Matter. V.
Although continuous matter cannot be proved to exist, yet its existence, as every one knows, is still very commonly believed, even by philosophers, on the ground that it was believed for centuries by all great men, and has never been conclusively refuted. From some hints which we have given in our previous article about the difficulties of this ancient doctrine, the intelligent reader may have already satisfied himself that material continuity is not merely “a philosophical mystery,” as Goudin confesses, but a metaphysical absurdity. As, however, this last conclusion, owing to its paramount importance in metaphysics and in natural philosophy, deserves a more explicit and complete demonstration than we have yet given, we propose to develop in the present article a series of arguments, drawn from different sources, to show the absolute and intrinsic impossibility of continuous matter. The prejudices of our infancy may at first resist the demonstration, but it is to be hoped that they will finally yield to reason.
First argument.—We know, and it is conceded by the advocates of continuous matter, that a finite being cannot involve in its composition an infinite multitude of distinct terms; for evidently the infinite cannot be the constituent of the finite. Now, we have shown in our preceding article that, if there were a piece of continuous matter, it should involve in its continuous constitution an infinite multitude of distinct terms, every one of which should have its own distinct existence independently of the others. Therefore continuous matter cannot exist.
Second argument.—A primitive substance cannot absolutely be made up of other substances. But if there were any continuous matter, a primitive substance would be made up of other substances. Therefore no continuous matter can exist. The major of this syllogism is quite evident; for a primitive substance, if made up of other substances, would be primitive and non-primitive at the same time. The minor can be easily proved. For it is plain that continuous matter, if any such existed, would necessarily consist of continuous parts, substantially distinct from one another, and therefore having their own distinct matter and their own [pg 488] distinct substantial act, and ranking as distinct, complete, and separable substances, as we have shown in our last article. Now, assuming that either of these parts is a primitive substance, it is evident that the primitive substance would be made up of other substances; for such a part, being continuous, is itself made up of other parts, which are likewise distinct and complete substances, as we have just remarked. And since a continuum cannot be resolved into any but continuous parts, the conclusion cannot be avoided that the primitive material substance would always be made up of other substances. To elude this argument, the advocates of continuous matter are compelled to deny that there is any primitive material substance mathematically continuous. But, even so, their position is not improved. For if there is no primitive material substance mathematically continuous, the combination of such primitive substances will never give rise to continuous matter, it being obvious that all the elementary constituents of continuum must be continuous, as all philosophers agree. Whence we again conclude that no continuous matter is possible.
Third argument.—No continuum can be made up of unextended constituents, as we have just observed, and as our opponents not only concede, but also demonstrate most irrefragably in their own treatises. Now, continuous matter, if any such existed, would be made up of unextended constituents—that is, of mere mathematical points. Therefore continuous matter would be a formal contradiction. The minor of our syllogism is proved thus. All the points which can be designated within the dimensions of the continuum are immediately united with one another, and therefore no room is to be found between any two consecutive points; which shows that in the constitution of the continuum we would have nothing but mere points. For let there be a continuous plane and a continuous sphere. The sphere, if perfect, cannot touch the plane, except in a single indivisible point, as is proved in geometry; nevertheless, the sphere may move along the plane, and, always touching the plane in a single point, may measure a linear extension of matter, which, accordingly, would contain nothing but mathematical points immediately following one another. In other terms, the extended matter would be made up of indivisible points; and since all admit that this is impossible, it follows that continuous matter is impossible. Against this argument the objection is made that it proves too much; as it would prove the impossibility of measuring space by continuous movement. But this objection has no good foundation, as we shall show after concluding the series of our arguments.
Fourth argument.—All the points that can be designated in a material continuum would necessarily touch one another in such a manner as to form a continuous extension; hence their contact would necessarily be extensive. But an extensive contact of indivisible points is intrinsically impossible. Therefore material continuity is intrinsically impossible. The major of this syllogism is a mere corollary from the definition of continuum; for, if there be no contact, the continuum will be broken, and if the contact be not extensive—that is, such as to allow each point to extend beyond its neighbor—no continuous extension will result. The minor of our [pg 489] syllogism can be proved as follows:
The contact of a point with a point is the contact of an indivisible with another indivisible; and, since the indivisible has no parts, such a contact cannot be partial, but must needs be total. Accordingly, the second point, by its contact with the first, will be totally in the first; the third, by its contact with the second, will be totally in the second, and consequently in the first; the fourth, by its contact with the third, will be totally in the third, and consequently in the second and in the first, and so on. Therefore all the points which are in mathematical contact will necessarily correspond to the same point in space. Now, to be all in the same point, and to form a continuous extension, are contradictories. And thus it is manifest that material continuity is a mere contradiction.
Some will say that the contact is indeed made in the points, but that the parts, which touch one another in a common point, are quite distinct. But this appeal to the parts of the continuum, though much insisted upon by many ancient philosophers, is of no avail against our argument. For the existence of these parts cannot be assumed, without presupposing the continuity of matter. Such parts are, in fact, assumed to be continuous; and therefore, before we admit their existence, we must inquire whether and how they can have intrinsic extension and continuity. And dividing these parts into other parts, and these again into others without end, of all these parts of parts the same question must be asked—that is, whether and how they can have intrinsic extension and continuity. Hence one of two things will follow: either we shall never find the intrinsic reason of material continuity, or we shall find it only after having exhausted an infinite division—that is, after having reached, if possible, a term incapable of further division, viz., a mathematical point. But in the mathematical point it is impossible to find the intrinsic reason of material continuity, as we have just shown. And therefore the material continuity of the parts has no formal reason of its constitution, or, in other terms, the parts themselves are intrinsically impossible.
Moreover, the very distinction made by our opponents between the points of contact and the parts which touch one another in those points, is altogether irrational. For a parte rei—that is, considering the continuum as it is in itself—there is no foundation for the said distinction, it being evident that in a homogeneous continuum no place is to be found where we cannot mark out a point. Hence it is irrational to limit the designability of the points in order to make room for the parts. In other words, the parts themselves cannot be conceived as continuous without supposing that all the neighboring points which can be designated in them form by their contact a continuous extension, which we have proved to be inadmissible. The aforesaid distinction is therefore one of the subterfuges resorted to by the advocates of material continuity, to evade the unanswerable difficulties arising from their sentence; for it is true indeed, as Goudin remarks, that material continuity is “a philosophic mystery, against which reason objects more than it can answer,” though not because in this question “reason proves more than it can understand,” but because continuous matter is shown to be an absolute impossibility.
Fifth argument.—It is a known metaphysical principle that “nothing can possibly become actual, except by the intervention of an act”—Impossibile est aliquid fieri in actu nisi per aliquem actum (S. Thomas passim). But no act can be imagined by which matter would become actually continuous. Therefore no actually continuous matter can possibly exist. The minor of our syllogism is proved thus. Acts are either substantial or accidental; hence if any act could be conceived as giving actual continuity to matter, such an act would be either substantial or accidental—that is, it would give to its matter either its first being or a mere mode of being. Now, neither the substantial nor the accidental act can make matter actually continuous. For, first, no substantial act can give to its matter a being for which the matter has no disposition. But actuable matter has no disposition for actual continuity, for where there are no distinct terms requiring continuation, there is no disposition to actual continuity, as is evident; and it is not less evident that the matter which is to be actuated by a substantial act involves no distinct terms, and does not even connote them, but merely implies the privation of the act giving it its first being, which act is one, not many, and gives one being, not many, and consequently is incapable of constituting a number of actual terms actually distinct, as would be required for actual continuity. To say the contrary would be to deny one of the most fundamental and universal principles of metaphysics, viz., Actus est qui distinguit, which means that there cannot be distinct terms where there are no distinct acts.
Moreover, continuity presupposes quantity; hence, if the substantial act gives actual continuity to its matter, it must be conceded that a certain quantity exists potentially in the actuable matter, and is reduced to act by the first actuation of matter. This quantity would therefore rank among the essentials of the substance, and could not possibly be considered as an accident; for the immediate result of the first actuation of a term by its substantial act is not a mere accident, but the very actuality of the essence of which that act and that term are the principles. Whence it follows that so long as quantity remains an accident, it is impossible to make it arise from the substantial act; and, accordingly, no substantial act can make matter actually continuous.
That actual continuity cannot arise from any accidental act is no less evident. For the only accidental act which could be supposed to play a part in the constitution of a material continuum would be some actual composition. But as composition without components is impossible, and the components of continuous matter, before such a composition, are not continuous (since we must now consider continuity as a result of the composition), our continuous matter would be made up of components destitute of continuous extension—that is, of mere mathematical points. But, as this is avowedly impossible, it follows that it is as impossible to admit that matter becomes actually continuous by the reception of an accidental act.
Sixth argument.—In a philosophico-mathematical work published in England a few years ago,[108] from [pg 491] which we have already borrowed some plain arguments concerning other questions on matter, the impossibility of continuous matter is proved by the following argument: “A compound which has no first components is a sheer impossibility. Continuous matter, if admitted, would be a compound which has no first components. Therefore continuous matter is a sheer impossibility. In this argument the first proposition is self-evident; for the components are the material constituents of the compound; and therefore a compound which has no first components is a thing which is constituted without its first constituents, or a pure contradiction. The second proposition also is undeniable. And, first, there can be no doubt that continuous matter would be a compound; for continuous matter would be extended, and would have, accordingly, parts distinct from parts; which is the exclusive property of compounds. Now, that this compound would be without first components, can be proved as follows: If continuous matter has any first components, these components will either be extended or unextended. If they are supposed to be extended, then they are by no means the first components; since it is clear that in this case they have distinct parts, and therefore are themselves made up of other components. If they are supposed to be unextended, then they are by no means the components of continuum; since all know and admit that no continuum can be made up of unextended points. And, indeed, unextended points have no parts, and therefore cannot touch one another partially; whence it follows that either they touch each other totally, or they do not touch at all. If they do not touch at all, they do not make a continuum, as is evident. If they touch totally, the one will occupy exactly the same place which is occupied by the other, and no material extension will arise. And for this reason geometrical writers consider that a mathematical line cannot be conceived as made up of points, but only as the track of a single point in motion. We see, then, that a material continuum is a compound, of which the first components cannot be extended, and cannot be unextended. And since it is impossible to think of a third sort of first components which would be neither extended nor unextended, we must needs conclude that continuous matter is a compound which has no first components. And therefore continuous matter is a mere absurdity” (p. 30).
