liquid.

4.77 41 ” ” ” liquid.*

5.80 22 ” ” ” ” *

6.75 12 ” ” ” ” *

7.76 29 ” ” ” ” *

8.77 29 ” ” ” ” *

9.80 33 ” ” ” ” *

10.67 15 ” ” ” ” *

1795. Sept. 19.74 25 ” ” ” ” with floating lump.

20.78 26 ” ” ” perfectly liquid.

21.81 27 ” ” ” ” ”

22.78 25 ” ” ” ” ”

23.80 24 ” ” ” ” ”

24.81 32 ” ” ” ” ”

25.78 18 ” ” ” ” ”

26.74 3 ” ” ” ” ”

P.M. At that hour, the blood was found hard each day; and subsequently it liquefied again, during the afternoon service.

The foregoing very important table speaks for itself. Once the temperature stood at 67°, and the liquefaction took place in 15 minutes, although the day before, with the thermometer standing at 80°, it had been delayed more than twice that time. Twice the thermometer marked 74°; the liquefaction was delayed in one instance only 3 minutes; in the other, full 25 minutes. Once the temperature was 75°. In that case 12 minutes of delay were counted. Thrice it was 76°; and the times were 2 minutes, 12 minutes, and 29 minutes. Four times it was 77°; the liquefaction occurred after a lapse of 5, 25, 29, and 41 minutes, respectively. Five times the thermometer stood at 78°; and the times of delay in the several cases were 5, 18, 24, 25, and 26 minutes. Seven times it stood at 80°; and the delays were respectively 10, 19, 21, 22, 24, 27, and 33 minutes. The highest point observed at the time of the liquefaction was 81°. It was reached twice. Here again the times differed. On one occasion the liquefaction was delayed 27 minutes; on the other, 32 minutes.

In view of these varied results from so many careful tests, the commission of professors could only report, as they did, and as Dr. Fergola maintains in his essay, that the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius evidently does not depend on the degree of heat to which it is subjected during the expositions.

VI. The same conclusion may also be reached by a single consideration. When a solid substance is liquefied or melted by heat, it will continue liquid if the heat is kept at the same temperature or rises. It will resume its solid condition only when the temperature falls below that degree which is the melting point of the substance.

Now, in those summer days which we have spoken of—such as the six days of May, 1795, marked in the table of Fergola—days on which the Neapolitans seek the repose of a siesta—the hottest hours are from 12 M. to 3 P.M. During these hours, the temperature is naturally higher than it was at 9.30 or 10 A.M., or is afterward at 4 P.M., or later. Yet the blood, which liquefied at 9.30 or 10 A.M., almost invariably becomes solid again during these hottest hours, if the reliquary be placed on the altar and a silk veil thrown over it, and it liquefies again during the afternoon exposition, although the heat of the day is then sensibly diminishing.

The more accurately and carefully the facts of the liquefaction are studied, the more clearly do we see that it does not depend on temperature, general or local. It is not produced by the action of heat.

This exclusion of the agency of heat has “considerably exercised” some of the opponents of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius. Confident that all miracles are, now at least, inadmissible, and that this and every other alleged miracle is susceptible of a natural explanation, if we only knew it, they eagerly

We have heard it said: Oh! Naples is an exceptional, volcanic district. There may exist there some occult or obscure volcanic agency, which suffices to produce the liquefaction; who can tell what strange results may come from a combination of all the volcanic agencies ever at work in that vicinity?

Is Naples the only volcanic district in the world? Does any other volcanic district present anything like this liquefaction, or calculated to throw light on it? Even in Naples, is there another similar example? And has not this liquefaction continued regularly, even when Vesuvius was quiescent for a long term of years. Previous to December, 1631, the volcano had slumbered in perfect tranquillity for nearly two centuries. A French traveller tells of the flocks of cattle he saw browsing within the very crater itself, then a vast green valley sunk in the plateau forming the top of the mountain. Yet all this while the liquefactions continued as they had done before, and as they have done ever since, in other seasons of quiet, and in seasons of active volcanic eruption.

And then, we ask, what other sign or indication is there giving evidence of this natural influence or law? And what sort of a natural law is that which acts only on one single vial of blood, and has not acted on the thousands of others in the same conditions.

