CHAPTER III.

"VirtutiAlemannicæNimiæSacerLudovicusExhibebitBonaImmensaOptimaque."[106]

"He had not the gift of prophecy," calmly writes Vansleb years afterward, when in poverty and disgrace. Returning to Constantinople, Vansleb visited Mitylene and Tenedos.

In January, 1675, he wrote to Colbert that he was in absolute want on account of the non-payment of his salary. In April, he received a small remittance of one hundred and fifty francs. A letter from Carcavy, of April, 1674, received July 20th, announced orders soon to be issued for the continuance of his mission. But the orders were as slow in arriving as his salary. Again, on the 20th of March, he wrote to Colbert, expressing his impatient anxiety to be again at work, and suggesting various journeys, all of them important, which he was ready to make—to Trebizond, the Chersonesus, to Persia, Syria, Mount Lebanon, Baalbec; or he would even return to Egypt, where he would have the advantage of former experience, and his late acquisition of the Greek and Turkish languages, which he now spoke fluently, and where he could now be protected against annoyance by a passport from the sultan. Meantime, Carcavy had assured Vansleben that his labors were fully appreciated and praised by Colbert. Finally, on the 22d of October, our traveller received two letters from the minister, dated July 4th and August 17th; but the money orders they contained were not cashed by the Company of the Levant until the following December.

Writing to Colbert in November, Vansleben says, "And what greater satisfaction could I have than to start immediately for the country to which your excellency sends me?" So that some new country was designated by Colbert in his letter. What was it? It could only be Ethiopia, according to the original design, and Vansleben's preparations at the time appear to have been for that direction. In December, having received two thousand francs, he writes to Colbert on the 18th that, but for the delay of waiting for a caravan and the passport of the sultan, he should already have started; that he expects to depart in January; to pass a month at Aleppo, in order to see Antioch and the Euphrates; thence to Damascus and the country of the Druses; thence to Jerusalem; from which he would take a fresh departure for Egypt, no longer as a Frank traveller but as an oriental, and there await a favorable occasion to penetrate into Ethiopia.

And now, just at the moment when a fresh horizon of useful enterprise was opening before him, when the thick clouds of envy, malevolence,and misfortune were apparently dispersed, the bolt fell that for ever shattered his career, forced him back in disgrace, and sent him bowed down with sorrows and persecution to a premature grave.

What had in the mean time taken place—what reports, complaints, or insinuations had been brought to Colbert's ear, has never been clearly ascertained; but a dispatch from him of the thirtieth September, addressed to Nointel, advised the ambassador that Vansleb was recalled to Paris. Docile and respectful, he immediately prepared to obey. Nointel advises Colbert in reply, January 5th, 1676, that Vansleb was just ready to start on his eastern journey, and had already expended some money in its preparation.

"Unhesitatingly though, and with apparent satisfaction, he sails to-morrow for France,viâMalta."

Forced by storms to stop in the island of Candia, (ancient Crete,) and also at Milo, Vansleb continued his labors of observation and research as though his mission had just begun. His return by sea was slow and tedious, and being moreover detained by illness at Lyons, he did not reach Paris until the end of April, 1676. It was a long time before he could obtain audience of the minister, whose reception of him was freezing and curt. The year wore away in expectation, and winter had come again before he could obtain a second interview with Colbert, which was more discouraging than the first.

Meantime, the arrearages due him, as well for his salary as for expenditures, were not paid, and he was obliged to sell his own EthiopianMSS.in order to live.

Finally, a vigorousplacetdispatched to Colbert July 15th, 1677, obtained a third and last interview with the minister.

In this, Colbert, without making any accusation against Vansleb, intrenched himself in a refusal pure and simple, either to allow him any indemnity or to pay the amount claimed by him for his advances.

Meantime, the poor monk's brother Dominicans who, on his arrival, had received him kindly, had evidently been affected by the disgrace to which an all-powerful minister had consigned the unfortunate traveller, and Vansleb's relations with them soon ceased.

Discouraged and broken-hearted, he left Paris, and after passing a few months with Counsellor Langeois at Atys, accepted the hospitality of M. Texier, the curé of Bourron, a small village near Fontainebleau. This kind priest's sympathy and affection alone, of earthly things, softened his rapid descent to the grave; for he only survived by nine months his arrival at Bourron, where he died June 12th, 1679, at the age of forty-four years.

During his oriental journey, Vansleb had scarcely been free from fever and ague, and he had contracted in Egypt an ophthalmic affection that gave him trouble. But neither of these maladies, nor both of them together, were sufficient to have caused his death. It seemed a sudden sinking of the moral forces rather than the physical that made him so sudden a prey to dissolution.

The man Vansleben's enemies represented him to be would not so easily have succumbed. The liar, the cheat, the libertine they painted would have had no heart to break.

Thus, in the obscurity of a small village, near the solitude of a great forest, Vansleb silently descended into the tomb. The earthly sounds that gathered around his existence had ceased, and the phantom of his fame was buried with his earthly remains.As his death had been obscure, so his last resting-place was hidden from the public gaze. At the peril of his life, he endowed France with the scientific riches that may still be seen in her royal collections; yet under the most prodigal of her monarchs he did not receive the recompense of a winding-sheet, or the poor commemoration of a gravestone.

Even England was more generous, at least in appreciation of his merit.

On Vansleb's return from Egypt, Dr. Bernard, of the University of Oxford, composed in his honor the following lines:

"Deseris Ægyptum spoliis majoribus auctus,Quam gens Hebræum sub duce Mose tulit!"[107]

Of Vansleb's merits as asavantthere could be no question. Before he left London, his reputation was already established as an oriental scholar, although his knowledge at that time was small compared with what he afterward acquired. Latin, Greek, and Hebrew he knew well, and he spoke and wrote correctly and fluently the German, French, Italian, English, Arabic, modern Greek, Turkish, and Ethiopian languages. His principal published works are,

1.Conspectus operum Æthiopicorum quæ ad excudendum parata habebat Wanslebius.Paris, 1671, in 4to.

2.Relazione Dello Stato Presente Dell' Egitto.In Parigi,MDCLXXI.

3.Nouvelle Relation d'un Voyage fait en Egypte par le P. Vansleb, R.D., en 1672 et 1673.Paris, 1677.[108]

4.Voyage du Caire à Chio, et de Chio à Constantinople, fait de 1673 jusqu'à 1675.

5.Histoire de l'Eglise d'Alexandrie, fondée par St. Marc, que nous appelons celle des Jacobites Coptes d'Egypte, écrite au Caire même en 1672 et 1673. Par le P. J. M. Vansleb, Dominicain du Convent de la Minerve à Rome.Paris, 1677.

The works on Egypt and on the Church of Alexandria, it will be remarked, were published on his return from the east, precisely at the period of his severest trials. There is quite an interesting chapter in the history of criticism connected with Vansleb's work on the Church of Alexandria, a work of great merit, which covered nearly the same ground as that of aHistory of Abyssiniawritten by Ludolf. This, of course, was, in Ludolf's eyes, only another and a greater crime added to those of which he had already accused Vansleb.