This argument is, in our opinion, altogether unanswerable. Those philosophers, in fact, who still venture to fight in favor of continuous matter, have never been able to solve it. When we urge them to declare whether they hold the first components of continuous matter to be extended or unextended, they constantly ignore and elude the question. They simply answer that the components of material substance are “the matter” and “the form.” But if the matter which lies under the form has no distinct parts, it is evident that the substance cannot be continuous. The composition of matter and form does not, therefore, entail continuity, unless the matter which is under the form has its own material composition of parts; and it is with reference to the composition of these parts of matter, not to the composition of matter and form, that we inquire whether the first components of continuous matter [pg 492] be extended or unextended. To ignore the gist of the argument is, on the part of our opponents, an implicit confession of their inability to cope with it.
Seventh argument.—Material substance, as consisting of act and potency, like everything else in creation, is both active and passive, its activity and passivity being essentially confined, as we have already explained,[109] to the production and the reception of local movement. Hence, so long as material substance preserves its essential constitution, it is impossible to admit that matter is incapable of receiving movement from natural causes. But continuous matter would be incapable of receiving movement from natural causes. Therefore it is impossible to admit continuous matter. To prove the minor of this syllogism, let there be two little globes of continuous matter, and let them act on one another. Since no finite velocity can be communicated by an immediate contact of matter with matter, as shown in a preceding article, it follows that the velocity must be communicated by virtual contact in accordance with the law of the inverse squared distances. Hence, since some points of the two globes are nearer to one another, and others are farther, different points must acquire different velocities. Now, one and the same piece of matter cannot move onward with different velocities, as is evident; it will therefore be unable to move so long as such different velocities are not reduced to a mean one, which shall be common to the whole mass. Such a reduction of unequal velocities to a mean one would meet with no difficulty, if the globes in question were made up of free and independent points of matter; for in such a case the globes would be compressed, and each point of matter would act and react according to known mechanical laws, and thus soon equalize their respective velocities. But in the case of material continuity the reduction of different velocities to a mean one is by no means possible. For “in a piece of continuous matter,” to quote again from the above-mentioned work of molecular mechanics, “any point which can be designated is so invariably united with the other points that no impact and no mutual reaction are conceivable; the obvious consequence of which is that no work can be done within the continuous particle in order to equalize the unequal velocities impressed from without. Moreover, in our case the reduction ought to be rigorously instantaneous; which is another impossibility. In fact, if distinct points of a continuous piece of matter were for any short duration of time animated by different velocities, the continuum would evidently undergo immediate and unavoidable resolution; which is against the hypothesis. Since, then, the said reduction cannot be made instantaneously, as we have proved above, nor, indeed, in any other way, and, on the other hand, our continuous particle cannot move onward before the different velocities are reduced to one of mean intensity, it is quite evident that the same continuous particle will never be capable of moving, whatever be the conditions of the impact. And since what is true of one particle on account of its supposed continuity is true also of each of the other particles equally continuous, we must conclude that bodies made up of particles materially continuous are totally incapable [pg 493] of receiving any communication of motion.”[110]
This argument, though seemingly proving only the non-existence of continuous matter in nature, proves in fact, also, the impossibility of its existence. For, if a substance could be created possessing intrinsic extension and continuity, that substance would essentially differ from the existing matter, and would therefore be anything but matter. Hence not even in this supposition would continuous matter exist.
Eighth argument.—The inertia of matter, and its property of acting in a sphere, might furnish us with a new argument against material continuity. But we prefer to conclude with a mathematical demonstration drawn from the weight of matter. The weight of a mass of matter depends on the number of material terms to which the action of gravity is applied, and it increases exactly in the same ratio as the number of the elementary terms contained in the mass. This being the case, let us assume that there is somewhere an atom of continuous matter. The action of gravity will find in it an infinite multitude of points of application; for it is of the nature of continuum to supply matter for an endless division. Hence if we call g the action of gravity on the unit of mass in the unit of time, the action of the same gravity on any of those infinite points of application will be
g ρ dx dy dz,
ρ being the density of the mass, and dx, dy, dz the three dimensions of an infinitesimal portion of it.
Now, since we know that gravity in the unit of time imparts a finite velocity to every point of matter in the atom, we must admit that the action exerted on the infinitesimal mass ρ dx dy dz has a finite value; and therefore, since the volume dx dy dz is an infinitesimal of the third degree, the density ρ must be an infinite of the third order. But a continuous mass whose elements have an infinite density has itself an infinite density; hence, if its volume has finite dimensions, the mass itself (which is the product of the volume into the density) is necessarily infinite, and will have an infinite weight. Hence the assumption of continuous matter leads to an absurdity. The assumption is therefore to be rejected as evidently false.
We will put an end to the series of our proofs by pointing out the intrinsic and radical reason why matter cannot be continuous. The matter which is under the form is a potency in the same order of reality in which its form is an act. Now, the only property of a potency is to be liable to receive some determinations of a certain kind; and the property of a potency whose form is an active principle of local motion must consist in its being liable to receive a determination to local movement. Hence, as the matter receives its first being by a form of a spherical character, and becomes the real central point from which the actions of the substance proceed, so also the same matter, when already actuated by its essential form, receives any accidental determination to local movement; and, inasmuch as it is liable to local movement, it is in potency to extend through space—that is, to describe in space a continuous line; and when it actually moves, it actually traces a continuous line—that is, it extends from place to place, continuously indeed, but successively; whence it is manifest [pg 494] that its extension is nothing but Actus existentis in potentia ut in potentia Aristotle would say, viz., an actual passage from one potential state to another. Such is the only extension of which matter is capable. Such an extension is always in fieri, never in facto esse; always dynamical, never statical; always potential and successive, never formal or simultaneous. We can, therefore, ascribe to matter potential continuity, just as we ascribe to its active principle a virtual continuity; for the passivity of the matter and the activity of the form correspond to one another as properties of one and the same essence; and whatever can be predicated actively or virtually of a substance on account of its form can be predicated passively or potentially of the same substance on account of its matter.
These remarks form a complement to our fifth argument, where we proved that no substantial and no accidental act could make matter actually continuous. For, since matter cannot receive any accidental act, except the determination to local movement, and since this movement, although continuous, is essentially successive, it follows that by such a determination no actual and permanent continuity can arise, but a mere continuation of local changes. Thus matter, according to its potential nature, has only a potential extension; or, in other terms, it is not in itself actually continuous, but is simply ready to extend through space by continuous movement.
The preceding proofs seem quite sufficient, and more than sufficient, to uproot the prejudice in favor of material continuity; we must, however, defend them from the attacks of our opponents, that no reasonable doubt may remain as to the cogency of our demonstration.
First objection.—The globe and the plane, of which we have spoken in our third argument, though destitute of proportional parts suitable for a statical contact, become proportionate to one another, says Goudin, by the very movement of the one upon the other; and thus our third argument would fall to the ground. For a successive contact partakes of the nature of successive beings. Hence, as time, although having no present, except an indivisible instant, becomes, through its flowing, extended into continuous parts, so also the contact of the globe with the plane, although limited to an indivisible point, can nevertheless, by its flowing, become extended so as to correspond to the extended parts of the plane. For, according to mathematicians, a point, though indivisible when at rest, can by moving describe a divisible line.
To this we answer that a globe and a plane cannot by the movement of the one on the other acquire proportionate parts. For, although it is true that a successive contact partakes of the nature of the successive being which we call movement, it is plain that it does not partake of the nature of matter. In fact, the material plane is not supposed to become continuous through the movement of the globe, but is hypothetically assumed to be continuous before the movement, and even before the existence, of the said globe. The continuous movement is, of course, proportionate to a continuous plane; but it is evident that it cannot originate any proportion between the plane and the globe; because this would be against the essence of both. No part of the plane can be spherical, [pg 495] and no part of the globe can be plane; hence, whatever may be the movement of the one upon the other, they will never touch one another, except in a single point.
That time, although having no present, except an indivisible point, becomes extended by flowing on, is perfectly true; but this proves nothing. For, in the same manner as the act of flowing, by which time flows, has nothing actual but a single indivisible instant, so also the act of flowing, by which the contact of the globe with the plane flows, has no actuality but in an indivisible point of space; and as an indivisible instant by its flowing draws a line of time without ever becoming extended in itself, so also an indivisible point by its flowing draws a line in space without ever becoming extended in itself; and as the instant of time never becomes proportionate to any finite length of time, so also the point of contact never becomes proportionate to any finite line in space.
That a line, therefore, arises from the flowing of a point in the same manner as time from the flowing of an instant, is a plain truth, and there was no need of Goudin's argumentation to make it acceptable. To defeat our argument, he should have proved that the actual flowing of an instant takes up a length of time. If this could have been proved, it would have been easy to conclude that the flowing contact also extends through a length of space. But the author did not attempt to show that an instant of time flows through finite lengths of time. It is evident, on the contrary, that an instant flows through mere instants immediately following one another. And thus the objection has no weight.
Second objection.—If a material continuum is impossible, all continuum is impossible, and thus we are constrained to deny the continuity of both space and time. For space and time—as, for instance, a cubic-foot and an hour—include within their respective limits an infinite multitude of indivisible points, or indivisible instants, just as would continuous matter include within its limits an infinite multitude of material points; for it is clear that space and time cannot be made up of anything but points and instants. Hence, if, in spite of this, we admit continuous space and continuous time, we implicitly avow that our first argument against continuous matter is far from conclusive.