Again, it has been urged, in much the same strain, that our knowledge of the laws of nature is still very imperfect. Many laws are as yet undiscovered. Every year is marked by some advance in our knowledge of them. It by no means follows that this liquefaction is miraculous, merely because as yet we are unable to assign the precise law or laws of nature which govern it. Perhaps, some time, men will discover them. Then all will be plain. Until then, they tell us, philosophy requires us to note carefully and accurately the facts of the case, and to wait for some explanation or solution of them in the future.

It is always well to take note of the facts, and to make our theories subordinate to those facts. What we find fault with our opponents for, in this question, is that they do precisely the reverse: they fix a theory in their minds, and if the facts of the case do not agree with their theory, why, so much the worse for the facts.

One word on the laws of nature. Although there may be many of which we have now no knowledge, and which we may hereafter discover, still we do know some. These may be supplemented—they cannot be contradicted or reversed by any laws hereafter to be discovered. The legitimate conclusions based on the certain knowledge which we have, are not to be impugned or held doubtful until we discover other laws. We do know, for example, that when a man’s head is severed from his body, he dies. All the known and unknown laws of nature cannot make him live again.

It will not do to base an argument in one paragraph on the invariable uniformity of law and order in nature, and, in the next, to maintain that we are as yet all at sea about these laws.

Among the well-known and uncontested laws of nature by which we may be guided in our argument, are several which have a close connection with the subject before us. We refer to them.

I. We know that solid bodies become liquid by increase of temperature; for each body, there is a certain melting-point. Above that, the solid body becomes liquid; below that, it remains solid, or returns to solidity.

II. The same liquid, at the same temperature, has the same volume, or occupies the same space. It is on this law that our thermometers are constructed.

These two laws are known and established beyond doubt, if anything is known or established beyond doubt in physical science. Let us consider them in reference to the substance which is seen to liquefy in the vial or ampulla in the reliquary.

I. This substance has no fixed melting-point. Looking at Fergola’s table, we see that it liquefied one day at 67° in 15 minutes, while the day before, at 80°, it liquefied only in 33 minutes. One day at 76° it liquefied perfectly in 2 minutes, and the next day at 77° it occupied 41 minutes. It has liquefied in the month of January, during a procession in the public street, while it was borne aloft on a stand, and freely exposed to the general temperature—then probably between 50° and 60°, if not lower. At other times, in midsummer, with a temperature over 80°, it has remained solid and unliquefied for hours and for days. Nay, after having become liquid, it frequently solidifies again, just at the hours between 12 M. to 3 P.M., when the heat of the day reaches its maximum. It is clear that this liquefaction completely sets aside the first-mentioned law of the melting-point.

II. The law of volume is set aside with equal peremptoriness. As you look at the liquid in the vial, you see that it changes in volume, either increasing or decreasing. Sometimes the liquid occupies only about three-fourths of the space within the vial. Before your eyes, it will increase, sometimes with froth, sometimes even bubbling more or less violently, sometimes retaining a perfectly tranquil and level surface; sometimes rising very slowly, sometimes rapidly; and it may continue to rise until it fills the vial. Or again, if the vial be full, or nearly full, the liquid within it will sink, either suddenly or gradually, hour by hour, with or without froth or bubbling, until it occupies perhaps three-fourths of the space. These changes take place in summer and in winter indifferently. They are entirely independent of the temperature. They evidently set aside the second law we have recited regarding volume.

III. A third law of nature is, that her steps are forward and not backward. A movement once made is never revoked. Chemical changes are progressive, and, so long as the ingredients and agents remain the same, they never go back to repeat a combination which has once been made and then changed for another.

Yet continual repetitions of the same forms, combinations, or conditions of the substance within the ampulla are a special characteristic of the liquefactions.

We will produce, hereafter, in a fitting place, evidence that for centuries the ampulla has not been opened, and consequently that its contents have not been changed. Nevertheless, the alternate hardenings and liquefactions, the variations of color, the frothing, and the ebullitions, and the increases and decreases of volume, have continued to succeed each other, and to be repeated hundreds, some of them thousands, of times.

