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PHILOSOPHICAL TERMINOLOGY.[67]

II.

In the letter which I ventured to address to you a short time ago concerning the general conditions required in a good English work of philosophy, I made some observations on the importance and difficulty of wielding the popular language in a strictly philosophical manner. As I apprehend that the title of "Philosophical Terminology," under which that letter was made to appear, is scarcely justified by its very limited contents, I beg leave to add a few other considerations on the same subject, that your intelligent readers may find in these additional remarks a confirmation and a further development of what I said about our need of a more copious philosophical language.

There are two words which cannot easily be dispensed with in the metaphysical analysis of created beings; these two words are, in Latin, actus and potentia. Metaphysicians, in fact, conclusively prove that in every created substance there are two essential principles: a principle of activity, which is known under the name of actus, and a principle of passivity, which is styled potentia. These two terms, which are so necessary in metaphysics, and so familiar to all the scholastic philosophers, might be fairly represented in English by "act" and "potency"; though as yet neither "act" nor "potency" is popularly used in this philosophical sense.

The word "act" with us primarily signifies that which is produced by action; for all action is the production, or the position, or the making of an act. But all action implies an agent—that is, a being which is already "in act," with its actual power prepared for action. On the other hand, nothing is formally "in act," but through an intrinsic "act," which is the formal principle of its actuality. Accordingly, the word "act," though primarily known to us as expressing the product of action, must, by metaphysical necessity, be applied also to that from which every agent and every being has its actuality.

Hence, philosophers found it necessary to admit two kinds of "acts"—the essential and the accidental. The essential is that which gives the first actuality, or existence, to a being—dat esse simpliciter. The accidental is that which is received in a subject already existing, and which only gives it an accidental actuality or a mode of being—dat esse secundum quid.

But the essential act (which is also called substantial, though it has a more extensive meaning, as we shall see hereafter) is, moreover, to be distinguished from actual existence. Metaphysicians, indeed, very often speak of existence as an act; and hence, to avoid confusion and equivocation, they are obliged to distinguish the actus essentiæ from the actus existentiæ. Yet, to speak properly, existence is not simply an act; it is the actuality of the being;[68] and, consequently, the distinction which must be admitted between the essential act and the existence of a being is not strictly a distinction between two acts, but between the act which actuates the essential term of the being, and the actual state which results from such an actuation. I will say more on this point when I have explained the use of the word "potency."

The English word "potency" is the equivalent of the Latin potentia. This Latin word, although used most frequently in the sense of "passive principle," is not, however, necessarily connected with passivity more than with activity; and accordingly it has been used as well to designate "active power." Hence, it is obvious that this term, potentia, when employed absolutely without the epithet activa or passiva, is liable to two interpretations, and becomes a source of mischievous equivocations. I do not see what prevented our old Latin philosophers from designating the two kinds of potentia by two different words. Had they constantly used virtus or vis for the potentia activa, and reserved potentia exclusively for the potentia passiva, they would not have mistaken the one for the other, as they sometimes did. Let me quote a few examples of this for our common instruction.

Sanseverino, a very learned man, and one of the best modern scholastics, while arguing against the Scotists, who deny all real distinction between the soul and its faculties, says that if the soul and its faculties are really the same thing, then, "as the soul is always in act, the faculties also must be always in act and never in potency." Whence he infers that "the soul would have no potentiality, and would therefore be a purus actus like God"; which is, of course, a pantheistic absurdity.[69] But evidently this inference has no other foundation than the confusion of the potentia activa with the potentia passiva. The author, in fact, knows perfectly well that no being in which there is potentia passiva can be styled purus actus: when, therefore, he draws the conclusion that the soul, in the Scotistic theory, would be purus actus, he must be understood to mean or imply that all potentia passiva would be excluded from the soul. Yet his premises are concerned with the potentia activa only; and it is quite evident, that from such premises he could not have passed to such a conclusion had he not confounded the two kinds of potentia with one another.