We reply that there is no parity between the continuity of space and time and the continuity of matter; and that the impossibility of the latter does not show the impossibility of the former. The continuity of space and of time is intimately connected with the continuity of local movement. Movement, though formally continuous, or rather owing to its formal continuity, is necessarily successive, so that we can never find one part of the movement coexisting with another part of the same movement; and consequently there is no danger of finding in such a movement any actual multitude, whilst we should necessarily find it in continuous matter. Time also, as being nothing else than the actuality or duration of movement, is entirely successive; and consequently no two parts of time can ever be found together; which again prevents the danger of an actual multitude of coexisting instants. As to space, we observe that its continuity is by no means formal, but only virtual, and that space as such has no parts into which it can be divided, whatever [pg 496] our imagination may suggest to the contrary. We indeed consider space as a continuous extension, but such an extension and continuity is the property of the movement extending through space, not of space itself. Space is a region through which movement can extend in a continuous manner; hence the space measured, or mensurable, is styled continuous from the continuity of the movement made, or possible. We likewise consider the parts of the extension of the movement made or possible as so many parts of the space measured or mensurable. And thus space is called continuous, extended, and divisible into parts, merely because the movement by which space is, or can be, measured is continuous, extended, and divisible into successive parts; but space, as such, has of itself no formal continuity, no formal extension, and no formal divisibility, since space, as such, is nothing else than the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of divine immensity, as we may have occasion hereafter to show.
Hence neither space, nor time, nor movement is made up by composition of points or of instants; but time and movement owe their continuous extension to the flowing of a single instant and of a single point, whilst space, which is only virtually continuous, owes its denomination of continuous to the possibility of continuous movement through it. But if there were any continuous matter, its formal extension would arise from actual, simultaneous, and indivisible points constituting a formal infinite multitude within the limits of its extension. Hence there is no parity between continuous matter and continuous space or time; and the impossibility of the former does not prove the impossibility of the latter.
Third objection.—Accelerated movement is a movement the velocity of which increases by continuous infinitesimal degrees—that is, by indivisible momenta of motion. It is therefore possible for a quantity of movement to arise from the accumulation of indivisibles. Why, then, should not the quantity of matter arise in a like manner from the accumulation of indivisible points? That which causes the acceleration of movement is, in fact, continuous action—that is, a series of real, distinct, and innumerable instantaneous actions, by which the movement is made to increase by distinct infinitesimal degrees; which would show that it is not impossible to make a continuum by means of indivisibles.
We reply, first, that there is no degree of velocity which can be styled indivisible; for however small may be the acceleration of the movement, it may become smaller and smaller without end, as we shall presently explain.
But, waiving this, we reply, secondly, that intensive and extensive quantity are of a very different nature, and, even if it were true that intensive quantity can arise from an accumulation of indivisibles, the same would not be the case with extension. The degrees of intensity never unite by way of composition; for all intensity belongs to some form or act, whilst all composition of parts regards the material constituents of things. Hence movement, though increasing or decreasing, by continuous degrees, is not composed of them; whereas the continuum of matter, if any such existed, should be composed of its indivisible elements. In movement the increased velocity [pg 497] is not a multitude of distinct acts, but a single act, equivalent to all the acts which we may distinguish under the name of degrees of velocity. Hence such degrees are only virtually distinct, and do not constitute a formal multitude; whence it follows that there is no absurdity in the notion of accelerated or retarded movement. But with a material continuum the case is entirely different; for such a continuum would be an extensive, not an intensive, quantity, and would have parts not only mentally or virtually, but entitatively and formally, distinct, and making an actual infinite multitude within the limits of a finite bulk.
As to the continuous action which causes the acceleration of movement, it is not true that it consists of a sum of distinct instantaneous actions. The action may be considered either in fieri or in facto esse. The action in fieri is the exertion of the agent, and the action in facto esse is the determination received by the patient. Now, the exertion of the agent is successive; for its continuity is the continuity of time, and is therefore continuation rather than continuity. Hence nothing exists of the action in fieri, except an instantaneous exertion corresponding to the moment of time which unites the past with the future. All the past exertions have ceased to be in fieri, and all the future exertions have still to be made. Accordingly, continuous action is not made up of other actual actions, and, though passing through different degrees of intensity, is not an actual multitude.
On the other hand, if we consider the action in facto esse—that is, the determination as received in the patient—we shall find that, although such a determination is the result of a continued exertion, and exhibits its totality under the form of velocity, nevertheless this result consists of intensity, not of continuity, and therefore contains no formal multitude, but is, as we have said, a simple act equivalent to many. Hence accelerated movement is one movement, and not many, and a great velocity is one velocity, and not a formal multitude of lesser velocities. In a word, there is not the least resemblance between continuous acceleration and continuous matter.
Although the preceding answer sufficiently shows the flimsiness of the objection, we may yet observe that actions having an infinitesimal duration are indeed infinitesimal, but are not true indivisibles. For the expression of an accelerating action, in dynamics, contains three variable functions—that is, first, the intensity of the action at the unit of distance in the unit of time; secondly, its duration; thirdly, the distance from the agent to the patient. Hence, in the case of an action of infinitesimal duration, there still remain two variables, viz., the intensity of the power, and the distance from the patient; and their variation causes a variation of the action in its infinitesimal duration. Thus it is manifest that actions of infinitesimal duration can have a greater or a less intensity, and therefore are not true indivisibles of intensity. If, for instance, two agents by their constant and continuous action produce in the same length of time different effects, it is evident that their actions have different intensities in every infinitesimal instant of time; hence such infinitesimal actions, though bearing no comparison with finite quantities, bear comparison with one another, and form definite geometric ratios.
Fourth objection.—If the contact of one indivisible with another cannot engender a continuum, we must deny the existence of time and of local motion. For time is engendered by the flowing of an instant towards the instant immediately following, and movement is engendered by the flowing of a point in space towards the point immediately following. If, then, indivisibles cannot, by their contact, give rise to continuous extension, neither time nor local motion will acquire continuous extension.
Our answer to this objection is that time and movement are not engendered by a formal contact of a real instant with the instant following, or of a real point with the point following. Duration is not a sum of indivisible instants formally touching one another, nor is the length of space a sum of indivisible points touching one another. We may have points in space, but not points of space; and in like manner we have instants in succession, not instants of succession, though in common language we usually confound the latter with the former. Yet, when we talk of a point of space, our meaning is not that space is made up of points, but simply that a point of matter existing in space marks out its own ubication, thus lending to the space occupied the name of point. Hence no movement in space can be conceived to extend by successive contacts of points, or by the flowing of a point towards other points immediately following; for these points immediately following exist only in our imagination. Nor does a flowing point engender a line of space, but only a line of movement; and even this latter is not properly engendered, but merely marked out in space; for all possible lines are already virtually contained in space, and therefore they need no engendering, but simply marking out by continuous motion.
The same is to be said of the origin of time. Time is not a formal sum of instants touching one another. The instant just past is no more, hence it cannot touch the instant which is now; and the instant which is to follow is not yet, hence it cannot be touched by the instant which is now. Accordingly, as the movement of a single point marks out a continuous line in absolute space, so also the flowing of a single instant extends a line in absolute duration. For, as S. Thomas teaches, in the whole length of time there is but a single instant in re, though this same instant becomes virtually manifold in ratione prioris et posterioris by shifting from “before” to “after.” And in the same manner, in the whole length of a line measured in space by continuous movement, there is but a single point in re actually shifting its ubication from “here” to “there,” and thus becoming virtually manifold in its successive positions. And for this reason both movement and time are always and essentially developing (in fieri), and never exist as developed (in facto esse); since of the former nothing is actual but a point, and of the latter nothing is actual but an instant.
It is scarcely necessary to repeat that, if there were any continuous matter, its parts would all be actual and simultaneous. Its continuous extension would therefore be properly engendered by the contact of indivisible points, not by the shifting of a point from one end of its dimensions to another. This sufficiently shows that from the continuity of movement and of [pg 499] time nothing can be concluded in favor of continuous matter.
Fifth objection.—Between two given points in space infinite other points can be placed. Now, what is possible can be conceived to be done; and thus we can conceive an infinite multitude between the two points. Accordingly, an infinite multitude can be contained within limits; and if so, continuous matter is not impossible, and our first argument has no weight.
We answer that, although an infinite multitude of points can be placed between any two given points, yet nothing can be inferred therefrom in favor of continuous matter. For those innumerable points either will touch one another or not. If they do not touch, they will not make a continuum; and if they touch, they will, as we have shown, entirely coincide, instead of forming a continuous extension. It is plain, therefore, that the distance between the two given points cannot be filled continuously, even by an infinite multitude of other points. And therefore the objection has no force.
Nor is it true that by the creation of an infinite multitude of points between two given points such a multitude would be an infinity within limits. For the two given points are limits, or rather terms, of a local relation, but they are no limits of the multitude, or discrete quantity, which can be placed between them; for, without altering the position of those two points, we can increase without end the number of the intervening points. As volume is not a limit of density, so the distance of two points is not the limit of the multitude that can be condensed between them.
Sixth objection.—All the arguments above given against the continuity of matter are grounded on a false supposition; for they all take for granted that a continuum must be made up of parts—an assumption which can be shown to be false. For, first, in the geometric continuum there are no actual parts; for such a continuum is not made up by composition, but is created, such as it is, all in one piece. Whence it must be inferred that the primitive elements of matter, though exempt, as primitive, from composition of parts, and really simple, may yet possess extension. Secondly, who can deny that God has the power to create a solid body as perfectly continuous as a geometric volume? Such a body, though divisible into any number of parts, would not be a compound; for its parts would be merely possible, not actual; and therefore it would be simple, and yet continuous. Thirdly, those who deny the possibility of continuous matter admit a vacuum existing between simple points of matter. Such a vacuum is a continuous extension intercepted between real terms, and is nothing else than the possibility of real extension. But the real extension, which is possible between real terms, is not, of course, a series of points touching one another, for such a series, as all admit, is impossible. It is, therefore, an extension really continuous, not made up of parts, but only divisible into parts. Hence matter may be continuous and simple at the same time.[111]
This objection tends to establish the possibility of simple-extended matter. Yet that simplicity and material extension exclude one another [pg 500] is an evident truth; in other terms, material continuity, without composition of parts, is utterly inconceivable. If, therefore, we persist in taking for granted that a material continuum must be made up of actual parts, we do not make a gratuitous supposition.