Although Moreri, Le Grand, Michaud, and Renaudot were all more or less misled as to Vansleb's personal character, they testify unanimously as to the positive merit of the work in question, and to its superiority over that of Ludolf. It is remarkable that Father Papebrock and his illustrious colleague Bollandus were led astray, and indeed deceived, by Ludolf. They had confidence in him as a brothersavant, but leaned too much upon him. Their error was naturally shared by theJournal de Trevoux, and thence extended to other Jesuits.

Although Vansleb's works were at first freely used, they were not freely quoted. Gradually they sank out of sight. Only rare catalogues chronicled them, and his unpublishedMSS. had totally disappeared. Occasional echoes of his name might, at intervals, be heard in the sanctuaries of science, and these, rarely repeated during two centuries, became at last so feeble as no longer to be perceptible.

But sleep is not death, nor is night an eternal eclipse. The day of reparation was at last about to dawn, and the memory of Vansleb to arise vindicated from the tomb.

M. Champollion Figeac, the well-knownsavantand orientalist, was for many years conservator of the Imperial Library of the palace at Fontainebleau. One day in 1856[109]he attended the sale of the library of the late Marquis de Coulanges. His daughter relates that on his return he appeared to be in a state of high mental excitement, the main symptom of which was the manifestation of extravagant joy. Convulsively embracing her, he exhibited a volume he had just purchased, and which appeared to be the cause of his superlative satisfaction. The volume was Vansleb's manuscript. Familiar with Vansleb's published works, M. Champollion and many other scholars had long regretted the loss of this manuscript. His joy at finding it can readily be understood. Finding an indorsement on the manuscript that indicated Bourron as the place of Vansleb's death and burial, M. Champollion immediately wrote to the curé of that village for information as to Vansleb, and as to the condition of his tomb. But the deceased monk had passed so short a time at Bourron that he had left absolutely no trace in the local traditions of the place, and no one there had ever seen or heard of his tomb. However, on a careful search of the registers, the entry of his burial was found, and his last resting-place sufficiently indicated.

In 1859, the church was completely renovated, and advantage was taken of that circumstance to search for and find the remains of the poor monk. After the necessary formalities of identification had been complied with, they were carefully re-interred, and M. Champollion, having interested the emperor in the matter, was authorized to have erected over the grave an appropriate and elegant monument, bearing the inscription of which the following is a translation:

To the Memory ofJohn Michael Vansleb,Dominican of the Minerva,Learned Traveller in the East,By order of Louis XIV.Died, Vicar of Bourron,June 12, 1679.Restoration of his TombUnder the Auspices of the Emperor,Napoleon III.,In the Year 1861.

But a more important rehabilitation remained to be made, and M. Champollion showed, if possible, greater zeal in this than in the merely material one. Vansleb'sMSS.and letters were carefully examined and found to throw new and important light on capital incidents heretofore either totally suppressed or wrested to his disadvantage.

Too aged and infirm even to undertake a task which would have been to him only a labor of love, M. Champollion confided the papers to the Abbé Pougeois, the present curé of Bourron, who, under the inspiration of the learned orientalist, prepared a careful and elaborate memoir of the forgotten Dominican. It was eminently fitting, and poetic in its justice, that Vansleb's vindication should come from the double source of science and the church. On the completion of the Abbé Pougeois' work, it was, by order of the emperor, submitted for examination to M. Octave Feuillet, member of the French Academy, and the successor of M. Champollion at Fontainebleau. The report being entirely favorable, the Abbé Pougeois' memoir was ordered to be published at the expense of the emperor,under the title,Vansleb, savant, orientaliste, et voyageur. Sa Vie, sa Disgrace, ses Œuvres. Par M. l'Abbé Pougeois, Curé de Bourron.Paris, 1869. The book is a large and handsome volume of 481 octavo pages. It has been freely used in the preparation of this article.

The current misrepresentations concerning Vansleb were taken up into the literary history of the period, and have been ever since repeated by successive historians and biographers. Nevertheless, some of them were apparently struck with the inconsistencies and contradictions involved in the charges against the defenceless monk, and gradually the most offensive of these were dropped. Among the modern biographical notices of Vansleb, that contained in Charles Knight'sEnglish Cyclopædia(article "Wansleben;" nearly identical with one in thePenny Cyclopædia) is generally fair. It states, however, that Vansleb "was called to account for moneys intrusted to his disposal, and disgraced for misapplying them." Although the writer of that notice doubtless had the warrant of half a dozen biographies for making the statement, it is utterly devoid of truth; so much so, indeed, that at the period of his death Vansleb was the creditor, not the debtor, of the French government. Colbert was to have paid Vansleb the miserable salary of two thousand francs per annum, and one thousand francs for the purchase ofMSS.and valuable curiosities! Even allowing liberally for the difference in the values of money then and now, two thousand francs still remains a pitiable sum wherewith to remunerate one year's services of such a man as Vansleb.

With the miserable stipend of one thousand francs per annum, he purchased and sent (in 1671-72 and 1673) to the Royal Library, where they still remain, four hundred and fifty-seven valuableMSS.and books, Arabic, Turkish, Persian, Coptic, and Ethiopian, besides a large quantity of inscriptions on stone and metal, marbles, medals, and animals, living and dead.

If we must believe Vansleb's traducers, we witness the strange spectacle of a defaulter insisting upon and with difficulty obtaining an interview with his principal. And this not once, but twice and thrice. In one of his letters to Colbert, written March 20th, 1677, more than a month after his return to Paris, Vansleb claims as due him—First.The amount expended in preparation for the journey he was about to undertake when ordered back by the minister.Second.The balance of his last account rendered.Third.The amount still unpaid him for books,MSS., etc., sent to the Royal Library.Fourth.His salary up to the time he was definitely discharged, at the third and last audience accorded him by the minister. The letter referred to is dignified, firm, and moderate—as unlike as possible in its tone that of a defaulter and a dishonest man. Thus, he tells Colbert,

"Perceiving that I have good reason to expect from your excellency neither munificence nor liberality, nor even such an honorable recompense as I had every just reason to look for after such long and important labors, I at least do not anticipate from your excellency's justice, since you insist upon a rigorous settlement, a refusal to pay the balance due me for expenditures in the service of his majesty, and which I have not claimed until now, for the reason that I was warranted in presuming upon such a fair remuneration as would cover it. In as few words as possible, then, my lord, and with rigorous exactitude, there is due me—"[110]

And here follows the recapitulation already presented.