I would remark, also, that in his argument the expression, "The faculties must be always in act," cannot mean that the faculties must be always acting, but only that they are always actual, as the soul itself; and, therefore, the author cannot reasonably conclude that the faculties "would never be in potency" respecting their proper acts. The potentia activa is already an "act," as it is known, since it is called actus primus agendi; and is not called potentia, except as contrasted with its accidental operations. Moreover, a faculty does not cease to be potentia activa, even when it actually performs its operations. When I actually make a syllogism, my faculty of reasoning is "in act," and yet it retains its potentia activa with regard to any number of other syllogisms. It is not true, therefore, that a faculty which is in actual operation ceases to be in potentia activa. Lastly, the soul itself, which, as Sanseverino remarks, is always in act, is nevertheless always in potency also; for the actuality of all contingent being is always potential—that is, liable to modifications of different kinds. Hence, we not only deny the conclusion of the learned author as illegitimate, but affirm that the premises themselves, on which he relies, are untenable. It is the indiscriminate use of the word potentia that vitiates the author's argumentation.

Another great Thomist, Goudin, wishing to prove that in all creatures the power of acting is an accident, argues that potentia et actus sunt idem, quamvis diversimode, and that actus est semper nobilior quam potentia ad eum essentialiter ordinata; whence he concludes that, if a given act is an accident, the active power, whence it proceeds, must needs be an accident too. Here, also, the equivocation is evident. The act is nobilior quam potentia when we compare it with the potentia passiva which is destined to receive it—that is, to be actuated by it—but when an act is compared with the active power from which it proceeds—that is, with the potentia activa—we cannot say that it is nobilior quam potentia ad eum essentialiter ordinata: it is the contrary that is true. Had the author used the word virtus agendi instead of the equivocal word potentia, he would soon have discovered the fallacy of his argument.

I am sorry to say that even S. Thomas sometimes forgets to observe the distinction between potentia activa and potentia passiva; as in the first part of his Summa, where he compares the potentia essendi and the potentia operandi with their respective acts, and establishes a kind of proportion between the two potencies and the two acts.[70] No such proportion can be admitted, unless the potentia operandi and the potentia essendi are both similarly connected with their acts. Yet whilst the potentia operandi is active, the potentia essendi, according to S. Thomas, is passive.[71] They cannot, therefore, be related to their acts in a similar manner. Hence, the terms are not homologous, and the proportion cannot subsist. In another place, the holy doctor argues that, if an act is accidental, the potentia from which it proceeds must be accidental also; because potentia et actus dividunt ens, et quodlibet genus entis, and, therefore, oportet quod ad idem genus referatur potentia et actus.[72] But the potentia which, with the actus, constitutes the being and every class of beings is the potentia passiva; whilst the potentia from which any act proceeds is the potentia activa. The argument, therefore, contains four terms, and proves one thing only, namely, that it is extremely difficult, even for the greatest men, to avoid equivocations when things that are different and opposite are designated by the same term.

In English, the word potentia is commonly represented by "power," to which the epithets of "active" and "passive" have been attached by some writers, in the same manner as was done with the Latin potentia. "Power," says Locke,[73] "may be considered twofold, namely, as able to make or able to receive any change." But "in strictness," says Webster, "passive power is an absurdity in terms. To say that gold has a power to be melted is improper language; yet for want of a more appropriate word, power is often used in a passive sense."

It is not true, however, that "the want of a more appropriate word" really compels us to use the word power in a passive sense. Have we not the word potency? This word exactly answers our purpose. It is not only the exact equivalent of the Latin potentia, but is also the immediate relation of the terms potential, potentially, potentiality, which are already admitted in common philosophical language as expressing capability, passiveness, and liability. These latter words are only subordinate members of a family, of which potency is the head. Therefore, to convey the notion of potentia passiva, we have a more appropriate word than "power," and nothing compels us to employ the absurd expression of "passive power." On the other hand, the remarks above made, on the consequences of the promiscuous use of the word potentia in the active and the passive sense, would suffice to show that the word "power," even if it could be used without absurdity in the passive sense, should, in philosophy, be restricted to the active; as it is most desirable that things which are so thoroughly opposite be expressed by different words. Thus, the word "power" retaining its active meaning, the potentia passiva may very appropriately be styled "potency."