The three reasons adduced in the objection are far from satisfactory. The first makes an unlawful transition from the geometric extension of volumes to the physical extension of masses. Such a transition, we say, is unlawful; for the geometrical extension is only virtually continuous, and therefore involves no actual multitude of parts; whereas the physical extension of the mass of matter would be formally and materially continuous, thus involving a formal multitude of actual parts perfectly distinct from one another, though united to form one continuous piece. The geometric extension is measured by three linear dimensions, and has no density. Now, a geometric line is nothing else than the trace of the movement of a point; and accordingly its continuity arises from the continuity of the movement itself, which alone is formally continuous; for the space measured by such a movement has no formal continuity of its own, as we have already explained, but is styled “continuous” only inasmuch as it is the region of continuous movement. There is no doubt, therefore, that geometric extension is merely virtual in its continuity; and for this reason it is not made up of parts of its own, but simply corresponds to the parts of the movement by which it can be measured. Material extension, on the contrary, would be densely filled with actual matter, and therefore would be made up of actual parts perfectly distinct, though not separated. To apply, as the objection does, to material extension, what geometry teaches of the extension of volumes, is therefore a mere paralogism. It amounts to saying: Vacuum is free from composition; therefore the matter also which would fill it is free from composition.
We may add that even geometric extension, if real, involves composition. For, evidently, we cannot conceive a geometric cube without its eight vertices, nor can we pretend that a figure requiring eight distinct points as the terms of its dimensions is free from composition. Now, if an empty geometric volume cannot be simple, what shall we say of a volume full of matter? Wherever there is real extension, there are real dimensions, of which the beginning, and the end, and all the intermediate terms are really distinct from one another. Hence in a material extension there should be as many distinct material terms as there are geometric points within its limits. And if this is simplicity, we may well ask what is composition?
The second reason adduced in the objection is a mere petitio principii. For he who says that God can create “a solid body as perfectly continuous as a geometric volume” assumes that such a continuous body involves no contradiction; he therefore begs the question. On the other hand, to affirm that God can create a solid body as perfectly continuous as a geometric volume, is to affirm that God can create a body of infinite density—that is, an infinite mass within finite dimensions. For the mass of a body of matter is the product of its volume into its density; hence, if its volume be finite, and its density infinite, the mass will be [pg 501] infinite. Now, a body materially continuous implies infinite density; for it excludes porosity, and it supplies matter for an endless division. Hence a continuous mass of matter filling a finite volume would be an infinite mass contained within limits. We think we are not presuming too much when we say that God cannot create such a metaphysical monstrosity.
“Such a body,” says the objection, “though divisible into any number of parts, would not be a compound.” This is evidently false; for all that is divisible into parts has parts, and therefore composition. Nor is it true that the parts of a continuous body “would be merely possible, not actual”; for if such parts are not actual, how can the body be actual? No actual continuum can exist without actual parts. The divisibility of continuum is not the possibility of actual parts, but the possibility of their actual separation.
The third reason is based on our admission of a vacuum between material points. Such a vacuum, it is objected, is a continuous (virtual) extension, founding the possibility of some other (formal) extension. This we concede; but when it is argued that this other extension which is possible between the material terms is the extension of continuous matter, we deny the consequence. It is only continuous local movement, not continuous matter, that can formally extend from term to term, as we have proved. When two real points of matter have a distinct ubication in space, the interval between them cannot be estimated otherwise than by the extent of the movement which can be made from one point to the other. We cannot perceive the distance between two terms, except by drawing, at least mentally, a line from the one to the other; and for this reason, as we have remarked elsewhere, the relation of distance is conceived by us as a quantity measured by movement, not by matter, and representing the extension of continuous movement, not of continuous matter. Hence a vacuum intercepted between real points is a real, though only virtual, extension; and that other real and formal extension, which is possible between the same real points, is the extension of local movement. Our opponent concedes that “the real extension possible between real terms is not a series of points touching one another; for such a series, as all admit, is impossible.” Now, this suffices to show that the real extension possible between such real terms is not the extension of continuous matter; for such an extension, as we have abundantly proved, would be made up of nothing but of a series of points touching one another.
Nothing, perhaps, more evidently shows the unquestionable solidity of the thesis we have undertaken to defend than the necessity felt by our opponents of admitting in matter an extended simplicity and a simplicity divisible into parts, as witnessed by this last objection, which we have transcribed from a grave and learned professor of philosophy. Extended and simple matter is such an absurdity as few would admit to be a corollary of their own theories; yet it cannot be escaped by those who consider the first elements of matter as endowed with bulk. For physical simplicity is an essential attribute of all primitive beings; and, if primitive elements are nevertheless supposed to be intrinsically extended, [pg 502] it is plain that their simplicity will be an extended simplicity.
The main reason why some philosophers still cling to material continuity is their fear of actio in distans. We have already shown that such a fear, though very common, cannot be justified. We grant that, owing to popular prejudice and an incorrect notion of things, many are apt to dread action at a distance as a dangerous shoal; but when they resort to an “extended and divisible simplicity,” they steer their ship directly against the reefs.
To Be Continued.
Christmas In The Thirteenth Century.
Few are the hearts that do not feel the benign and joyful influence of Christmas. It is the one feast that neither the all-destroying zeal of the Reformation nor the cold indifferentism of the present age has dared to abolish or desecrate. To how many is it the sole remaining word that reminds them of the sacred name of Christ! There was a time when Christmas was but one of the many holydays that with each succeeding month recalled to Christian hearts some great event in the life of their divine Master; but heresy has swept away one by one those sacked days of repose and prayer. Even in Catholic countries the church has found it necessary to reduce the number of Days of Obligation, so cold have grown both faith and devotion.
Wealth and material prosperity—these are the sole ends for which a heartless world would have us exert all our energies, and it would fain clog with the sordid love of gain all the higher aspirations of the soul.
But we are forgetting that this is Christmas time—a time for innocent pleasure, and not for moralizing; so, leaving the present age, with all its faults, we will ask our readers to transport themselves with us, in imagination, some six centuries back, and witness how was celebrated in those Ages of Faith the holy night of the Nativity of our Lord.
The period selected is about the middle of the XIIIth century. Religion was then in the fullest splendor of its power. It was the light of civilization, the custodian of all learning. Every art had combined to render its outward expression worthy of the great and holy mysteries it taught. Gothic architecture had at this date attained its highest perfection; painting and sculpture were almost exclusively devoted to the decoration of God's temples; poetry and music were united to render attractive the sublime and rarely-interrupted Offices of the church. The liturgical works of the period are mines of poetic and musical riches that for the most part lie hidden and uncared for in their musty tomes.
Some will doubtless smile when we speak of the Latin poetry of the [pg 503] middle ages, and certainly those who seek in it the polished and classical verses of a Horace or a Virgil will be disappointed. They will, however, find that, despite their somewhat strange Latinity, these productions of a so-called barbarous age contain a depth of feeling, a strength and freshness of expression, quite unknown to the pagan poets, and were as appropriate to those grand old cathedrals under whose roofs they were to resound as were the classic odes and songs to the luxurious banquet-halls of Rome or the effeminate villas of Naples. In fact, to adequately judge of the poetry contained in the Offices of the mediæval period, we must place ourselves amid the surroundings in which they were performed; we must not view it from the stand-point of the present age, with its entirely different ideas of both religious life and religious art.
It will be, then, in an old French cathedral that we shall ask our readers to spend this Christmas night; for the office, or rather religious drama, at which we intend to make them assist, is taken from a Roman-French missal of the XIIIth century.
The night has closed in. Within the city walls the tortuous and narrow streets are nearly deserted; but lights gleam from many a diamond pane, for inside joyous circles are gathered around the glowing logs that brightly sparkle in the ample chimneys. Old stories are repeated by venerable grandfathers to merry grandchildren, who in return sing with silvery voices quaint old carols. Suddenly a well-known sound fills the air; from the high cathedral towers burst forth the joyous chimes that herald the approach of Christ's natal hour. The notes that ring out so clearly in the cold December air are those of the familiar Christmas hymn, Christe Redemptor omnium.[112] Soon a hurrying throng begin to fill the streets, all wending their way towards the same point, through narrow and winding streets. By gabled house and arched doorway, by mullioned window and jutting tower, they press forward until they reach the central square, where rises, in all its splendor, the old cathedral church.
Beautiful and imposing at all times is a Gothic cathedral, but never more so than when the trembling light of a winter moon throws around it a soft halo, just enough to make its grand proportions visible amid the surrounding gloom, while leaving all the finer details wrapt in sombre mystery. Doubly lofty appear tower and spire, and strangely weird each fantastic gargoyle, as a stray moonbeam falls athwart its uncouth countenance.
Let us follow the crowd, and enter beneath the richly-sculptured doorway. Dim is the light within, only just sufficient to find your way among the throng that now begins to fill every part of the vast edifice. The numerous assemblage of priests and choristers are singing the Office of Matins, the grand old melodies of S. Gregory resounding beneath the vaulted roof with that wonderful effect that makes them, when sung by choir and congregation, the most truly religious music that exists. As the last solemn notes of the Te Deum die out, a white-robed chorister-boy representing an angel advances into the centre of the choir, and in sweet, clear accents chants the words of the angelic message, “Nolite timere: ecce enim [pg 504] evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum, quod erit omni populo, quia natus est vobis hodie Salvator mundi, in civitate David. Et hoc vobis signum: Invenietis infantem pannis involutum, et positum in præsepio”—“Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, that shall be to all the people: for this day is born to you a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, in the city of David. And this shall be a sign unto you: You shall find the infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and laid in a manger.”