The injustice and indignity with which Vansleb was treated by Colbert is in marked contrast to the liberality usually displayed by Louis XIV. and his administration toward travellers whose merits were far inferior to those of the Dominican monk. On Tavernier, who brought back with him from his travels precious stones to the value of three millions, distinguished honors and letters of nobility were conferred. Sanson, the geographer, besides honorary titles, received a salary of two thousand livres. Vaillant, who made a journey somewhat similar to that of Vansleb, was honored with a position in one of the academies, and endowed with a pension. Tournefort, who travelled in the east under order of the court, was absent but two years, had all his expenses paid, and received a salary (in advance) of three thousand livres. He returned in 1702, at a period when the French finances were far from prosperous, and was awarded a recompense beyond his salary. Paul Lucas, toward the end of Louis XIV.'s reign, was also an eastern explorer. His travels were published by the king's command. They are filled with amusing but absurd stories, which diverted the king and made the traveller's fortune.

Vansleb's solid erudition was not so profitable. His published works, which are of a nature to interest none but the archæologist, the ethnographer, and the theologian, may soon be forgotten, and need no further notice than the few words we have given them; but it is eminently proper that we should, in his case, contribute our mite to the vindication of truth and the rehabilitation of a too long suffering reputation.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN.

"Herr Frank has not been here for four days," said Siegwart as he returned one day from the field. "He will not come to-day, for it is already nine o'clock. I hope the young man is not ill."

Angela started.

"Ill? May God forbid!"

"At least, I know no other reason that could prevent him from coming. He has become a necessity to me; I seem to miss something."

Angela concealed her uneasiness in true womanly fashion. She busied herself about the room, dusted the furniture, arranged the vases and trimmed the flowers; but one could see that her mind was not in the work.

"Would it not be well, father, to send and inquire after his health?"

"It would if we were certain that he was ill. I only made a conjecture. However, if he does not come to-morrow, I will send Henry over.We owe him this attention; he is sensible, modest, and very intelligent. We find at present in the cities and first families few young men of so little assumption and so much goodness and manliness."

Angela pricked her finger. She had incautiously wandered into the thicket, as if she did not know that roses have thorns.

"Many things tell of his kind-heartedness," she replied, with averted face. "He sends five dollars every week to the old blind woman in Salingen; he often takes the money himself, and comforts the unfortunate creature. The blind woman is full of enthusiasm about him. He bought the cooper a full set of tools, that he might be able to support his mother and seven little sisters."

"Very praiseworthy," said the father.

As Siegwart came home in the evening, Angela met him in the yard. She carried a basket and was about to go into the garden.

"Herr Frank is not unwell," said he; "I saw him in the field and went through the vineyard to meet him; but when he discovered my intention, he turned about and hastened toward the house. That surprises me."

Angela went into the garden. She stood on the bed and gazed at the lettuce. The empty basket awaited its contents, and in it lay the knife whose bright blade glistened before the idle dreamer. She stood thus meditating, lost in thought for a long time, which was certainly not her custom.

Herr Frank had returned from the city, and was roughly received by the doctor.

"Have you spoken to your son?" said he sharply.

"No! I have just alighted from the carriage," answered Frank in astonishment.

The doctor walked up and down the room, and Frank saw his face growing darker.

"You disturb me, good friend. How is Richard?"

"Bad, very bad! And it is all your fault. You gave Richard those materialistic books which I threw out of the window. He has read the trash—not read, but studied it; and now we have the consequences."

"Pardon me, doctor. I did not give my son those books. He was passing the window when you threw them out, and took them to his room."

"You knew that! Why did you leave him the miserable trash?"

"I had no idea of the danger of these writings. Explain yourself further, I entreat."

"You must first see your son. But I bind it on your conscience to use the greatest precaution. Do not show the least surprise. We have to deal with a dangerous disorder. Do not say a word about his changed appearance. Then come back to me again."

Greatly disturbed, the father passed to the room of his son. Richard sat on the sofa gazing at the floor. His cheeks had lost their bloom, his face was emaciated, and his eyes deeply sunken. Vogt'sPhysiological Letterslay open near him. He did not rise quickly and joyfully to kiss his father, as was his custom. He remained sitting, and smiled languidly at him. Herr Frank, grieved and perplexed, sat down near him, and took occasion to pick up the book.

"How are you, Richard?"

"Very well, as you see."

"You are industrious. What book is this?"

"A rare book, father—a remarkablebook. One learns there to know what man is and what he is not. Until now, I did not know that cats, dogs, monkeys, and all animals were of our race. Now I know; for it is clearly demonstrated in that book."

"You certainly do not believe such absurdities?"

"Believe? I believe nothing at all. Faith ends where proof begins."

Herr Frank read the open page.

"All this sounds very silly," said he. "Vogt asserts that man has no soul, and proves it from the fact that men become idiotic. If the functions of the brain are disturbed, the soul ceases, says Vogt. He therefore concludes that the spirit consists in the brain. The man must have been crazy when he wrote that. I am no scholar; but I see at the first glance how false and groundless are Vogt's inferences. Every reasonable man knows that the brain is the instrument of the mind, which enables it to participate in the world of sense; now, when the instrument is destroyed, the participation of the mind with the outward world must cease. Although a man may be an expert on the violin, he cannot play if the strings are broken or out of tune. But the player, his ideas, the art, still remain. In like manner the spirit remains, although it can no longer play on the injured or discordant fibres of the brain."

"You must read the whole book, father, and then those others there."

"But, Richard, you must not read books that rob man of all dignity."

"Of course not. I should do as the ostrich. When he is in danger, he sticks his head into the bushes not to see the danger. A prudent plan. But I cannot close my eyes to the light, even if that light should destroy my human respect."

Greatly afflicted, Herr Frank returned to the doctor.

"Great God! in what a condition is my poor Richard!" said the oppressed father.

"He will, I hope, be rescued. My stay at Frankenhöhe was to end with the month of May; but I cannot forsake a young man whom I love, in this helpless state of mental delirium."

"I do not understand the condition of my son; and your words give me great anxiety. Have the goodness to tell me what is the matter with Richard, and how it came about."

"It would be very difficult to make your son's condition clear to you. In you there is only business, lucrative undertakings, speculative combinations. The bustle of the money market is your world. You have no idea of the power of an intellectual struggle. You know the thoughtful, intellectual nature of your son; and here I begin. In the first place, I will remind you that Richard wishes to be governed by the power of deduction. With him fantasies and passions retreat before this force, although usually in men of his years, and even in men with gray hair, clearness of mind and keen penetration are often swept away by the current of stormy passions. Richard's aversion to women is the result of cool reflection and inevitable inference, and therefore on this question I do not dispute his views. I know it would be useless, and I know that the study of a pure feminine nature would overcome this prejudice. The same force of logical inferences places Richard in this unhappy condition. He read the writings of the materialist. There he found the physiological proofs that man is a beast. From these proofs Richard drew all the terrible consequences contained in those destructive doctrines. As the intellectual life predominates in him, and as he hasa strong repugnance to materialistic madness, his nature must be stirred in its profoundest depths. If Richard succumbs, he will act in his habitual consistent manner. All moral basis lost, morality would be foolishness to him, since it is useless for beasts to curb the passions by moral laws. As with immortality disappears man's eternal destiny, it would be foolish to "fight the giant fight of duty." If he is convinced that man is a beast, he will live like a beast—although he might cloak his conduct with the varnish of decency—and thus suddenly would the sensible Richard stand before his astonished father a ruined man. This is one view; there is still another," said the doctor hesitatingly. "I remember in the course of my practice a suicide who wrote on a slip of paper, 'What do I here? Eat, drink, sleep, worry, and fret; much suffering, little joy; therefore—' and the man sent a bullet through his head. This suicide thought logically. This earthly life is insupportable; it is foolishness to a man who thinks and is at the same time a materialist."