Nay, leaving aside for the moment these longer periods, and confining our examination to the ten or twelve hours of a single day, during which

This reiteration of some or of all of these changes, in a single day, while the ingredients in the ampulla are evidently neither added to nor diminished, is contrary to the course of nature. The opposition is seen, the same in character, but manifested in vaster proportions, when evidence compels us to admit that the substance in the ampulla has not been changed or meddled with for years, and even for centuries; while yet these reiterations ever continue. The argument is the same in both instances.

There is no uncertainty as to the facts of the liquefaction or the well-known laws of nature which we have referred to. Nor is there any doubt that the facts are violations of those laws. Other laws of nature, yet to be discovered, may fill gaps in our knowledge, and may complement the laws already known. None will be discovered to contradict or upset them. It is as vain to wait for the discovery of some unknown law which may account for the facts of the liquefaction, as it would be to look for some other unknown law of nature in virtue of which Lazarus lived again, and came forth from the tomb—a law which, curiously enough, happened to act just at the moment when our Saviour stood before the tomb, and cried out: “Lazarus, come forth.”

Can anything be more absurd than this theory which, with words of seeming scientific caution and of wide philosophic views, would attribute the liquefaction to the action of some as yet undiscovered laws. In truth, what sort of a regular natural law would that be which manifests its unshakable uniformity by somehow or other coming into play, and producing the liquefaction, just at those precise days, hours, and places which men have from time to time selected, because convenient to them or suited to their thoughts of religion—a law which caused the blood to liquefy regularly on the 14th of January, each year, so long as that day was celebrated as a festival; and skipped back to December 16 when a new festival on that day was substituted instead—which is ready to put off the liquefaction from the 16th of December to the Sunday following, whether the delay be of one, two, three, four, five, or six days, according to the day of the week on which the 16th may fall, and continues its complaisant action for the quarter of a century during which several archbishops of Naples preferred a celebration on the Sunday after to a celebration on the 16th of December itself; and which was quite ready to go back again to liquefying the blood on the 16th of December as soon as another archbishop decided to return to the old usage—which is equally accommodating in May, and always commences its series of liquefactions for nine consecutive days precisely on the Saturday before the first Sunday in May, regardless of whether it fell on April 30 or any day after up to and including Tesoro chapel, and the ecclesiastical and the civil authorities had come to an understanding, and the relics were brought out and placed on the altar?

It is useless to multiply words. The theory of general law must be ruled out, as utterly inconsistent with the facts of the case.

Whenever the liquefaction occurs, it must be each time in consequence of something done or occurring on that occasion; either because of something done by man intentionally and advisedly for the express purpose of producing the liquefaction, or perchance unintentionally—that is, without a knowledge of the effect to follow—or else because of the exercise on the part of God of his supernatural power, in answer to the faith and earnest prayers of a believing people. In this case, it is a miracle, as the Neapolitans and those who agree with them steadfastly hold it to be.

We have already stated facts amply sufficient to exclude one arm of this alternative. The liquefaction cannot be the natural result of any action of man, whether intentional or accidental. Any liquefaction produced by the art of man would of course be within the sphere of natural action, and would necessarily be subject to the natural laws of liquefaction. If produced by heat, the law of the melting-point would be observed. If it in any way depended on the mutual action of chemical ingredients, the laws of such action would never be seen to be reversed and set aside repeatedly, even in a single day. In whatever way the liquid was obtained, it would observe the law of constant volume at the same temperature, and would not so frequently either decrease or increase its bulk. In one word, man has no power to set aside the laws of nature as we plainly see them set aside in this liquefaction. We are forced to conclude that it is not his work. The liquefaction which is seen at Naples is not, and cannot possibly be, the natural result of any art or skill, or of any blundering of the Neapolitan clergy.

This will be made still clearer if circumstances allow us to examine somewhat in detail, as we hope to do in a closing article, the various solutions which have been proposed, and the attempted imitations of this liquefaction. Their signal failure in every instance serves as practical confirmations of the conclusion to which we have been already led. If with the aids of science and skill at their command, men have failed to reproduce the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius, is it not clear that the priests and monks of Naples are not competent of themselves to produce the original?

The liquefaction must be, as the Neapolitans hold it to be, a miracle—a fact contrary to the laws of nature, wrought by the power of God for a purpose worthy of himself.