Then from the high triforium-gallery seven pure young voices ring out, as if from heaven, the words sung by the angel-host on the first Christmas night: “Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis.” These familiar words that herald the pious representation of the holy scenes whose reality centuries ago hallowed this night in the mountains of Judæa, are listened to by the vast congregation with rapt and devout attention. In their simple and earnest faith the assistants feel themselves transported back to the days of Herod and to the village of Bethlehem, as they behold emerging from the western porch, and slowly advancing up the nave, a train of shepherds with staves in their hands, singing, as they proceed in search of their newborn King, the following hymn. Both words and music are full of beauty, and the cadence is well suited to a Christmas carol:
Pax in terris nunciatur,
In excelsis gloria.
Terra cœlo fœderatur,
Mediante gratia.
Mediatur homo Deus
Descendit in propria,
Ut ascendat homo reus
Ad amissa gaudia.
Eia! Eia!
Transeamus, videamus
Verbum hoc quod factum est
Transeamus, ut sciamus
Quod annunciatum est.
In Judea puer vagit,
Puer salus populi,
Quo bellandum se præsagit
Vetus hostis sæculi.
Accedamus, accedamus
Ad præsepe Domini,
Et dicamus:
Laus fecundæ Virgini.
(Peace on earth is announced, and in heaven glory,
Earth is reconciled through divine grace. The Mediator God-Man descends amongst his own, that guilty man may ascend to lost joys.
Let us go over, let us see this word that is come to pass.
Let us go over, that we may learn what has been announced.
In Judæa an infant cries
An Infant, the salvation of his people,
By whom the ancient enemy of the world foresees he must be warred upon.
Let us approach, let us approach the cradle of our Lord,
And let us sing: Praise to the fruitful Virgin.)
A crib has been arranged at the extreme end of the choir, containing the figure of the divine Infant and our Blessed Lady. It is surrounded by women, to whom naturally is given the charge of watching over the Virgin Mother and her new-born Babe. Towards this crib the shepherds wend their way, passing beneath the carved rood-screen through the open portals of the choir. Two priests advance to meet them, and greet them with the following versicle: “Quem quæritis in præsepio, pastores, dicite?”—“Whom seek ye in this manger, shepherds, tell us?”
They reply: “Salvatorem Christum Dominum infantem pannis involutum secundum sermonem angelicum”—“Christ our Lord and Saviour, an infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, according to the word of the angel.”
The women around the crib now draw back the curtains that have, until this moment, kept it concealed from view, and, showing to the shepherds the divine Infant reclining in the manger, sing these words: “Adest hic parvulus cum matre sua de quo dudum vaticinando Isaïas dixerat propheta: Ecce virgo concipiet et pariet filium: euntes dicite quod natus est”—“Here is the little Child and his Mother of whom of old Isaias prophesied: Behold, [pg 505] a Virgin shall conceive and bring forth a son; go forth and announce that he is born.” The shepherds salute the Virgin and Child, and sing the following charming little carol in honor of the Virgin Mother:
Salve Virgo singularis;
Virgo manens, Deum paris,
Ante sæcla generatum
Corde patris;
Adoremus nunc creatum
Carne matris.
Nos, Maria, tua prece
A peccati purga fece;
Nostri cursum incolatus
Sic dispone,
Ut det sua frui natus
Visione.
(Hail, O Virgin incomparable! remaining a Virgin, thou hast brought forth the Son of God, begotten of his Father before all ages.
Now we adore him, formed of the flesh of his Mother.
O Mary! purify us from all stain of sin; our destined course on earth so dispose, that thy Son may grant us to enjoy his blessed vision.)
After this hymn they fall on their knees and adore the divine Babe; then, turning towards the choir, they with joyful accents exclaim, “Alleluia, Alleluia. Jam vere scimus Christum natum in terris, de quo canite omnes cum prophetis dicentes”—“Now we truly know that Christ is born on earth, let all sing of him with the prophet.” Answering to this invitation, the choir intone the prophetic words of the introit of the midnight Mass: “The Lord has said to me, Thou art my Son; this day I have begotten Thee.”
The priests and assistants advance slowly in procession to the foot of the altar, and the solemn celebration of High Mass commences.
The lessons conveyed by this beautiful and symbolic representation are happily continued when the reality of the divine mysteries has taken its place. The priests who represented the shepherds, quitting the crib where they were the first to do homage to the Child-God, proceed to occupy the most exalted places in the choir, and to take the leading parts in the chants that accompany that Holy Sacrifice in which the same Child-God once more descends on earth.
Among the many impressive ceremonies of the Catholic Church, there is none more touching than the celebration of the midnight Mass. Whether it be in a vast cathedral or in a modest village church, it never fails to bring home to the heart, in a wonderful manner, the realization of the two great mysteries of the Incarnation and the Eucharist, awakening in the soul a lively devotion towards them. If such be the effect of the sacred rite on men who have only just quit the bustle and turmoil of life, as they enter the church, what must it have been on minds prepared by so graphic a representation of those very mysteries that the Mass not only commemorates, but actually reproduces in a manner far more perfect, if less perceptible to the outward senses.
How conspicuous, then, was the wisdom of the church in encouraging the performance of these pious dramas—not only as affording an innocent pleasure to the spectators, but as a preparation for the better understanding of the sacred mysteries that were commemorated in each succeeding feast; for on the popular mind how far more powerful than the most eloquent sermon is the effect of any ceremony that appeals directly to the senses!
At the termination of the Mass the officiating priest, turning towards the shepherds, intones the following anthem: “Quam vidistis, pastores? dicite, annunciate nobis in terris quid apparuit”—“Tell us, O shepherds, whom you have seen? Announce to us who has appeared on earth.” To which they reply: “Natum vidimus et [pg 506] choros angelorum collandantes Dominum. Alleluia, alleluia”—“We have seen the Lord, who is born on earth, and the choirs of angels praising him.”
The office of Lauds, which terminates the night-office, then commences. The shepherds, still occupying the places of honor, but divided in two choirs, sing the poetic paraphrase which on all solemn feasts in those days took the place of the Benedicamus and Deo Gratias. After which they all unite in chanting the following antiphon, which forms a fitting termination to the ceremonies of the night: “Ecce completa sunt omnia quæ dicta sunt per angelum de Virgine Maria”—“Behold, all things are accomplished that were announced by the angel concerning the Virgin Mary.”
Such were the pious festivities that six hundred years ago filled with joy and devotion many a vast congregation in cathedral and church throughout France on Christmas night. We have described them as far as they can be gathered from the Office-books of the period; but how many beautiful details, handed down by tradition and introduced from time to time, must necessarily have escaped us at this distant period! We venture to hope, however, that we have succeeded in giving our readers at least a slight idea of the deep religious feeling, and at the same time poetic beauty, that characterized these sacred dramas of the middle ages.
The Civilization Of Ancient Ireland.[113]
The greatest difficulty experienced by students of Irish history, whether foreigners or to the manner born, arises out of the crudeness of the mass of fables and myths, contradictions and harsh criticisms, which confuse and disfigure many histories of the country. Unfortunately, native Irish historians and annalists have been wont to indulge much too freely in exaggeration and romance, substituting the airy creations of the poets for authenticated facts, and dogmatically putting forward the most minute details of remote, and therefore necessarily indistinct, actions in a manner to overtax our credulity and weaken our faith even in well-established authorities. English writers, on the contrary, from Giraldus Cambrensis downward, have erred on the other side. Always ignorant of the Gaelic tongue, and generally of the customs, laws, and religion of the people whose history they assumed to chronicle, they invariably attempted to conceal their defective knowledge by ignoring the claims of the Irish to a distinctive and high order of civilization, not only before the advent of the Anglo-Normans, but anterior to the introduction of Christianity. The [pg 507] want of adaptability of the English mind to historical composition, even in relation to domestic matters, may account for much of this unfair method of treating those of a subjugated nation. National and, of late centuries, sectarian animosity has been, however, the leading motive of the British historiographers, with one exception, for falsifying the records of the past, no matter to what country they belong. To have acknowledged that S. Patrick preached the Gospel to a race possessing considerable social refinement and mental culture; that, under Providence, an entire people were converted to Christianity without any material change in their civil polity or disruption of their general domestic relations; and that, even in his lifetime, he had the happiness to see his work completed, and to feel that he would leave behind him a native priesthood, whose piety and learning were for ages afterwards to edify and astonish Europe, was to concede the glory and the wisdom of the church in introducing and perpetuating the faith of her divine Founder at that early period of her existence.
With the Irish historians, who fully admitted this great central fact in the annals of their country, it was different. They knew the language, laws, and habits of their countrymen, but the circumstances by which they were surrounded rendered it impossible for them to consult freely the original records then existing, or to compare and collate them with that scrutiny and care with which documents of such antiquity ought to be regarded. Thus, Dr. Keating wrote his work in the recesses of the Galtee Mountains, while hiding from the “Priest-hunters” of James I.; and the Abbé McGeoghegan composed his while in Paris, a fugitive from William of Orange's penal laws, where at best he could only consult second-hand authorities. As for Moore, though illustrious as a poet, his knowledge of his native country was of the most meagre and inaccurate description, and his ignorance of its language and antiquities, as he subsequently confessed, is apparent in every page of his book.
At the time of the Norman invasion, and for two or three centuries afterwards, the number of Irish MSS. in Ireland, including histories, annals, genealogies, poems, topographical and otherwise, historical tales, and legends, was immense. Many of them, fortunately, are still extant, bearing date from the Xth, XIth, and XIIth centuries; but the greater portion are either destroyed or hidden in inaccessible places. As the civil wars progressed, and the ancient nobility were slaughtered or driven into exile, the cultivation of native literature gradually ceased, and consequently many of the most valuable national records were ruined or lost, so that their titles only remain to us; while others, escaping the general spoliation, became scattered among the libraries of the Continent, or found their way into careless or hostile hands. At the present day several are in the British Museum; the Bodleian Library, Oxford; in Paris and Brussels; St. Gall, in Switzerland; and St. Isidore's, in Rome. One hundred and forty are yet preserved in the library of Trinity College, Dublin; while many of the most valuable are the property of the Royal Irish Academy and of private collectors.