"What prospects—horrible!" cried Herr Frank, wringing his hands. "Accursed be those books; and I am the cause of this misfortune!"

"The involuntary cause," said Klingenberg consolingly. "You now have a firm conviction of the devastating effects of those bad books. But how many are there who consider every warning in this connection an exhibition of prejudice or narrow-mindedness! How few readers are so modest as to admit that they want the scientific culture to refute a bad book, to separate the poison from the honey of sweet phrases and winning style! How few can see that they cannot read those bad books without detriment! No one would sit on a cask of powder and touch it off for amusement; and yet those hellish books are more dangerous than a cask full of powder. To me this is incomprehensible. Poisonous food is always injurious; yet thousands and millions drink greedily from this poisonous stream of bad reading which deluges all grades of society."

"I will do immediately what must be done," said Herr Frank as he hastily rose.

"What will you do?"

"Take from my son those execrable books."

"By no means," said Klingenberg. "This would be a psychological mistake. Richard would buy the same books again at the book-shop, and read them secretly. A man who has the resolution of your son must be won by honorable combat. Authority would here be badly applied. Therefore I forbid you to interfere. You know nothing of the matter. Treat him kindly, and have forbearance with his sensitiveness. That is what I must require of you."

Greatly afflicted, Herr Frank left the doctor. Overwhelming himself with reproaches, he wandered restlessly about the house and garden. He saw Richard standing at the open window with folded arms, dreamy and pale, his hair in disorder like a storm-beaten wheat-field—truly a painful sight for the father. He went up to his room, where the small library stood in its beautiful binding. A servant stood near him with a basket. The works of Eugene Sue, Gutzkow, and like spirits fell into the basket.

"All to the fire!" commanded Herr Frank.

The doctor had compared bad literature to poisonous food. The comparison was not inapt; at least, it gave Richard the appearance of a man in whose body destructive poison was working. He was listless and exhausted; in walking, his hands hung heavily by his side. His eyes weredirected to the ground, as if he were seeking something. If he saw a snail, he stopped to examine the crawling creature. He sought to know why the snail crawls about, and, to his astonishment, found that the snail always followed an object; which is not always the case with man, animal of the moment, who goes about without an object. If a caterpillar accidentally got under his foot, he pushed it carefully aside and examined if it had been hurt. It seemed to him logical that creeping and flying things had the same claims to forbearance and proper treatment as man, since according to Vogt and Büchner's striking proofs, all creeping and flying things are not essentially different from man.

He paid particular attention to the spiders. If he came to a place where their web was stretched, he examined attentively the artistic texture; he saw the firmly fastened knot on the twig which held the web apart, the circular meshes, the cunning arrangement to catch the wandering fly. He was convinced that such a spider would be a thousand times more intelligent than Herr Vogt and Herr Büchner, with half as big a head as those wise naturalists. The enterprising spirit of the ants excited not less his admiration. He always found them busy and in a bustle, to which a market-day could not be compared. Even London and Paris were solitary in comparison to the throng in an ant-hill. They dragged about large pieces of wood, as also leaves and fibres, to construct their house, which was laid out with design and finished with much care. If he pushed his cane into the hill, there forthwith arose a great revolution. The inhabitants rushed out upon him, nipped him with their pincers, and showed the greatest rage against the invader of their kingdom, while others with great celerity placed the eggs in safety. He observed that the ants gave no quarter, and considered every one a mortal enemy who disturbed their state.

The young man sat on a stone and examined a snail that crawled slowly from the wet grass. It carried a gray house on its back, and beslimed the way as it went, and stretched out its horns to discover the best direction. Its delicate touch astonished Frank. When obstacles came in its way which it did not see nor touch, it would perceive them by means of a wonderful sensibility.

How stupid did Richard appear to himself, beside a horned, blind snail. How many men only discover obstacles in their way when they have run their heads against them, and how many wish to run their heads through walls without any reason! He arose and looked toward Angela's home. He was dejected, and heaved a sigh.

"All is of no avail. The activity of the animal world affords no diversion, the benumbing strokes of materialism lose their effect. The rare becomes common, and does not attract attention. There walks an angel in the splendor of superior excellence, and I endeavor in vain to distract my mind from her by studying the animals. I follow willingly the professors' exact investigations, into the labyrinth of their studied arguments to make it appear that I am only an animal, that all our sentiment is only imagination and fallacy. It is all in vain. Can these gentlemen teach me how we can cease to have admiration for the noble and exalted? Here man forcibly breaks through. Here self, irresistible and disgusted with error, brings the nobility of human nature to consciousness, and all the wisdom of boasted materialism becomes idle nonsense."

"Thank God! I see you again, my dear neighbor," said Siegwart cordially. "Where have you kept yourself this last week? Why do you no longer visit us? My whole house is excited about you. Henry is angry because he cannot show you the horses he bought lately. My wife bothers her head with all kinds of forebodings, and Angela urged me to send and see if you were ill."

A new life permeated Frank's whole being at these last words; his cheeks flushed and his languid eyes brightened up.

"I know no good reason as an apology, dear friend. Be assured, however, that the apparent neglect does not arise from any coolness toward you and your esteemed family." And he drew marks in the sand with his cane.

"Perhaps your father took offence at your visits to us?"

"Oh! no. No; I alone am to blame."

Siegwart gave a searching glance at the pale face of the young man who, broken-spirited, stood before him, and whose mental condition he did not understand, although he had a vague idea of it.

"I will not press you further," said he cheerfully. "But, as a punishment, you must now come with me. I received yesterday a fresh supply of genuine Havanas, and you must try them."

He took Richard by the arm, and the latter yielded to the friendly compulsion. They went through the vineyard. Frank broke from a twig a folded leaf.

"Do you know the cause of this?"

"Oh! yes; it is the work of the vine-weevil," answered Siegwart. "These mischief-makers sometimes cause great damage to the vineyards. Some years I have their nests gathered and the eggs destroyed to prevent their doing damage."

"You consider every thing with the eyes of an economist. But I admire the art, the foresight, and the intelligence of these insects."

"Intelligence—foresight of an insect!" repeated Siegwart, astonished. "I see in the whole affair neither intelligence nor foresight."