THE PRINCETON REVIEW ON DR. FABER.[94]

tradition, its basis fable, its life prejudice, its protection ignorance. We take the liberty of recommending this volume to the writer whom we are now intending to criticise, to the conductors of the distinguished review for which he writes, and to the clergy and reading laity in general of his eminently respectable denomination. The indignation to which the British Lion was roused, and the fierce assault which he made upon the illustrious athlete who entered his cage and took him by the beard of prejudice, so thick, of such ancient growth, and so venerable in his own eyes, is an evidence of the power of Dr. Newman’s arm and the efficacy of his weapon. The exposure which he made of one of the apostate traducers of the Catholic religion, after whom the English public for a while ran open-mouthed, gave occasion to a prosecution for libel, as the result of which Dr. Newman was condemned to a fine and imprisonment. It was a striking illustration and confirmation of what Dr. Newman had so boldly declared. The consequence has been that the person whom Dr. Newman was judged by the English jury to have libelled stands just where he did before the sentence was pronounced, and that Dr. Newman himself is fawned upon by the British Lion with almost the affection which another lion felt for Androcles when he drew a thorn from his paw.

The old Protestant tradition or view about Catholics lingers still about its ancient haunts in England, and probably survives in the minds of a majority of the English people. Its force is, however, diminished, and its prestige is waning, thanks, in great part, to Dr. Newman, but in a considerable measure also to his gifted and holy friend and disciple, Dr. Faber. In the United States, the Protestant view and tradition about Catholics was colonized along with the other British institutions which the first settlers transplanted from the mother country. It has given way in part within the last quarter of a century, and with more facility than in England. Yet it still retains an extensive and strong hold upon our soil, and needs many vigorous efforts in order that it may be wholly uprooted. The article we are reviewing is an instance and an evidence of the condition in which this old Protestant view is lying at present in a large class of minds, of whom the author may be taken as a representative. On the one hand, his whole tone and line of thought and reasoning is a perfect illustration of the thesis of Dr. Newman’s lectures. On the other, his manner of speaking about Dr. Faber and his writings shows the beginning of a caving-in of the great dyke of prejudice even among the stricter and more old-fashioned Protestants. As to the way in which a Catholic should endeavor to open a breach for the tide through this heap

“PREJUDICE THE LIFE OF THE PROTESTANT VIEW.

“In attributing the extreme aversion and contempt in which we Catholics are held by this great Protestant country to the influence of falsehood and misrepresentation, energetic in its operation and unbounded in its extent, I believe in my heart I have referred it to a cause which will be acknowledged to be both real and necessary by the majority of thoughtful minds, Catholic or not, who set themselves to examine the state of the case. Take an educated man, who has seen the world, and interested himself in the religious bodies, disputes, and events of the day—let him be ever so ill-disposed towards the Catholic Church, yet I think, if he will but throw his mind upon the subject, and then candidly speak out, he will confess that the arguments which lead him to his present state of feeling about her, whatever they are, would not be sufficient for the multitude of men. The multitude, if it is to be arrested and moved, requires altogether a different polemic from that which is at the command of the man of letters, of thought, of feeling, and of honor. His proofs against Catholicism, though he considers them sufficient himself, and considers that they ought to be sufficient for the multitude, have a sobriety, a delicacy, an exactness, a nice adjustment of parts, a width and breadth, a philosophical cumulativeness, an indirectness and circuitousness, which will be lost on the generality of men. The problem is, how to make an impression on those who have never learned to exercise their minds, to compare thought with thought, to analyze an argument or to balance probabilities. The Catholic Church appeals to the imagination, as a great fact, wherever she comes; she strikes it: Protestants must find some idea equally captivating as she is, something fascinating, something capable of possessing, engrossing, and overwhelming, if they are to battle with her hopefully: their cause is lost unless they can do this. It was, then, a thought of genius, and, as I think, superhuman genius, to pitch upon the expedient which has been used against the church from Christ’s age to our own; to call her, as in the first century Beelzebub, so in the sixteenth Antichrist; it was a bold, politic, and successful move. It startled men who heard; and whereas Antichrist, by the very notion of his character, will counterfeit Christ, he will therefore be, so far, necessarily like him; and, if Antichrist is like Christ, then Christ, I suppose, must be like Antichrist; thus, there was, even at first starting, a felicitous plausibility about the very charge which went far towards securing belief, while it commanded attention.