The decline of learning in Ireland, like so many of her other calamities, can be dated from the [pg 508] period of the “Reformation,” as its revival may be said to have been contemporary with the uprising of the people, which led to the partial emancipation of the Catholics, less than half a century ago. Then it was that the Irish, breathing something like the air of freedom, began in earnest to gather up the broken threads of their ancient history, and to demonstrate to the world that, though long enslaved and silenced, the spirit of true nationality was as indestructible in their hearts as was the faith for which they had so long and heroically suffered. In 1826 appeared O'Conor's translation of the first part of the Annals of the Four Masters; some years after Dr. Petrie published his masterly work on the Round Towers, and in 1851 Dr. O'Donovan issued the entire Annals, the great vertebræ of Irish chronology, in seven large volumes, containing more than four thousand pages; the text in Irish characters, the translation and copious, critical notes in English. Late in the next year a commission of Irish scholars was appointed by the government to collect, transcribe, translate, and publish the Ancient Laws and Institutes of Ireland, which, after a great deal of labor and expense, has now been accomplished. The first volume of this most valuable work appeared under the title of Senchus Mor, in 1865, the second four years later, and the third, we learn, has recently been issued from the press in Dublin. Meanwhile, the Celtic and the Archæological Societies, separately and combined, for many years past have been publishing several valuable detached works on Ireland, which have attracted much attention in literary circles in Europe, and quickened at home the popular desire for productions of a similar character. In 1867 Dr. Todd's Wars of the Gaedhil with the Gaill, a translation of all the original documents extant bearing on the wars of the Danes and other Norsemen in Ireland during the two centuries preceding the battle of Clontarf, a.d. 1014, was added to the collection of historical records.
But the merit of elevating the study of Irish history to the dignity of a profession belongs to the Catholic University of Ireland; thus constituting a claim on the affections of the Irish people in every clime which will long remain among the foremost of its many distinctions. At its foundation a chair of Irish History and Archæology was established, and the late Eugene O'Curry, of all men then living the most fitted for the position, was selected to fill it. In 1855-56 Prof. O'Curry delivered before the students a course of twenty-one lectures, afterwards published at the expense of the University under the title of Lectures on the MS. Materials of Ancient Irish History. This work, including a valuable appendix, embraces six hundred and sixty pages, and contains a full and most interesting account of all known documents relating to Irish history. These lectures were followed by a series On the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, delivered during the years 1857-62, and recently published in two handsome volumes, with an introduction and explanatory notes by the editor, W. K. Sullivan, in an additional volume of six hundred and forty-four pages. The value of O'Curry's last work, as well as of the very profound introduction by Prof. Sullivan, can hardly be over-estimated. In them are contained a complete, vivid, and harmonious series of pictures of the laws, religion, territorial [pg 509] and class divisions, literature, art, social habits, weapons, dress, and ornaments of the people of ancient Ireland from the remotest times to the Xth or XIth century. The style of O'Curry in presenting these instructive historical tableaux is clear, concise, and sufficiently varied to attract the attention of the least diligent student; while any of his statements which may appear to savor of an over-fondness for the things of antiquity, or undue reverence for the past, find an efficient corrective in the critical and exhaustive commentaries of the editor, who, in addition to being a distinguished chemist, is evidently an excellent philologist and ethnologist; as familiar with the genius of the continental languages and antiquities as he is with those of his own country.
With the results of the labor of two such men before him, the student of Irish history, though unacquainted with Gaelic, and beyond the reach of the original documents, has now no excuse for not becoming as familiar with Gaelic historical and archæological lore as with those of the other races of the Old World. He will be rewarded, also, in his studies, by the contemplation of a system of civilization without a parallel in the records of any other nation of which we have a knowledge; equally removed from the elaborate, artificial life of the Greeks and the oligarchical paganism of Rome, as it was from the rude barbarism of the Northmen and the refined sensuality of the East.
Before the commencement of our era the history of the various tribes who are said by tradition to have visited Ireland as colonists or invaders is, of course, obscure, and can be traced only through the legend-tales of the poets and story-tellers of more recent but still very remote times. There is no doubt, however, that about the middle of the first Christian century the island was peopled by two distinct and to some extent hostile tribes; one described as a tall, red or golden haired, blue-eyed, and fair-complexioned people; the other dark and small of stature—evidently the subject race. About this time a revolution, or rather a series of revolts, by those known by the name of the Aithech Tuatha, or rent-paying tribes (the Atticotti of continental writers), broke out, and resulted in the temporary success of the servile race and the annihilation of the greater part of the nobility. The aristocracy, however, regained their power after some years of violent and varying struggle, and to prevent the recurrence of such bloody scenes, as well as to disunite their enemies, they redistributed them throughout the island, while at the same time they built a number of duns, or forts within easy supporting distance of each other, the better to consolidate their authority and ensure the protection of their families.
The leader of the restored nobles was Tuathal, “the Legitimate,” who, having been declared King of Ireland, reorganized the government, founded the Irish Pentarchy, established great national and provincial fairs, and enacted the greater part, at least, of the body of laws known as the Senchas Mor. He was in fact the first able soldier, as well as law-giver, of whom we have any definite and well-authenticated account in Gaelic history. As the country at that time, and for centuries after, was essentially agricultural, we naturally find that the laws of Tuathal and his successors are [pg 510] mainly devoted to agrarian matters; the divisions, rights, and duties of the various classes of occupants of the soil being set forth with a minuteness and exactness rarely to be found in modern codes. Politically, the island was divided into five subordinate kingdoms, nearly corresponding with the present four provinces, except that the fifth, which was called Meath, embraced not only that county, but Westmeath and a portion of the surrounding territory. Here were situated Tara, the principal palace of the Ard-Rig, or supreme monarch, and the mensal land set apart for his use. Sometimes the Ard-Rig was also King of Meath, but generally, as in the cases of Con “of the Hundred Battles,” Nial, “of the Nine Hostages,” and Brian, “Boru,” he was the head of some of the great northern or southern septs. In theory the sovereignty was elective, and by the law of Tanistry the king's successor was designated during his lifetime; but in practice, when the crown did not descend hereditarily, it was most frequently the prize of successful warfare. The same may also be said of the provincial kings. There appears to have been no such thing known in that age as a Salic law for the exclusion of women from a participation in the affairs of government; for we find numerous instances of kingdoms being swayed and armies led into action by the gentler sex, notably the celebrated Meave, the Queen of Connaught, and the darling heroine of Irish fiction.
The provincial kingdoms were divided into Mor Tuaths, each of which comprised several Tuaths, and these again were sub-divided into Bailé Biatachs Caethramhadhs, or quarters; Seisreachs, or ploughlands; and Bailé-boes, or cow-lands, each of the latter containing about sixty acres. According to a poem of the VIth or VIIth century, there were in Ireland at that epoch 184 Tuaths; 5,520 Bailé Biatachs; 22,080 Quarters; 66,240 Plough-lands; and 132,480 Ballyboes—equal to about 7,948,000 acres. The lowest rank in the nobility was that of Flath, or lord of a Tuath; the highest in the commons were the Bo-aires, or farmers who, though they held lands from the Flath, were freemen, entitled to all the rights and privileges of witnesses, jurors, bails, and local courts. Next beneath them were the saer and daer Ceiles, or free and base tenants. As there were no towns or villages of any importance, the rules of the agrarian laws were applied to all classes, and hence skilled workmen, such as goldsmiths, blacksmiths, dyers, and other mechanics, were, equally with the smaller tenant farmers, called free Ceiles, holding by contract from the Flaths, and paying in labor or kind a determined equivalent. The base Ceiles were of two kinds—one who held lands by uncertain tenure, or as tenants at will; and the other, who performed personal service as mercenary soldiers or laborers upon the mensal lands of the lord. “Though the free Ceiles were all freemen,” says Sullivan, “and consequently possessed some political rights, it is evident that the extent of those rights differed. In some cases they must have been confined to bearing arms and obtaining a share of the common land. All Ceiles, whether free or base, had certain definite rights in the territory, such as the right to have a habitation and the usufruct of the land; but besides these were several other classes, who possessed either very [pg 511] few rights, or occupied so low a position in the social scale as to have been practically in a state of complete servitude; these were the Bothachs, Sencleithes, and Fuidirs.” The saer or free Bothachs were simply occupiers of cabins, and the daer Bothachs were menials; while the Sencleithes included all sorts of poor dependents, generally the descendants of strangers, mercenaries, or prisoners of war. The Fuidirs, to whom S. Patrick in his captivity belonged, were absolutely serfs attached to the land, and in some respects the property of the chief. It was only a Flath, however, who was entitled to retain those belonging to the three servile classes; and where the condition grew out of mutual compact, it could be ended by either at any time. Prisoners of war, malefactors, and non-paying debtors, similar to peons, were of course excluded from this privilege. Those various classes and sub-divisions did not constitute perpetual castes; on the contrary, a member of the lowest order, through lapse of time, undisturbed possession, and the accumulation of property, could ascend, not only to the highest place in the commons, but enter the charmed circle of aristocracy itself.
It must not be supposed, however, that the entire ownership of the soil was vested in the Mor-Flaths, or great chiefs; in fact, they only owned their proper estate and the mensal lands attached to their office, upon which were employed their Ceiles and Fuidirs, who tilled the farms and paid rent by supplying their masters' tables, and by other tributes. In like manner the subordinate Flaths and Airés held their own proper lands in fee, paying their superior a tax, or Bes-Tigi, in acknowledgment of his authority, and exacting labor and service in turn from their Bothachs, Sencleithes, and base Fuidirs. The remainder of the land belonged to the freemen of the Tuath in common, subject only to the dominion of the chief, though on certain conditions the usufruct could be devised or alienated. “In process of time,” says Sullivan, “estates were carved out of this public land, as appanages of offices, as rewards for public services, or by lapsing into prescription. The holders of such estates were the Aires, and as such were in an especial manner the Céiles of the Rig. The king, with the consent of his council, might, however, grant a portion of it as allodium at once. It is probable that Magh Aié, now the plains of Boyle, in Roscommon, was public land.” Around the duns or fortified residences of the chiefs their retainers and menials built their wattled huts for the sake of convenience and protection, and thus were formed the nuclei of so many towns and villages still marked on the map of Ireland, of the names of which Dun forms a part; just as in later times the early Irish Christians crowded round the churches and monasteries, and, thus forming new communities, took the names of their patrons with the prefix Kil, derived from Cill, church. Another class of subjects, artisans, farmers, and teachers, were to be found in the neighborhood of the courts of law and permanent places for elections, who, forming corporations or guilds, gradually laid the foundation of boroughs and privileged towns, under the management of Brugfers, or magistrates.