"But just look here," said Richard, carefully unfolding the leaf. "What a degree of considerate management is necessary to fix the leaf in such order. The ribs of this leaf are stronger than the force of the beetle. Yet he wished to fold the eggs in it. What does he do? He first pierces the stem with his pincers; in consequence of this, the leaf curls up and becomes soft and pliable to the frail feet of the insect. This is the first act of reflection. The piercing of the stem had evidently as its object to cause the leaf to roll up. Then he begins to work with a perfection that would do honor to human skill. The leaf is rolled up in order to put the eggs in the folds. Here is the first egg; he rolls further—here is the second egg, some distance from the first, in order to have sufficient food for the young worm—again an act of reflection; lastly, he finishes the roll with a carefully worked point, to prevent the leaf from unfolding—again an act of reflection."

Siegwart heard all this with indifference. What Richard told him he had known for years. His employment in the fields revealed to his observing mind wonderful facts in nature and in the animal world. The wisdom of the vine-weevil gave him no difficulty. He looked again in Frank's deep-sunken eyes and noticed a peculiar expression, and in his countenance great anxiety.

He concluded that the work ofthe vine-weevil must have some connection with the young man's condition.

"You see actions of reflection and design where I see only unconscious instinct."

Frank became nervous.

"The common evasion of superficial examination!" cried he. "Man must be just even to the animals. Their works are artistic, intelligent, and considerate. Why then deny to animals those powers which operate with intelligence and reflection?"

"I do not for a moment dispute this power of the animals," replied the proprietor quickly.

"You find mind in the animals?" interrupted Frank hastily. "This conviction once reached, have you considered the consequences that follow?"—and he became more excited. "Have you considered that with this admission the whole world becomes a fabulous structure, without any higher object? If the spider is equal to man, then its torn web that flutters in the wind is worth as much as the crumbling fragments of art which remain from classic antiquity. Virtue, the careful restraining of the passions, is stark madness. The disgusting ape, lustful and brutish, is as good as the purest virgin who performs severe penances for her idle dreams. It is with justice that the criminal scoffs at the good as bedlamites who, with fanatical delusion, strive for castles in the air. Every outcast from society, sunk and saturated in the basest vices, is precisely as good as the purest soul and the noblest heart; for all distinction between right and wrong, good and evil, is destroyed."

Angela's father gazed with solicitude into the perplexed look and distorted countenance of the young man.

"You deduce consequences, Herr Frank, that could not be drawn from my admissions," said he mildly. "There is no conscious power in animals—no reflecting soul. The animal works with the power that is in it, as light and heat in the fire, as in the lightning the destructive force, as the exciting and purifying effects in the storm. The animal does not act freely, like man; but from necessity—according to instinct and laws which the Almighty has imposed upon it."

"A gratuitous assumption! A shallow artifice," exclaimed Frank. "The animal shows understanding, design, and will; we must not deny him these faculties."

"If the lightning strikes my house and discovers with infallible certainty all the metal in the walls, even where the sharpest eye could not detect it, must you recognize mental faculties in the lightning in discovering the metal?"

Frank hemmed and was silent.

"What a botcher is the most learned chemist compared with the root-fibres of the smallest plant," continued Siegwart. "Every plant has its own peculiar life; this I observe every day. All plants do not flourish alike in the same soil. They only flourish where they find the necessary conditions for their peculiar life; where they find in the air and earth the conditions necessary for their existence. Set ten different kinds of plants together in a small plat of ground. The different fibres will always seek and absorb only that material in the earth which is proper to their kind; they will pass by the useless and injurious substances. Now, where is the chemist who with such certainty, such power of discrimination, and knowledge of substances, can select from the inert clod the proper material? A chemist with such knowledge does not exist. Now,must you admit that the fibres possess as keen an understanding and as deep a knowledge of chemistry as the man who is versed in chemistry?"

"That would be manifest folly."

"Well," concluded Siegwart quietly, "if the vine-weevil weaves its wrapper, the spider its web, the bird builds its nest, and the beaver his house, they all do it in their way, as the root-fibres in theirs."

Richard remained silent, and they passed into the house.

Angela and her mother looked with astonishment and sympathy on their friend.

Soon in the mild countenance of Madam Siegwart there appeared nearly the same expression as in the first days after the death of Eliza—so much did the painful appearance of the young man afflict her. Angela turned pale, her eyes filled, and she strove to hide her emotion. Frank only looked at her furtively. Whatever he had to say to her, he said with averted eyes. Siegwart expended all his powers of amusement; but he did not succeed in cheering the young man. He continued depressed, embarrassed, and sad, and constantly avoided looking at Angela. When she spoke he listened to the sound of her voice, but avoided her look. Presently a low barking was heard in the room and Hector, who had growlingly received Frank at his first visit, but who in time had become an acquaintance of his, lay stretched at full length dreaming. Scarcely did Richard notice the dreaming animal when he exclaimed,

"The dog dreams! See how his feet move in the chase, how he opens his nostrils, how he barks, how his limbs reach for the game! The dog dreams he is in the chase."

"I have often observed Hector's dreams," said Siegwart coolly.

Frank continued,

"Have you considered the consequences that follow from the dreams of the dog? Dreams show a thinking faculty," said he hastily. "Animals, then, think like men; thoughts are the children of the mind; therefore, animals have minds. Animals and men are alike."

Angela started at these words. Her mother shook her head.

"You conclude too hastily, my dear friend," said Siegwart coolly. "You must firstknowthat animals dream like men. Men think, reflect, and speak in dreams. The dreams of animals are very different from those mental acts."

"How will you explain it?" said Richard excitedly.

"Very easily. Hector is now in the chase. The dog's sense of smell is remarkable. By means of the fragrant wind Hector smells the partridges miles away. He acts then just as in the dream; feet, nose, and limbs come into activity. Suppose that in the surrounding fields there is a covey of partridges. The air would indicate them to Hector's smelling organs; these organs act, as in the waking state, on the brain of the animal; the brain acts on the other organs. Where is there thought? Have we not a purely material effect? The cough, the appetite, the sneezing, the aversion—what have all these to do with mind or thought? Nothing at all. The dream of the dog is an entirely muscular process, the mere co-working of the muscular organs; as with us, digestion, the flowing of the blood, the twitching of the muscles—facts with which the mind has nothing to do."

"Your assertion is based on the assumption that partridges are near," said Richard; "and I will be obliged to you if, with Hector's assistance, you convince me of this fact."

"That is unnecessary, my dearfriend. Suppose there are no partridges in the neighborhood. The same affection of the brain which would be produced by the smell of the partridges could be produced by accident. If it is accidental, it will have the same effect in the sleeping condition of the dog.[111]Affections accidentally arise in man the causes of which are not known. We are uneasy, we know not why; we are discouraged without any knowledge of the cause. We are joyful without being able to give any reason for it. The mind can rise above all these dispositions, affections, and humors; can govern, cast out, and disperse them. Proof enough that a king lives in man—the breath of God, which is not taken from the earth, and to which all matter must yield if that power so wills."

The dog stretched his strong legs without any idea of the important question to which he had given occasion.