“This, however, though much, was not enough; the charge that Christ is Antichrist must not only be made, but must be sustained; and sustained it could not possibly be, in the vastness and enormity of its idea, as I have described it, by means of truth. Falsehood, then, has ever been the indispensable condition of the impeachment which Protestants have made; and the impeachment they make is the indispensable weapon wherewith to encounter the antagonist whom they combat. Thus you see that calumny and obloquy of every kind is, from the nature of the case, the portion of the church while she has enemies—that is, in other words, while she is militant—her position, that is, if she is to be argued with at all; and argued with she must be, because man, from the very force of his moral constitution, cannot content himself in his warfare, of whatever kind, with the mere use of brute force. The lion rends his prey, and gives no reason for doing so; but man cannot persecute without assigning to himself a reason for his act; he must settle it with his conscience; he must have sufficient reasons, and, if good reasons are not forthcoming, there is no help for it; he must put up with bad. How to conflict with the moral must be the case; bad logic, false facts; and I really do think that candid men, of whatever persuasion, though they will not express themselves exactly in the words I have used, will agree with me in substance; will allow that, putting aside the question whether Protestantism can be supported by any other method than controversy—for instance, by simple establishment, or by depriving Catholics of education, or by any other violent expedient—still, if popular controversy is to be used, then fable, not truth; calumny, not justice, will be its staple. Strip it of its fallacies and its fiction, and where are you?”[95]

Where would the Rev. Mr. Scribner be if his article were stripped of its fallacies and its fiction? What would become of the Princeton Review if it should publish a fair and favorable account of the life and writings of Dr. Faber, without the potent antidote administered along with that sweet draught of stolen waters which might otherwise prove too alluring to some of the young and candid members of the Presbyterian flock? The writer of the article, who has evidently been educated in the old-fashioned Protestant tradition about the Catholic Church, has fallen in love with Dr. Faber and his works, and with the greatest frankness and candor has opened his mind to the public. We can see plainly reflected in his pages the astonishment which came over him as he began and went on from volume to volume of the writings of the eloquent Oratorian, and from page to page of his charming biography. We can see, with equal distinctness, how he fell back on the old Protestant view, the old prejudice, with a sort of violent effort, in order to protect himself against the new light which had beamed on his mind and the new sentiments which had stolen unbidden into his heart. Moreover, since he could not deny himself the pleasure of communicating the new treasure he had found to his fellow-Presbyterians, he could not help feeling that they also needed a safeguard, and could find none that would answer except the old one behind whose shelter he had hidden himself. Suppose that a number of earnest and inquisitive Presbyterians should be induced, by reading the sketch of Dr. Faber’s life and writings furnished by one of their own pastors, to purchase or borrow the books which he so much delights in? Suppose they should come to the conclusion that the beautiful character of F. Faber is a fair specimen of the fruit which the Catholic religion produces? That his doctrine is really and truly the Catholic doctrine which flows from the lips of all our preachers and from the pens of all our spiritual writers? Suppose these same persons should meet with some priest possessing somewhat of the same spirit with F. Faber, should listen to his conversation and hear his sermons, or should perhaps attend a mission or retreat? We ask the question, not as a Catholic, but as any one might ask it, and simply looking at it as a question of the gain or loss of vantage-ground by the respective parties. Does not any one see, that whereas we have need of nothing more than a fair chance to compare the evidence, the excellence, the attractiveness of the two Rev. Mr. Scribner reasoned and acted. We will not impute to him a deliberate and conscious purpose to falsify or calumniate, and are willing to admit that he is probably in a great measure the victim of the gigantic fraud which he indorses and recommends. His language about the Catholic Church and her hierarchy is of that kind which might justly cause the cheek of any one not steeled to the endurance of the grossest insults to mantle with indignation. But, when we reflect on the fact that many honest, candid, and well-disposed minds are duped to such an extent by this fraudulent Protestant tradition that they are almost incapable of seeing anything except through its medium, we are more inclined to pity than anger. It is a great misfortune, even when it is not a wilful fault, to be under the control of this horrid delusion, this gloomy nightmare, which besets the very cradle, haunts the nursery, and sits brooding and glowering on the breast of so great a multitude of our fellow-Christians. We will, therefore, try to do something to relieve them of this incubus, and to lead them to think and feel more rationally and justly about Catholics and their religion. We will take the expression of the common Protestant view by the author before us in its objective sense, without reference to his personal and subjective motives in repeating such ignominious charges, and simply examine them in themselves and with reference to the grounds on which they rest.