There were several degrees of rank among these officials. Some, whose duty was confined to the regulation of copartnerships in [pg 512] farms and the fixing of metes and bounds; others who held courts in their own houses, entertained guests, and presided over the election of the chiefs and their Tanistes. This class belong to the Airé rank, and every freeman had the right to vote at the assembly of the Tuath, and appear as a witness, juror, or bail in court. The Brughfer of a province held six different courts, and superintended the choice of the provincial king and his successor. On these occasions the voters were all of the Flath rank, and were supposed to represent their clans or Finés. This term, though literally meaning a house or family, was in law used in three different senses: first, as applied to all relations by consanguinity to the seventeenth degree, who were entitled to inherit property, as well as being liable for fines and mulcts; secondly, to the lord and his dependents; and, thirdly, to all the inhabitants of a Tuath, no matter of what condition. So, also, the word Cland, or clan, which, in its restricted meaning, was applied only to the nobles and their immediate families, was in its territorial application interpreted to signify all the people of the same district, who usually assumed the surname of the chief, though no relationship existed between him and them. There is therefore no more reason to suppose that an O'Brien or a Murphy of to-day is descended from the victor of Clontarf or the traitor of Ferns, than that his ancestors were Fuidirs under either of those kings. In fact, family names were only generally introduced into Ireland in the XIth century.
With few exceptions, the punishment of crime under the ancient laws of the country was by fine, so that jails and penitentiaries were unknown. This fine, or eric, was paid by the criminal, or by his Finé or clan, to the party aggrieved or his representative, and upon failure thereof the culprit was reduced to the condition of a Fuidir. The servile classes, who had no goods, could not, of course, be fined or further degraded; but their lords were compelled to respond in damages, and in case of injury done to his defenceless tenants the landlord was entitled to compensation. In the Senchus Mor, “every nice offence bears its comment,” according to the enormity of the crime and the rank of plaintiff and defendant; so, in one sense at least, every man in Erinn may be said to have had his price. The courts in which those erics were levied seemed to have been organized on a very just plan, and their procedure exhibits marked germs of our present jury system—or trial by a certain number of neighbors and equals.
Minor causes were tried in the courts of the Tuaths or Aires, but greater ones were determined at the provincial assemblies, which appear to have exercised both legislative and judicial functions. The absence of cities or stationary places of barter was supplied by the institution of vast provincial fairs, held at stated times and in central localities. The most famous of these were that of Tailté in Meath, Ailech in Derry, and Carman at Wexford. The latter, which took place in August of every third year, was the most extensive, as well as the most ancient; its origin lying far back in the mythical ages, and its discontinuance dating so late as the XIth century. For some strange reason these great national fairs were invariably held in pagan cemeteries, and in ante-Christian [pg 513] times were always commenced with games and funeral ceremonies, closing with horse-racing, martial and athletic sports. According to the ancient chronicle, there were three markets at each fair, viz.:
“A market for food and clothes; a market for live-stock, cows and horses, etc.; a market of foreigners and exiles, selling gold and silver, etc. The professors of every art, both the noble arts and the base arts, and non-professionals, were there, selling and exhibiting their compositions and their professional works to kings, and rewards were given for every work of art that was just or lawful to be sold or exhibited or listened to.”
The most important business of the assembly, however, consisted of the making of new laws and the revision of old ones for the province for the three succeeding years; and, as the Rig and his officers were always in attendance, the hearing and decision of serious causes on appeal from the inferior courts. In the presence of the sovereign and his court the greatest order and decorum were enjoined, and whoever was found to disturb the public peace by violence or fraud was summarily condemned to death; the offence being in some sort adjudged treason, and not condonable by eric fine. The time not devoted to law-making, trials, and traffic was occupied in amusement and various sorts of pastimes; and if the ancient people of Erinn had as much relish for fun and frolic as their descendants, we can well imagine what mirth, sociability and interchange of opinions must have prevailed among such a light-hearted multitude, whose only opportunity for enjoyment and mutual recognition occurred every third year. An old poem, “which,” says O'Curry, “I believe to have been contemporary with the last celebration of the feast, if not of even a more ancient date,” thus enumerates the different classes of persons who attended on such occasions, and the intellectual wares they brought with them for the delectation of the gathering:
“Trumpets, Cruits,[114] wide-mouthed horns,
Cusigs Timpanists, without weariness,
Poets and petty rhymesters;
“Fenian tales of Find[115]—an untiring entertainment—
Destructions, cattle-preys, courtships,
Inscribed tablets and books of trees,[116]
Satires and sharp-edged runes;
“Proverbs, maxims, royal precepts,
And the youthful instruction of Fithal;
Occult poetry, topographical etymologies,
The precepts of Cairpri and of Cormac;
“The Feasts, and the great Feast of Teamar;
Fairs, with the fair of Emania,
Annals there are verified,
Every division into which Erin was divided.”
The Feast of Teamair, or Tara, here alluded to as having constituted one of the subjects of the recitations at Carman, was also triennial, but of a different nature, and involving much higher occupations than those of the provincial fairs or feasts. It was an assembly of the subordinate kings and the nobles for elective, legislative, and judicial purposes; but, though nominally held every three years, was in reality celebrated as often as a new king was to be crowned, a general public law to be promulgated, or when some extraordinary occasion demanded the presence of the chiefs and Rigs before the supreme monarch. Again, many years are known to have elapsed without an assembly or Feis, owing to the existence of internal dissensions or foreign invasions. This assembly is said to have owed its origin to [pg 514] Tuathal the Legitimate, and it is certain that it only ceased to be held when Tara was abandoned as a royal residence in the VIIth century. The court of the Ard-Rig on such occasions was not only attended by the provincial magnates and, in pagan times, by the chief Druids, but by their followers, poets, doctors, and historians, with their respective household guards. It was a knowledge of this custom, doubtless, that led S. Patrick to select the hill of Tara as the place, and the assembly of the Feis as the fitting occasion, upon which to disclose to the darkened minds of the whole people the splendid truths of Christianity.
The palace and adjoining houses of ancient Tara, judging by the extensive traces of their foundations yet remaining, must have been built on a very large scale; but as they were constructed entirely of wood, the buildings proper have long since disappeared. Still, we have accounts, more or less authentic, that collectively they were able to afford shelter and accommodation to many thousands of visitors, and that the barracks alone allowed quarters for twenty-four thousand soldiers. Of the style of architecture of the king's house we have no description, save that it was rectangular, and that its principal room or hall, which was used for deliberations as well as for feasts, was profusely ornamented with carvings in gold, silver, and bronze. Before the introduction of Christianity all buildings were of wood, some square or rectangular, others oval or round. Those of the higher classes were made of solid logs, but the smaller farmers and laborers dwelt in huts made of interlaced wattles or twigs, the interstices closed by mortar made with wet earth and straw. Stone structures were unknown before S. Patrick's time; for, though lime was used as a wash for the interior and exterior of houses, its employment as a cement dates from the Christian ages. Hence there are no pagan ruins to be found in the country. The Round Towers, now proven beyond doubt to have been church belfries, are the most ancient stone memorials existing. It may be also remembered that the Druids had no such places of worship as temples or covered sanctuaries, and whatever rites they performed must have been celebrated in the open air. Indeed, our knowledge of those mysterious people and of their equally occult religious system is merely of a negative character; for, as O'Curry says:
“We only know that they worshipped idols from such examples as that of the idol gods taken into the Druid's bed, so as to influence his visions, as described in Cormac's Glossary, and that of the invocation of the idols in the case of the Teinm Laeghdha; and we know that in certain ceremonies they made use of the yew-tree, the quicken or roan-tree, and of the black-thorn, as in the instance of the ordeal or test of a woman's character by means of fire made of these sacred woods. That the people of ancient Erinn were idolaters is certain, for they certainly adored the great idol called Crom Cruagh, in the plain called Magh Slecht, as I showed on a former occasion. But it is remarkable that we find no mention of any connection between this idol and the Druids, or any other class of priests or special idol-servers. We have only the record of the people, generally, assembling at times to do honor to the idol creation. As little, unfortunately, do we know of the organization of the order of the Druids, if they were indeed an order. They certainly were not connected as such with the orders of learned men or profession of teachers, such as before explained. The Druids were often, however, engaged in teaching, as has been seen; and it would appear that kings and chiefs, as well as learned men, were also frequently Druids, though how or why I am not in a position to explain with certainty [pg 515]at present.... I have refrained from suggesting any theory of my own on the subject. This negative conclusion, nevertheless, I will venture to draw from the whole: that, notwithstanding the singularly positive assertions of many of our own as well as of English writers upon the subject, there is no ground whatever for believing the Druids to have been the priests of any special positive worship; none whatever for imputing to them human sacrifices; none whatever for believing that the early people of Erinn adored the sun, moon, or stars, nor that they worshipped fire; and still less foundation for the ridiculous inventions of modern times (inventions of pure ignorance), concerning honors paid to brown bulls, red cows, or any other cows, or any of the lower animals.”