Some will ask, Why should we use the word "potency" in this new sense, while we have already the term "potentiality," which seems to express very exactly the same notion? I answer that the principle of passivity, which we call "potency," is an essential constituent of created beings; whilst "potentiality" is not an essential constituent, but an attribute flowing from the essential constitution of being, on account of the potency which the latter involves. Accordingly, "potentiality" cannot stand for "potency," any more than rationality can stand for reason, or materiality for matter.

From the foregoing considerations, it appears that the words "act" and "potency" cannot be easily dispensed with in metaphysics, and, therefore, should be freely admitted and acknowledged as philosophical terms. As to their definitions, however, we shall have to rely on philosophical treatises rather than on common English dictionaries. The word "act" is indeed to be found in all dictionaries; but, unfortunately, its meaning is restricted to the expression of mere accidents, while substantial acts are ignored altogether. In Fleming's Vocabulary of Philosophy we find: "Act in metaphysics and in logic is opposed to power. Power is simply a faculty or property of anything, as gravity of bodies. Act is the exercise or manifestation of a power or property, the realization of a fact, as the falling of a heavy body." On these words I would incidentally remark that "power" cannot be defined a "faculty"; because, though all faculties are powers, yet there are powers which are not faculties. Again, "power" cannot be defined a "property" without adding some restriction; as there are properties which are not powers. Moreover, the "gravity of bodies" is not a power, as some unphilosophical scientists imagine, but is a simple tendency to fall, owing to the fact that the active power of the earth is actually applied to the passive potency of the body. Nor is it true that in metaphysics or in logic the act is the "exercise or manifestation of a power." Such an exercise and manifestation is action—that is, the position or the production of the act. As to "the falling of a heavy body," it is true that we usually call it an act, but we evidently mean actuality; for, if the falling were an act strictly, then the tendency to fall would be an active power; which it is not. Lastly, the most important metaphysical meaning of the word "act," and of its correlative, "potency," is not given; which, however, is not owing to any oversight of the author, as we have already said that these two words were not used by English writers in this philosophical sense.

In Worcester's and Webster's dictionaries, the word act is said to mean action, exertion of power, and real existence as opposed to possibility. From the preceding remarks, it may be seen that, in metaphysics, none of these three meanings can be considered rigorously accurate.

Act, in the scholastic language, is that which gives existence by formal actuation. Potency is that which, by formal actuation, receives existence. Actuality is the result of the actuation—that is, the very existence of the act in its potency. Actuality, as we have already remarked, was also called actus existentiæ; hence, existence itself was considered as an act received in the essence, and causing it to be. But this view is now generally abandoned, because it has been shown that it is not the existence that entails the reality of the act and the potency, but the real position of the act in its potency that entails the existence of the being. Accordingly, existence is not an act received in the essence, but the result of the position of the essence; and cannot be called an act, except in a logical sense, inasmuch as it gives to the being denominationem existentis.

An act is called essential when it gives the first existence to any essence, be it simple or compound; substantial, when it gives the first existence to a pure potency; accidental, when it gives a mode of being. The distinction between essential and substantial acts will be explained here below, where we examine the different kinds of forms.

Every being acts inasmuch as it is in act, and is acted on inasmuch as it is in potency. Hence, the substantial act is a principle of activity, and the potency a principle of passivity.

The active power of any being, if taken in the concrete, is nothing but its substantial act as ready for exertion, and is called active power, because its exertion is the position or the production of an act. The active power thus considered is, therefore, in reality one of the constituent principles of natural beings; whilst the abstract term activity does not stand for a principle, but for an attribute of the being—that is, for its readiness to act.

