doctrines, favoured by obscurity, but at the same time incapable of ardent and communicative proselytism, ended either by gradually exhausting themselves or by failing in any attempt at public existence. You have seen mysticism within a few years making a remarkable attempt in this capital. Upon the ruins which rationalism had heaped up around us, a few men of intelligence met, who felt the want of turning themselves towards faith. But instead of looking to the holy cross, around which the throng of true believers collect themselves, they desired to soar by their own power in the region of mysteries; and, bold in the desire to edify, as they had been in their rage to destroy, they had the rash courage to set up mysticism in the midst of the capital of France. They did not know that rationalism could do its work in broad day, because it requires but an energetic blow to overturn a thing; but that mysticism, an aspiration despoiled of unity, and consequently incapable of founding a great and enduring work, requires shade, silence and solitude, in order to exercise its power in the heart of man.

In short, Gentlemen, man was of himself powerless before the problem of his nature and of his destinies. His knowledge founded upon too short an evidence, his faith upon too uncertain a sentiment, were not sufficient to the work which he had taken in hand: the primitive tempter deceived him when he said, "You shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” He erred in believing that the two terms which constitute the universal mystery, namely, the finite and the infinite, man and God, could be united without a mediator, without a reconciliation, in which proportion and reciprocity were combined. That was impossible. Rationalism and mysticism were but the efforts of the finite to become by itself master of the infinite. It is true, it employed the two powers destined to produce that effectevidence and sentiment, knowledge and faith, two admirable powers for co-operating with God, but insufficient for operating of themselves. It was necessary that the in

finite should render testimony of itself to each of them. This it did on the day of the creation; this it has not ceased to do during the whole course of ages; this it did again in a more perfect manner by Jesus Christ, God and man together, reuniting in himself the two extremities of being, unique and universal mediator, means of our knowledge, object of our faith, without whom all remains inexplicable and hidden. "I am come into the world," said he to Pilate, the representative of rationalism and mysticism, “I am come into the world to bear witness to truth." (1) It is this striking and profound testimony which has changed all. The eternal Word was made flesh, and came among us. Under one of his forms he was endowed with the clearest scientific visibility, that he might be known by evidence ; under another form he remains veiled, that, being an object of faith, he might also be the object of a delicate and devoted sentiment, but of a sentiment the full assurance of which was as great as the ardour.

Catholic doctrine has, then, a double form, the form of knowledge and that of faith. It is neither an absolute science nor a simple faith; it perceives and it does not perceive; it demonstrates and submits itself; it is light and shade, like that miraculous cloud which gave light to the children of Israel whilst it blinded their enemies. Do you ask of it accomplished facts? it will give you the greatest events which the world has seen. Do you ask of it principles? it will lay down principles which will penetrate into the most profound depths of the understanding, and lay open their wide tracks. Do you ask of it sentiments? It will fill your exhausted heart. Do you ask of it signs of antiquity? it possesses them. The force of novelty? it has risen before you and will astonish you by its youth. But enlightened, touched, enraptured by it, would you draw away the veil which hides from you a part of its majesty? it will cast you to the earth, saying to you, Adore and be silent!

(1) Saint John, ch. 18, v. 37.

NINTH

CONFERENCE.

OF TRADITION,

MY LORD,

GENTLEMEN,

You have seen that the doctrine of the Church has for its object the mystery of good and evil, and that, considered in its form, or its manner of attaining its object, it is at once a science and a faith. A science, because the testimony of God, upon which it is founded, is from the domain of evidence and demonstration; a faith, because this same testimony operates upon things profoundly hidden from the perception of our minds. I must now, Gentlemen, to follow logical order, make known to you the sources of the doctrine of the Church. If that doctrine were only a science, it would have no other sources than nature and reason; but, joining to the conditions and prerogatives of science the conditions and prerogatives of faith, it also and principally derives its data from tradition and Scripture, the depositaries of divine testimony. I shall, then, have to speak to you successively of tradition, of Scripture, of reason and of nature, as sources of the doctrine of the Church; after which we will examine more profoundly the essence of faith and the means of acquiring it.

I will commence to-day with tradition. With regard to God, for whom there is neither past nor future, because he

exists by an unique and eternal action, tradition does not exist; but of all that which is subject to succession, of all that which exists in time, tradition is a necessary element. For tradition is not only the recollection of things which are no more, it is the continuity of the past in the future. Without tradition life would be but a succession of moments without connexion, a drop of water falling after another drop of water; it would be without unity, and even man would be unable to assure himself of the identity of his existence. In fact, if, from the hour of his birth, moments did not link themselves to moments, thought to thought; if, when rising in the morning an unknown power did not reunite for him the moment which followed his waking with that which preceded his falling asleep, his existence would be broken; and whatever he might do, he would never be able to connect the past of yesterday with the present of to-day. There exists, then, in time a power which forms the chain, the unity; and that power is tradition. Tradition is the connexion of the present with the past. It is by tradition that, joining together hours, years and centuries, you know yourself as a single and enduring being, notwithstanding the rapidity of the billows which bear you along; it is tradition which gathers generations together into one single moral existence which you call family, families into one single body which you call a people, nations into one great whole which you call mankind. Without tradition which maintains unity in succession, the universe would be but an eternal abortion; it would perish at each instant of its incessant creation.

However, I have not yet shown all that which tradition comprises. It is not only the tie which unites the present to the past, it is also that which unites the past to the future. There is, in fact, a sovereign law of things, namely, that the end is proportionate to the beginning. From whence it follows that the knowledge of the origin infallibly reveals the secret of the end. If it were true that the world had sprung up like a wonderful fungus, which grew

up no one knew how, in one night, it might end as it had commenced. But if the creating will has fertilised nothingness, if upon the face of man a divine breath has been wafted, man does not belong to earth, he has higher destinies, and the breath of God which is in him will show itself in his final immortality. The end always answers to the commencement; this belongs to a general law which orders that the effect shall be proportionate to the cause. The notion of cause and effect is the principal element of all human science; and it is a consequence of that notion that effects cannot go beyond causes, that they can only expand in proportion to their origin. The origin is the germ, the power which has produced you; that which was not in it cannot be in you. You are but the effects; in the power which gave you life is found the reason for which you received it, so that whoever knows your origin knows also your end. end. But the end no one knows. Call together all the powers of your mind, all the strength of argument, you will not pierce through the impenetrable veil of the future. Which of you can tell me what he will be in a little time? I am not speaking to you of the destinies of nations; I do not ask you to prophesy the duration of empires; I interrogate you about yourselves. I do not talk to you of long years, I speak of the present hour. Which of you can tell me what he will be when I have done speaking? Who knows what changes may be produced in your minds? Who knows how the thought which commences may be completed? Thus, even the future of your thoughts is a mystery in which your thoughts become confounded. But if we cannot contemplate the future face to face, there exists that in which we can discover it, as a shadow reflected in advance; it is the past. If we knew the secret of the past, we should know also that of the future.

Now, tradition reveals the past to us, and consequently it reveals to us also the future. It is the tie which binds the past, the present, and the future together, and is the science of them all. If we possessed the memory of man

VOL. I.

I