The first passage we quote is the last sentence of the article. It is expressed conditionally as to the form, because the direct statement of the author was quite different, and apparently contrary to it. Yet it does not appear that the author entertains any doubt, or at least intends to suggest any doubt, of its truth:

“We may admit that the Papacy is the Mystical Babylon, the Scarlet Woman, the Antichrist drunk with the blood of the saints, ‘the great Whore which did corrupt the earth with her fornication,’ and yet believe that God has a people in the Church of Rome who live and die within her pale.”

Here we have what Dr. Newman calls the “expedient of superhuman genius,” the startling, fascinating, terrifying idea, the Protestant view, which forestalls all argument by prepossessing the imagination with a nightmare of preternatural horror. The writer has had this image before him from a child. He alludes to it as something well known to his readers. It is like the “Old Smoker” in the chimney, or the goblin in the garret, or the mad bull around the corner, waiting to execute vengeance on naughty little girls and boys who ask questions. We find it very difficult to argue seriously against this chimera. It is like arguing against the odd fancy of the eccentric Jesuit Hardouin, that the North American Indians are the descendants of devils. It is revolting or ludicrous as it is looked at in different lights. It appears to our mind to be vulgar, silly, superstitious, and fanatical. Not, of course, because it is the use of Pharaoh, the vision of Nabuchodonosor, or the Messianic predictions of Daniel. Nothing short of this would justify the manner in which Protestant writers apply these terms to the Roman Church, and shut out all calm and sober consideration of her claims and doctrines by an appeal to the prophecies respecting Antichrist and Babylon. You cannot argue from a mere hypothesis, as if it were a fact or a certain truth. In this case, the entire probability of the hypothesis depends on first proving that the Roman Church really possesses and exhibits the qualities which must belong to the objects of the prediction. A sober and rational inquiry into the real meaning of these sublime, terrible, and obscure prophecies exacts, first of all, a study of the interpretation of the fathers. It requires, moreover, an examination and due appreciation of the expositions of Catholic commentators. It must be dispassionate and scientific in its character. Now, the vulgar Protestant application of these prophecies to the Roman Church has none of these characteristics. It finds no countenance from any writers before the time of the so-called Reformation. It was invented and used as a convenient and telling weapon of assault. It is rejected by some of the eminent scholars of the Protestant persuasion. On what does it rest? On nothing but the conjectural interpretation of a certain number of individuals. We should find no difficulty in proving its absurdity and falsity if we chose to undertake the task. But that is not our object. All we contend for at present is, that it is an irrational and abusive employment of terms to call the Roman Church by the names of symbolic persons or objects in the prophecies, as if it were certain that this application is just and true, and that these names need only to be repeated in order to designate the Catholic religion as a detestable monster, to be shunned and fled from, but not to be approached and fearlessly examined.

As the Rev. Mr. Scribner has been haunted from infancy by these Apocalyptic monsters, and has always associated them in his imagination with the Roman Church, it is quite natural that distinctive Catholic doctrines should appear to him clothed with the same alarming and hideous outward semblance of monstrosity. So, then, he says that,

“Even if the sincerity of some who profess to have been converted to the belief of the monstrous doctrines of transubstantiation, the sacrifice of the Mass, the supremacy of the Pope, purgatory, the worship of the saints, and the adoration of the Virgin, must be admitted, still there are some who have secret doubts as to the possibility of such persons being true Christians” (p. 516).

Why are these doctrines called monstrous? Doubtless, all error is more or less monstrous, as a greater or less distortion of the truth. Therefore, one who considers these doctrines erroneous might mean no more in calling them monstrous than if he said they are great errors. But it seems to us that our author used the word to express an antecedent, End of Controversy, which has been a great desideratum for a long time.