The passive potency of any being, if taken in the concrete, is nothing but the term of the substantial act as liable to be acted on, and is called passive or receptive, because it is actuated by the reception of an act. The passive potency, thus considered, is therefore in reality one of the constituent principles of natural beings, whilst the abstract term passivity does not stand for a principle, but for an attribute of the being—that is, for its liability to be acted on.

Every one who is acquainted with metaphysical matters will acknowledge that it is of extreme importance that these terms and others of a like nature, which are continually employed in metaphysical analysis, be clearly understood by all students of philosophy. So long as our language has no definite words by which to designate the essential constituents of things, no hope can be entertained of advancing the interests of metaphysics by means of vernacular books.

Act and potency, in material things, are called form and matter respectively; hence, material substance is said to consist essentially of matter and form. The forms of natural things are usually divided into substantial and accidental. The substantial form is commonly defined as that which gives the first existence to its matter—quæ dat materiæ primum esse, or simpliciter esse. It is sometimes defined, also, as that which gives the first existence to a thing—quæ dat primum esse rei. But this second definition is open to misconstruction; because, when the thing in question is a physical compound having a number of material parts, the form that gives to it—that is, to the compound essence—its first existence is its physical composition, which is not a substantial, but an essential, form, as we shall see presently.

The accidental form is defined as that which gives an accidental mode of being—quæ dat esse secundum quid. This definition is universally admitted; but it is a remarkable fact that the examples of accidental forms given by most philosophers do not support it. Thus, the form of a statue and the form of a column are not forms giving to the marble any accidental mode of being, but are the very modes of being, which have resulted in the marble from the reception of suitable accidental acts. Therefore, what is called the form of a statue is not a form giving a mode of being, but the mode itself, on account of which we give to the marble the name of a statue. Suarez and others have indeed pointed out the necessity of distinguishing the forms dantes esse from the forms dantes denominationem; yet, even to this day, in our philosophical treatises, the definition of the former is almost exclusively illustrated by examples of the latter. True forms are acts, whilst modes of being are actualities; and therefore modes of being should not be called forms, but formalities. As, however, the word form is in general use in this last sense also, the best thing we can do is to retain the term, and add to it a suitable epithet. I would call them resultant forms, or consequential forms; and in the same manner, when actuality is styled act, I would call it consequential act, or complementary act, that it may not be confounded with act proper.

It is also necessary to make a well-marked distinction between substantial and essential forms. The necessity of this distinction is sufficiently shown by the very existence of the two scholastic definitions of form. In fact, two definitions imply two concepts. The first definition, Forma est id quod dat primum esse materiæ, strictly belongs to the substantial form, as every one knows; but the second, Forma est id quod dat primum esse rei, is more general, and extends to all essential forms, be they substantial or not. Thus, we can say that velocity is the essential form of movement, though, of course, it is not a substantial form, as movement is not a substance.

The same distinction is to be admitted with regard to natural compounds, at least in the opinion of those philosophers who oppose the Aristotelic theory of substantial generations, or teach that bodies are made up of primitive, unextended elements. Indeed, if chemical combination does not destroy the essence of the combining substances, it is obvious that the compound substance which arises out of the combination will have no special form, except the combination itself; and such a form, however essential to the compound substance, cannot be a substantial form in the sense of the Peripatetics; because it gives existence to the compound nature only, and not to its matter. Again, if the molecule of a primitive body, as hydrogen, is nothing more than a system of material points or elements connected with one another by dynamical ties, and subject to a law of vibratory movement, which allows the molecule to contract and dilate, then it is evident that the essential form of such a molecule will be its specific composition; for the composition is the immediate constituent of all material compound. Accordingly, since the scientific views which lead to these conclusions are widely received, and very well founded on chemical and other data, and can be philosophically established by the very principles of ancient metaphysics, the said distinction between substantial and essential forms is to be acknowledged as a very important one in questions connected with modern science. Lastly, essential forms are to be admitted, not only in natural, but also in artificial and in moral, compounds. A clock has its essential form, without which it would cease to be a clock; a family has its essential form, without which it would cease to be a family; and yet it would be ridiculous to talk of a clock or a family as having a substantial form. It is, therefore, necessary to divide all true forms into substantial, essential, and accidental, and to place in a separate class all the so-called resultant forms above mentioned.