"Herr Frank," began Madam Siegwart earnestly, "I have learned to respect you, and have often wished that my son, at your years, would be like you. I see now with painful astonishment that you defend opinions which contradict your former expressions, and the sentiments we must expect from a Christian. Will you not be so good as to tell me how you have so suddenly changed your views?"

"Esteemed madam," answered Frank, with emotion, "I thank you for this undeserved motherly sympathy; but I beg of you not to believe that the opinions I expressed are my firm convictions. No, I have not yet fallen so deep that for me there is no difference between man and beast. I can yet continue to believe that materialism is a crime against mankind. On the other hand, I freely acknowledge that my mind is in great trouble; that every firm position beneath my feet totters; that I have been tempted to hold doctrines degrading to the individual and destructive to society. I have been brought into this difficulty by reading books whose seductive proofs I am not able to refute. Oh! I am miserable, very miserable; my appearance must have shown you that already."

He looked involuntarily at Angela; he saw tears in her eyes; he bowed his head and was silent.

"I see your difficulties," said the proprietor. "They enter early or late into the mind of every man. It is good, in such uncertainties and doubts, to lean on the authority of truth. This authority can only be God, who is truth itself, who came down from heaven and brought light into the darkness. We can prove, inquire, and speculate; but the keenest human intellect is not always free from delusion. As there is in man a spiritual tendency which raises him far above the visible and material, God has been pleased to lead and direct that tendency by revelation, that man may not err. I consider divine revelation a necessity which God willed when he created the mind. As the mind has an instinctive thirst after truth, God must, by the revelation of truth, satisfy this thirst. Therefore is revelation as old as the human race. It reached its completion and perfection by the coming of the Lord, who said, 'I am the truth;' and this knowledge of the truth remains in the church through the guidance of the Spirit of truth, till thelatest generation. This is only my ultramontane conviction," said Siegwart, smiling; "but it affords peace and certainty."

Angela had gone out, and now returned with a basket, in which lay a little dog, of a few days old, asleep. She set the basket carefully down before Frank, so as not to awaken the sleeper.

"As you appreciate the full worth of striking proofs, I am glad to be able to place one before you, in the shape of this little dog," said she, appearing desirous of cheering her dejected friend. But Frank did not receive from her cheerful countenance either strength or encouragement, for he did not look up.

"This little dog is only eight days old," she continued; "its eyes are not yet open; it can neither walk nor bark; it can only growl a little; and it does nothing but sleep and dream. I have noticed its dreams since the first day of its birth. You can convince yourself of its dreaming." She stooped over the basket and her soft hair disturbed the sleeper.

For a moment Frank saw and heard nothing.

"See," she continued, "how its little feet move, and how its body jerks. Hear the low growl, and see the hairs round the mouth how they twitch, how the nose shrinks and expands—all the same as in Hector. The little thing knows nothing at all of the world—no more than a child eight days old. We certainly, therefore, will not deceive ourselves in assuming that all these movements are only muscular twitchings; that neither the pup nor Hector dreams like a man."

Frank first looked at the dog in great surprise, and then gazed admiringly on Angela.

"O fraulein! how I thank you."

She appeared most lovely in his eyes. He suddenly turned toward her father.

"Your house is a great blessing to me. It appears that the pure atmosphere of religious conviction which you breathe victoriously combats all dark doubts, as light dissipates darkness."

Angela stood in her room. She knew that the spirit of unbelief pervaded the world, taking possession of thousands and destroying all life and effort. She saw Richard threatened by this spirit, and feared for his soul. She became very anxious, and sank on her knees before the crucifix and cried to heaven for succor.

Night was upon all things. The black clouds, lowering deep and heavy, shut out all light from heaven. The wind swept the mountains, the forest moaned, and thunder muttered in the distance. Klingenberg sat before his folios. A fitful light glimmered from the room of Richard's father. Richard himself came home late, took his supper, and retired to his chamber; there he walked back and forth, thinking, contending with himself, and speaking aloud. Before his door stood a dark figure—immovable and listening.

It knocked at the door of the elder Frank. Jacob, a servant who had grown gray in the service of the house, entered. Frank received him with surprise, and awaited expectantly what he had to say.

"We are all wrong," said Jacob. "My poor young master has now spoken out clearly. He is not sick because of the foolish trash in the books. He is in love, terribly in love."

"Ah! in love?" said Herr Frank.

"You should just have heard how he complains and laments that he is not worthy of her. 'O Angela, Angela!' he cried at least a hundredtimes, 'could I only raise myself to your level and make myself worthy! But your soul, so pure, your character, so immaculate and good, thrusts me away. I look up to you with admiration and longing, as the troubled pilgrim on earth looks up to the peace and grandeur of heaven.' This is the way he talked. He is to be pitied, sir."

"So—so—in love, and with Siegwart's daughter," said Frank sadly. "The tragedy will change into comedy. Even if they were not so unapproachably high, but like other people on earth, my son should never take an ultramontane wife."

"But if he loves her so deeply, sir?"

"Be still; you know nothing about it. Has he lain down?"

"Yes; or, at least, he is quiet."

"Continue to watch him. I must immediately make known to the doctor this love affair. He will be surprised to find the philosopher changed into a love-sick visionary."

TO BE CONTINUED.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

"St. Thomas treats the peripatetic philosophy in such a manner that Plato himself would have willingly accepted it as Platonic."—Gerdil, Ed. Rom. t. ix. p. 58.

BY THE REV. FATHER CARLO VERCELLONE, BARNABITE.