When he incidentally hits on the subject of relics and miracles, our estimable author is still more overcome. Dr. Faber, in his eyes, is always a charming, grown-up infant, who is only made more lovely and attractive by believing everything. But not so with those who cannot claim his sympathy for their sweet simplicity, and must be considered as grown-up men:

“With the exception of a few such men as Faber, it is not to be believed for a moment that the educated prelates and priesthood of the Romish Church have themselves a particle of faith in what they teach the people concerning their Popish legends. We do not know what to think of the man who does not feel intense indignation at the bare thought of Pope, cardinals, and priests all encouraging the people to reverence the disgusting pretended relics with which their churches are filled. Let it be remembered that the highest Romish authorities in all countries continue to this day to give their sanction to what they know to be imposition on the credulity of the people; and can it be doubted that even the most bigoted person, if he knew the real facts, would question the truth of a system which rests so extensively on known and deliberate deception?” (p. 528).

There is something which seems so honest and unpremeditated about this outburst of indignation that we are disposed to give the author the benefit of that excuse of childlike simplicity which he so kindly makes good in behalf of Dr. Faber. He has no thought of proving his assertions, does not seem to think they require any proof, or that they can be questioned by any one who is not ignorant and bigoted. Let it be remembered, he says, as of something learned in childhood, like the rules of grammar or the date of the discovery of America. Evidently, here is the old Protestant view, the old tradition, which has all the force of an infallible authority. Now, it is not the fault of Presbyterians and other Protestants that they have had this prejudice instilled into their minds in youth. While their ignorance is invincible, it is also inculpable. But if they adhere to it without reason, through supine indifference to truth or affection for their old prejudices, when their attention has been called to the reasons and motives for doubt and examination, they become morally blameworthy. Princeton Review. And we deny emphatically, invoking God as a witness to our sincerity and truth, every item of the foregoing accusation. It is an atrocious calumny, and those who have uttered it are bound to prove it or retract it, even if they have been themselves deceived, and have had no intention to calumniate. This is all the reply we have to make to the attack on the personal honor and integrity of the Catholic priesthood. But in regard to the topic itself of relics and miracles, we will say a word out of charity to our bewildered and indignant friend, and to all like him who are willing to hear the other side.

Disgusting pretended relics. What is the sense of that word disgusting? Does it mean that real relics are disgusting, or that pretended relics are disgusting because of the imposition? If it mean the former, we do not understand the feeling any more than we understand the feeling of one who is disgusted with the furniture which has been in the family for a long time. You cannot argue the question in that way. The only way of arguing the matter at all is to discuss the matter itself. If the relics of the saints are entitled to reverence, and have a secret, miraculous power, the feeling of disgust is simply an abnormal and senseless feeling, which ought to be suppressed by an act of the will. If it is a question about the genuineness of the relics, no one who is not grossly ignorant of history can be unaware of the fact that, from the second century down, relics of martyrs and saints have been highly honored and religiously preserved. There has never been any difficulty in procuring genuine relics in abundance of the contemporary saints. As regards the relics of the cross, and other relics connected with the persons of our Lord, the Blessed Virgin, the apostles, and the most ancient and illustrious saints, we must refer the curious reader to books for information. We can only strike, so to speak, a few random blows at the prejudice which encrusts the Protestant mind, and endeavor to crack it. We merely wish to convince our friends of the absurdity of their hasty and wholesale condemnation of our motives, spirit, doctrines, and practices, that they may think it worth while really to examine the matter with seriousness. So, without going into any general examination of relics universally, we will just take up an instance of a particular case of relics in the house where we are writing, as an example of our ordinary and practical conduct in respect to relics. In an oratory which is used for private devotion, there is placed above the altar a large and ornamental sarcophagus, the front and sides of which are of plate glass. Within is a wax figure of a Roman youth reclining on a crimson couch, dressed in crimson silk, crowned with a chaplet of flowers, and with the eyes closed as if he had just died. Within the breast is a reliquary, with relics of a body taken from the Roman catacombs. In the corner is a phial, marked with a red ribbon, and which once contained blood. These are the relics of Justinus, a young martyr of Rome, which are duly and officially authenticated as having been taken from the Catacombs. Now, whoever knows anything of Roman archæology knows that the most learned and careful Rev. Mr. Scribner will not hazard his reputation as a scholar, we presume, by classing the folios of De Rossi and other savants of Rome among the impostures of priestcraft. We have, then, the relics of a true martyr, arranged and placed in such a way as to make an object of contemplation to the eye of taste and of Christian faith, which is pleasing, instructive, and fitted to excite pious emotions. What is there disgusting in this?