Thus, the substantial form is that which gives the first being to matter. This definition comes from Aristotle himself, and has been universally received by all metaphysicians.

The essential form is that which gives to a thing its specific nature. This definition coincides with that of the substantial form whenever the specific nature of which we treat is physically simple—that is, without composition of material parts—for, in fact, such a simple nature receives its species from the same form that gives the first being to its matter. Hence, the essential form and the substantial form are one and the same thing so long as there is question of simple or primitive beings. But the definition of the essential form is no longer equivalent to that of the substantial form when the specific nature constituted by it is physically compounded of material parts; because such a compound nature receives its species from its specific composition, which is not a substantial form, though it is essential to the specific compound.

The accidental form is that which gives to its subject an accidental mode of being, or an esse secundum quid, according to the language of the schools.

The so-called resultant form is the actuality resulting from the position of any true form. As, therefore, true forms are either substantial, essential, or accidental, so, also, are all the resultant forms. From the substantial form results the actuality of the primitive being, which, as primitive, is always free from material composition; from the essential form results the actuality of every specific nature, which involves composition of material parts; and from the accidental form results the actual modification of the subject in which it is received.

I have dwelt purposely on these considerations, because the word form, and its derivatives, formal, formally, formality, etc., are variously employed, and sometimes loosely, in philosophy, and because, without a clear and distinct notion of the different kinds of forms, many fundamental questions of metaphysics cannot be rightly understood. I might say nearly as much respecting the word matter, which is the metaphysical correlative of form; but it will suffice to remark that matter, in philosophy, always means a receptive potency which is actuated by a form; so that, if the form is accidental, the word matter stands for material substance itself as receptive, because it is the substance that receives accidental forms; if the form is essential in the sense above explained, then the word matter means the totality of the material parts required for the constitution of any given specific compound, including their actual disposition to receive the form in question; and if the form is substantial, then the word matter expresses only one of the constituent principles of primitive material substance—that is, the potential term of substance; which is first actuated by such a form.

The word matter is used analogically in many other senses, which are given by our lexicographers, who, however, omit to mention matter as that potency which receives its first existence through the substantial form. Webster says: "Matter is usually divided by philosophical writers into three kinds or classes: solid, liquid, and aeriform." This statement is not correct. Philosophical writers admit that bodies are either solid, liquid, or aeriform; but they do not admit that the matter of which bodies and their molecules are made up is either solid, or liquid, or aeriform. Ice is solid, water is liquid, and vapor is aeriform; and yet the matter in all of them is identically the same. It is impossible, therefore, for philosophical writers to divide matter into liquid, solid, and aeriform. The philosophical division of matter has always been into materia informis, or prima, or actuabilis—that is, matter conceived as void of all substantial form; and materia formata, or secunda, or actuata—that is, matter actuated by, and existing under, a substantial form.

As I am not now writing a treatise on matter, I will dismiss this subject with only two observations. The first is, that the words first matter and second matter are indispensable in metaphysics, and, therefore, must be adopted in our English philosophical language, unless, indeed, we prefer to make use of the original Latin words. The other is, that in reading the metaphysical works of the scholastics, when we find the word materia with the epithet prima, we should carefully ascertain that the epithet is not misapplied. For, it has been observed with reason that most of the abstruseness and uncertainty inherent in the old explanation of physical questions arises from the fact that the matter, which was supposed to be actually under its form, and therefore in act, was very frequently called materia prima, though it is known that "nothing that is in act can be called by such a name."[74] This observation is of the greatest importance, since it is evident that nothing but perpetual confusion can arise from contradictory definitions.