TheDublin Reviewhas recently commenced a series of articles with the view of promoting philosophical unity among Catholic scholars, and of urging upon them the necessity of a combined effort against modern scepticism. We are very glad that Dr. Ward has turned the powerful stream of his great literary engine in this direction. We are in perfect accord with him on this point, that false philosophy lies at the foundation of all the worst errors of the day, and that these errors can only be effectually subverted by a true and sound philosophy. We desire, therefore, as we have always desired and endeavored, to do what we can in this magazine, both to promote agreement among Catholics in sound philosophical principles, and to refute those false principles in modern times so generally adopted, which are better designated by the term pure psychologism than by any other name that we know of. We desire to make it clearly known, however, that by this term we intend only to designate the philosophical doctrine of Des Cartes, and that which constitutes the primary principle of the systems of Locke, Hamilton, Mansel, Mill, Kant, Spencer, and other uncatholic writers. We call it pure psychologism, because it acknowledges no other first principle of thought and reason than the consciousness which the thinking subject has or seems to have of itself under various phases or modifications. Wedo not apply the term to any recognized school of Catholic philosophy, or to the system of any respectable author whose works are in good repute in the church, and we believe that there is no one among them who would not repudiate the epithet if applied to his doctrine by an opponent. In the sense in which we have defined it, it is the heresy of nominalism carried to its utmost logical consequences—that is, to complete subjecticism or scepticism in the order of pure reason. Opposed to it is the realism sustained in theology by every orthodox writer, and in philosophy by every one whose philosophy is not in direct contradiction to his theology. This realism is the affirmation of the objective entity, distinct from and superior to the thinking subject of that which reason immediately apprehends as intelligible, necessary, self-evident, universal idea, together with the objective entity of that which is perceived as existing under sensible phenomena. It is the denial or doubt of this objective reality which nullifies the effect of all reasoning from principles or from evidence in proof of Catholic dogmas. We meet with a scepticism in regard to the real existence of God, of truth, of the external world, of the soul itself, which renders logic vain. It is only a return to first principles and to a belief in reason, therefore, which can give us a basis on which to reintegrate the rights of faith against the modern irrationalists and misologists—that is, haters of reason. The restoration and improvement of philosophy is an object of primary importance to the religious, moral, and political welfare of the world. It is in vain to think of looking for this improvement elsewhere than in the investigation and development of the philosophical doctrine of Plato, Aristotle, the great fathers and doctors of the church, the scholastic metaphysicians, and their successors. As there is no real progress in theological science except in the continuity of scholastic theology, so there is none in metaphysical science except in the continuity of scholastic philosophy. As, in theology, all sound Catholic authors work together harmoniously in defending and propugnating those essential doctrines which are clearly defined and universally admitted, at the same time discussing among themselves in a friendly manner those opinions which are as yet only probable, so it should be in philosophy. The most important thing is to maintain that philosophical truth in which all sound Catholic authors are agreed against the sceptical principles of modern sophists. Advance in the science of this truth; with that increase of clearness in conception and statement, and of unanimity in opinion, which is its natural consequence; can only be gained by exhaustive study and argumentation of obscure and disputed questions, carried on in a truly catholic, impartial, and conciliatory spirit.

The author of the article before us was one who labored most zealously in this direction. He was a learned Barnabite monk, occupying a high position among the erudite scholars of the Roman court and schools. He held the position of consultor to one of the Roman congregations, and was a member of the commission on oriental affairs, preparatory to the Council of the Vatican, at the time of his decease. The present essay was read before the Academy of the Catholic Religion at Rome, on the 27th of August, 1863, and published by the Propaganda press. We have taken it from an edition of F. Vercellone'sDissertazioni Accademiche di Vario Argomento, published at Rome in 1864, and dedicated to Cardinal DeLuca. There can be no doubt of F. Vercellone's competency to discriminate in philosophical matters between the doctrine prescribed by authority, and that which rests only on the judgment of eminent schools and authors, and on the arguments by which this judgment is supported. His position gave him unusual facilities for understanding the reason and true import of the judgments pronounced by the holy see on philosophical questions, so that whatever he has written with a bearing on points which have been a subject of controversy among Catholic writers must have the greatest weight, and be entitled, at least, to be considered as safe opinion. For this reason, as well as for the intrinsic value it possesses, we have thought the essay now presented to the readers ofThe Catholic Worldto be especially worthy of translation into English, and of careful study by all who are interested in the advancement of sound philosophy.—Ed. Cath. World.

In contradiction to that most grave and deplorable error by which many unbelievers of our own day, more than those of an earlier period, love to confound religion with philosophy, we firmly hold the principle which was efficaciously and unanimously sustained by the ancient sages, pagan as well as Christian, that religion is the chief end to which philosophy is directed. If this were not so, we should never have seen what forms one of the chief glories of the holy church. I mean, that the eagle of all human philosophy, the incomparable Augustine, claims the first and most glorious place among the renowned and venerable company of the holy fathers; I mean, that to the holy fathers generally belongs the merit of having initiated the whole Christian world into a philosophy much more severe, more legitimate, and more conclusive than that which was previously a most rare privilege, one, also, more or less temporary and successive, of Cortona, of Elea, of Athens, of Alexandria, and of some other cities; so that not a few of these fathers have left us, in their works, an immense harvest for the benefit of philosophy, partly the fruit of their own genius and thought on various topics, partly in the form of precious monuments of that admirable wisdom of more ancient times which was itself, as it existed among the heathen, not altogether free from the influence of the true religion, and therefore descended by a just title of inheritance to Christianity. And if philosophy revived and arose from its ashes two centuries, at least, before our language and literature, as this preceded by several hundred years those of foreign nations, to whom does the praise more justly belong than to the renowned Benedictine of Aosta, a man whose genius and metaphysical power equalled his sanctity? If, besides, the philosophy of Aristotle was exhibited to the world in a Christian form—that is, purified, completed, rigorous, true, irrefutable, as Augustine and the other fathers had done to the Platonic wisdom—to whom belongs the merit but to a seraphic cardinal and an angelical Dominican? Perhaps the modern depreciators of scholasticism, the chief enemies of the Catholic clergy, the persecutors of religious orders, have on their side philosophers worthy to be compared with an Anselm, a Bonaventure, a Thomas? Whoever has received from God the grace of appertaining to the Catholic Church can easily see, with his own eyes, if he is not altogether a faster in science, how many and great services the true religion renders to philosophy; by simplyopening at random any one of the sacred and precious volumes, either of the illustrious ancient fathers or of the venerable princes of the schools. But those of us who are honored by the privilege of representing in the chairs of instruction, or cultivating and illustrating in books the Catholic philosophy, have far greater reason to know and esteem the masterpieces of the doctors and the fathers. Such can see, by contrast with these, that what is called the modern philosophy, although sustained and kept on foot, here and there, by some authors of unusual and vast speculative ability, nevertheless never satisfies in the least any one who attempts to revive it, always lacking a valid direction, always liable to sudden changes and vacillations—a sure sign of internal contradiction—agitated, discomposed, tormented by all the follies of the most mediocre and turbulent intellects. Such persons as these, not observing that logic (permit me here to use the language of St. Augustine) is properly the intellectual judgment of entire humanity, that it cannot be made anew, as it cannot either be unmade, but only obtained by inheritance and amplified and extended by felicitous discoveries; not considering, I say, any of these things, they believe that out of the present age there ought to issue a new and magnificent rational philosophy; just as there certainly has issued a new and stupendous literature, a geometry totally renovated and enlarged to most gigantic proportions, and a system of physics in great part constructed anew, corrected by experiments and elucidated by better hypotheses. But I pray and hope that the time of undeceiving has arrived, and that the Catholic masters (the others will turn back when this happens) will apply themselves in earnest to pick up again the thread of perfect and classical tradition in science. This I come to-day to recommend; and I have confidence that I can better persuade men to undertake it by example, and, as it were, by means of something actually done, if you, with your accustomed benignity, will deign to bear with my proposition, and to give it the support and weight of your authority.