Next in rank and social importance, if not the equals or superiors of the Druids, were the Ollamhs, or doctors, the Files, or poets, and the Brehons or judges. In the earliest ages these three classes were all included under the term Fileadh, poets, who not only professed philosophy, such as it then was, but recorded history and chronology in verse, and expounded the laws so preserved, in the various local courts and tribunals. A tendency, however, to mystify and confuse the statutes of Tuathal and his successors, led to the expulsion of the children of song from the forum, while the offices about the sovereign, when grave matters were to be considered, fell to the lot of the philosophers. This latter class had also an especial charge of educational matters, and usually superintended personally the training of the children of the Rigs and chiefs. The Ard-Rig, the provincial kings, and the Flaths had their own philosophers, poets, and judges, with their special duties assigned them. Of the first, besides making and preserving regular records, “they were bound by the same laws,” says O'Curry, “to make themselves perfect masters of that history in all its details, and to teach it to the people by public recitals, as well as to be legal referees upon all subjects in dispute concerning history and the genealogies.” No person could be a Brehon without first becoming an Ollamh, and twelve years' study was required for that honor. But the poets, like their tribe in every land and age, were the nobly honored and the most privileged of any order in the government. They flattered kings and satirized them with impunity, charmed the masses with the melody of their songs and the fertility of their imagination; but, while they were generally on the side of popular liberty in their verses, they were always to be found at the tables of the nobles, where good cheer and rich largesses awaited them. However, as their poems were the only vehicles through which the history, traditions, and even laws of the nation could possibly have been transmitted to us, we owe them too much to blame their amiable weaknesses. Like the teacher, when the File travelled about the country he was accompanied by his pupils, and every hospitality was shown to him and them, partly from love of his calling, and not seldom through dread of his satires. Many instances are recorded in popular tales of the dire effects of the poet's wrath, of which sickness, loss of property and reputation, were among the least.
In connection with the courts we find two classes of paid advocates, one the Ebe, attorney, and the other the Aighne, or counsellor. When it is remembered that slander and libel were offences severely punished in the Brehon courts by eric fine, we can admire the grim humor which discriminated against the attorneys, who, as the wise law-givers of old [pg 516] argued, being professional libellers of other men, had no right to exact a fine when their own characters were assailed.
The custom of fosterage, about which so much unfavorable comment has been made by modern ill-informed writers, is fully and clearly explained by O'Curry, who classes it as a part of the educational system of the country, and not, as some erroneously suppose, the partial desertion of children by their parents. In Lecture XVII. he asserts:
“We have ample proof that this fosterage was not a mere indiscriminate custom among all classes of the people, nor in any case one merely confined to the bare physical nurture and rearing of the child, which in early infancy was committed to the care of a nurse and her husband; but that the fosterhood was generally that of a whole family or tribe, and that in very many cases it became a bond of friendship and alliance between two or more tribes, and even provinces. In those cases the fosterers were not of the common class, poor people glad to perform their nursing for mere pay, and whose care extended to physical rearing only. On the contrary, it is even a question, and one not easily settled, whether the term nursing, in the modern acceptation of the word, should be applied at all to the old Gaelic fosterage, and whether the term pupilage would not be more appropriate.... The old Gaelic fosterage extended to the training and education, not only of children up to the age of fourteen, but sometimes of youths up to that of seventeen years.”
One of the chief duties of the foster-father was the military training of the young chieftains. This consisted principally of the management of the horse, either in pairs for the chariot or singly for riding, the use of the casting spear and sling, and the sword exercise. Of strategy the ancient Irish soldiers had no idea, and very little of tactics; so that their battles were hand-to-hand combats, and therefore bloody and generally decisive. Their weapons of bronze or iron, many fine specimens of which we examined years ago in the museum of the Royal Irish Academy, still exhibit evidences of high finish and excellent temper. We do not find any mention of cavalry in the accounts handed down to us of the various battles fought in the earlier centuries, and very slight allusions to defensive armor. Ornaments of gold and other precious metals, such as crowns, collars, torque rings, and shield-bosses, were worn in great profusion and variety, not only by nobles and generals, but by ordinary officers; in fact, so gorgeous are the poets' descriptions of the decorations of their favorite heroes that we might be inclined to accuse them of gross exaggeration had we not also been shown some magnificent antiques of this description, in a perfect state of preservation, by the gentlemen of the academy during several visits made to that depository of Irish antiquities. Some of these valuable decorations are made of native ore, but by far the greater number were manufactured out of the spoils of war—the plunder wrested from the adjacent islands and the coast of France by the numerous expeditions that were fitted out in Ireland in the three or four centuries preceding S. Patrick's mission.
The dress of the higher classes was, it seems, equally magnificent, and each rank was distinguished, not only by the peculiar shape of its garments, but by the number of colors allowed to be worn. Thus, servants had one color; farmers, two; officers, three; women, four; chiefs, five; ollamhs and files, six; kings and queens, seven; and, according to the ancient records, bishops [pg 517] of the Christian Church were afterwards allowed to use all these combined. Red, brown, and crimson, with their shades and compounds, were the colors generally used; green, yellow, blue, and black sometimes, but not frequently. Prof. Sullivan, in that part of his introduction treating of the various dye-stuffs used in ancient Ireland, takes occasion to dissipate some popular errors with regard to national colors. He says:
“Garments dyed yellow with saffron are constantly spoken of by modern writers as characteristic of the Irish. There is no evidence, however, that saffron was at all known by the ancient Irish, and Lenas or Inars of a yellow color are only mentioned two or three times in the principal tales. From what has been shown in the Lectures and in this Introduction about the color of the ancient Irish dress, it will be evident that there was no national as distinguished from clan color for the Lena; a saffron-dyed one, if at all used in ancient times, would be peculiar to a single clan.”
The Lena here spoken of was an inner garment which hung down to the knees like a modern kilt, usually made of linen, and sometimes interwoven with threads of gold. In addition to this were worn a shirt, or Leine; a cloak (Brat); an Inar, or jacket; Triubhas, or trowsers; a Bor, or conical hat; and Cuarans, or shoes made of raw-hide. The costume of the women differed little from that of the men, except that they discarded the triubhas, and wore their lenas and leines longer. “They were, however,” says Sullivan, “distinguished from the men by wearing a veil, which covered the head. This veil was the Caille, which formed an essential part of the legal contents of a lady's work-bag. In a passage from the laws, quoted in the Lectures, it is called ‘a veil of one color’; as if variegated ones were sometimes used.... The white linen cloth still worn by nuns represents exactly both the Irish Caille and the German Hulla.” In many other respects, besides the matter of dress, women were placed on a footing nearly equal to that of men in those remote times; and if their liberal and respectful treatment may be considered one of the tests of civilization, the old Gaels were in refinement far in advance of any other race in pagan Europe, and indeed of many of our own times. We find women not only taking part in public affairs as rulers and generals, but as Druidesses, judges, poets, and teachers. At Tara and the great provincial fairs a separate portion of the grounds was assigned them, so that they could observe the games and enjoy the amusements without interruption; while in the homes of the Rigs and chiefs the best rooms, and sometimes an entire building, called Grianan, or sunny house, was exclusively reserved for their use. Most of the principal places in the country, such as the locations of the great fairs and the sites of royal palaces, were named in their honor, as well as the mountains and rivers and other objects in nature suggestive of symmetry, beauty, and elegance. We also read in the Senchus Mor several very minute and stringent laws protecting their rights of person and property, assigning their dowry before marriage and their separate ownership of property afterwards. They were, in fact, to a great extent pecuniarily independent of their husbands; and though polygamy was tolerated and divorce allowed in pagan times, they were so hedged in by restrictions and conditions that it is more than probable little advantage [pg 518] was taken of the latitude thus afforded both parties.
Being almost exclusively an agricultural people, with very little commerce with the outward world, the food of the ancient Irish was confined to the natural productions of the soil, flesh-meat, milk, and fish. Wheat, spelt-wheat, barley, and oats were produced in abundance, while cattle were so plentiful and so general an article of traffic that in the absence of coin they formed the currency of the country, and in them fines were paid and taxes levied. Butter, milk, and cheese were luxuries, but vegetables, such as leeks, onions, and water-cresses, were to be found growing in the garden of the lowest Fuidir. Beer, likewise, appears to have been the popular drink. Imported wine and native mead, distilled from honey, were considered the aristocratic beverages of the period. That large quantities of the latter were consumed at the triennial feasts there can be no doubt, judging from the tales of the poets; and it was on occasions when it was circling round the board that the Cruits (harps), Timpans, or violins, and Cruiscach, or pipes, the three principal musical instruments of the Gaels, came into play. The poets, too, were there to sing their songs of love and war, and the historians to recite the traditions of the tribes of Erinn. It is not positively known whether the pagan Irish had a written language or alphabet. O'Curry is disposed to believe they had, while Sullivan is of opinion that letters and writing were introduced with Christianity, and that previous to S. Patrick's time all teaching in the ancient schools was oral, and the genealogies and histories were committed to memory and transmitted from father to son. They both, however, agree that there was a system of writing known only to the initiated, now called Ogham, which was inscribed on prepared wood, and engraved on monuments and tombstones, many of which latter, though still well preserved, are illegible to the best antiquarian scholars. The ancient Gaels, like their descendants, had a special reverence for their dead, and indulged in protracted wakes, as well as extensive funerals. In pagan days their funeral ceremonies were most elaborate, but in Christian times these gave way to the solemn offices of the church. Each person was buried according to his rank while living; the corpse was deposited deep in the ground, and a cairn or mound of earth and stone was erected over the grave to mark the spot. We have no reason to suppose that they had even the faintest notion of a future life or of the immortality of the soul, their mythology limiting the supernatural to celebrated Tuatha da Danians, real personages, who had left the surface to inhabit the bowels of the earth, and to fairies, the “good people” of the modern peasantry.
Those, then, were the people, computed to have been about three millions in number in his time, to whom S. Patrick preached the New Law, and whose complete conversion and subsequent undying attachment to Catholicity have puzzled as well as confounded the enemies of the church. Though pagans, they were neither barbarous nor over-superstitious, and their ready appreciation and acceptance of God's mysterious and elaborate Word is the best proof that their hearts were pure and their minds active and comprehensive.