I invoke the authority of this respectable assembly for an end I have greatly at heart, and which seems to me of supreme importance both to scientific advancement and religious edification; that is, to obtain that our philosophers, divided, not by their own fault but by that of our ancestors of the last century, into ontologists and psychologists, should once for all give their attention and open their eyes to the history too long belied and alone worthy of consideration—the history, I say, ever new, brilliant, and unsurpassable, of our own philosophy; and instead of consuming all their strength in a war among our excellent doctors—which it is high time to break off—should apply themselves rather to lay a new grasp on the ancient wisdom of Catholicism with one hand, and with the other to repulse and discomfit the audacious and execrable crowd of modern errors. Assuredly, when the doctrine as well of the fathers relatively to the Platonic system, as of the greater schoolmen to the metaphysics of Aristotle, shall have been first placed in a better light and looked at in its multiform aspects by means of various and judicious investigations, it will be made universally manifest that the Platonism and Aristotelianism of the heathen were not in any wise identical with the ontologism and psychologism of the Catholic masters; that the war between the Academics and Peripatetics was annihilated and put aside by the rigor and integrity of Catholic thought; that, infine, the Plato of the holy fathers does not disdain the psychologism of St. Thomas, and that the Aristotle of the chief schoolmen does not reject the ontologism of St. Augustine. Since this may appear to some as a thing which is more specious in assertion than capable of solid proof, I will draw out that exemplification of it which I have promised, and will come to facts; setting forth certain brief considerations in relation to ideology—that is to say, in relation to the most controverted theme and the most grave and obstinate question of the modern schools in rational philosophy, especially among Catholics. I will describe and mark out, first, from original testimonies, the Augustinian conception, or, indeed, the genesis of his ideology; in the second place, I will search into the modern origin of the division between the ideology of the Catholic ontologists and that of the psychologists equally Catholic; finally, I will make evident how the reconciliation of the children with the father and of the modern scission with the ancient unity, suffices to consolidate the hope of a peace which all desire, and which, by combining the forces of our best minds, may render Catholic philosophy more harmoniously operative against the better united forces of the modern enemies of truth.

A man who in his whole life had done nothing except to write the twenty-two books ofThe City of Godought justly to be esteemed the first and most admirable philosopher on the earth. Never was it better known or more loudly proclaimed than in our day, that the philosophy of history carries off the palm on the field of human speculations. In recommending, therefore, the philosophical excellence of St. Augustine, we can prove the justice of our opinion by this one argument, which is by itself sufficient. Let us compare whatever modern writers have been able to do in this class of books withThe City of God; if no work of modern times, can be found either so original, so extensive, so erudite, or so profound asThe City of God, written fourteen centuries ago, we must necessarily agree that a return to this centre of Catholic wisdom is the only method of giving impetus and improvement to philosophical speculations. But we will not now extend our search so far as this. I will confine myself to the eighth book, which includes a notice and an appreciation of the different systems of the entire pagan philosophy, and forms an introduction to that long and sublime parallel between natural reason and revelation, carried on throughout the succeeding books in a manner equally novel and splendid, with a view to the illustration of the whole field of Catholic theology by the highest efforts of human wisdom and the best sentiments of the pagans themselves. The most vital part of the preliminary views, introducing the subject of the eighth and succeeding books, is as follows:

There are two points, he says, which must be firmly held: that Catholics ought not to deny that which is good in the philosophy of the pagans; and that, on the other hand, they are bound to reject and refute all the falsehood contained in it. The first is proved by that which the apostle says.What is knownof God is manifestin them; for God has manifested it to them. For the invisible things of him are beheld from the constitution of the world, being understood by means of those things which are made, even his eternal power and divinity.Moreover, at the Areopagus, when he affirmed thatin him we live and move and are, he added,as some also of your own poets have said. The secondis proved by another text.Beware lest any one deceive you by philosophy and vain seduction according to the elements of the world.[112]

This being laid down, the duty of Catholic philosophers is that already touched upon—the separation of the good gold in pagan philosophy from the counterfeit; and as all the philosophy is divided into three parts,natural, rational, and moral, "we shall hold," continues St. Augustine, "that natural philosophy for false which does not place God as the only principle and true creator of all other natures; we shall hold as false that rational philosophy which does not maintain that God alone is the intelligible reason of all minds; we shall repute as false that moral which does not prove that God alone is that good which is worthy to be the end of a virtuous and perfect course of life." Now, the great multitude of pagan philosophers was far distant from any recognition or profession of the three heads we have given; scarcely was there a small number of privileged persons among the disciples, I hardly know whether to say in preference of Plato or of Pythagoras, who made any near approach to Catholic truth, aided, in all probability, by some knowledge of Jewish traditions.

"No one having even a slight knowledge of these things is ignorant that there are those philosophers called Platonists, from their master, Plato."(1) "Perhaps those who enjoy the greatest celebrity as having the most clearly understood, and the most closely followed Plato, who is with justice esteemed to be far superior to the other philosophers of the Gentiles, hold a similar opinion concerning God, namely, that in him is found the cause of subsistence, and the reason of intelligence, and the regulating principle of life."(2) "If, therefore, Plato has said that the wise man is one who is an imitator, a knower, and a lover of the one true and supremely good God, by a participation with whom he is blessed, what need is there of discussing the rest?"(3) "This is, therefore, the reason why we prefer these to the others; because while other philosophers have employed their talents and efforts in searching out the causes of things, and what is the method of learning and living, these, having the knowledge of God, have found where is the cause of the constitution of the universe, and the light of perceptible truth, and the fountain whence we may drink felicity."(4) "All those philosophers who have held these opinions concerning the true and supreme God, that he is the framer of those things which are created, and the light of those things which are knowable, and the good of those things which ought to be done, whether they are more properly called Platonists, Ionics, or Italics, on account of Pythagoras, we prefer to the others, and regard them as nearer to ourselves."(5)[113]

It is very necessary, he says, to exclude all merely verbal questions, since it is of things not words that he is treating. I wish to demonstrate that the philosophy of the pagans, when it is good and true, accords wonderfully with Catholic truth, and gives rise naturally to Catholic philosophy—that is to say, the principal and most excellent philosophy of mankind; similarly, I wish to demonstrate that, in so far as the pagan philosophy is in discordance and repugnance to Catholic truth, it is false, corrupt, and in need of better and more rational emendations.

No one, certainly, will exact of me that I make a minute examination of the innumerable and varying systems or opinions of pagan antiquity; it is enough that I prove my proposition by confining myself to the best philosophy of all paganism. If I make good my assertion respecting the best system of doctrine whichever appeared in Gentile philosophy, it will be evident enough that the same assertion holds even more strongly in reference to other systems, more or less inferior to this one. But this is certain, that gentilism had no philosophy worthy to be compared, much less preferred, to the doctrine of those authors who acknowledged, and, in the best manner of which they were capable, proclaimed the existence of one only supreme and true God, "from whom we derive the principle of our nature, the truth of our knowledge, and the happiness of our life."[114]I turn, therefore, to these authors with the purpose of examining what is good and what is bad in them; "but I find it more suitable to discuss this subject with the Platonists, because their writings are better known; for not only the Greeks, whose language is preëminent among the nations, have made them celebrated by greatly extolling their excellence; but the Latins also, moved by their excellence or their renown, have studied them with greater ardor than any others, and by translating them into our language have made them still more famous and renowned."[115]

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