To express the relation existing between act and potency, or between form and matter, the philosophical Latin possesses many good phrases, such as the following: Forma dat esse materiæ, actuat materiam, informat materiam, terminatur ad materiam; and, reciprocally, materia accipit esse a forma, actuatur a forma, informatur a forma, terminat formam. In English, I presume, we are allowed to say that the form informs its matter, that the form gives existence to the matter, and that the form actuates the matter. But can we say that the form is terminated to its matter, and that the matter terminates, that is, completes its form? This manner of speaking may be considered awkward, nevertheless its mode of expressing the relation of the form to its matter is so remarkable for its philosophical precision, clearness, and universality, that I would not hesitate to adopt it in philosophy. To say that the form is terminated to its matter, is to say that the matter is the potential term actuated by the form. The philosophical notion of term (terminus), which is susceptible of a general application to all conceivable beings, is a very important one in philosophy as well as in theology; and since it can be made quite intelligible even to the dullest of students, I think that in metaphysical speculation the use of the words term, termination, to terminate, terminability, terminativity, etc., cannot but greatly help both teachers and students in their efforts to explain correctly a number of ontological relations which it would be difficult to express as simply and as correctly by other words.

The word term in the popular use means the extremity of anything, or that where anything ends. The spot of ground where a stone is allowed to fall is the term of the falling; the drop of rain acted on by gravity is the term of the action by which it is attracted; the tree at which I am looking is the term of my vision; the concept which I form of anything is the term of my thought. But all these terms correspond to accidental acts, whereas the term which we ultimately reach in the analysis of substance, is always substantial, as being intrinsic to the substantial act of which it is the term. Hence, when we say that the matter is the term of the form, or in general that the potency is the term of its act, we mean not only that the act, or the form, reaches the potency or the matter, but that the potency or the matter acquires its first reality and actuality by the very position of the act or form which it terminates; in the same manner as the centre of a sphere acquires its first actuality through the simple position of a spherical form. Accordingly, the words act and term are correlative; the act actuates, the term is actuated, and the formal reason of their correlation is actuation. This actuation is not efficient, but formal; that is, the act, not by its action, but by itself, entails the immediate existence of its intrinsic term, just as the spherical form by itself, and not by any action, entails the immediate existence of a centre. As a sphere without a centre, so an act without a term is an utter impossibility. Hence the termination of the act to its term is nothing less than the very constitution of any essence that has a proper and complete existence. For this reason, I am of opinion that the phrase "the form is terminated to the matter, and the act to its potency," is the best we can adopt in speaking of created things, however new it may be to English ears.

With regard to the peculiar construction of this verb with the preposition to instead of the prepositions by, at, or in, which are in general use, I will only remark that these latter prepositions are not suitable to express what we need. The termination at connotes a limit of time or space, as every one knows. The termination in connotes a change or successive transformation of that which is terminated into that in which it ends, as when a quarrel terminates in murder. The termination by connotes either an obstacle to further advance, or at least a positive entity existing independently of the termination itself: it cannot therefore express the fact that a substantial term receives its very first actuality by the termination of the act. On the other hand, this fact is perfectly expressed by saying that the act is terminated to its term; and since no other English phrase has yet been found, so far as I know, which can express the fact equally well, I think that we need have no scruple in enriching our philosophical language with this old scholastic phrase.

"The resources of our noble language in philosophy," says a well-known American writer, "are surpassed by no ancient or modern tongue, unless the Greek be an exception. It is capable in philosophy of receiving and assimilating all the riches of the Greek, Latin, Italian, and French languages, while it has in its Teutonic roots the wealth of the German."[75] This is a great encouragement to English philosophical writers. Indeed, to say that among the resources of the English language for philosophy we may reckon its capability of receiving and assimilating all the riches of other learned languages, is to tell us that our resources are still in a potential state, and therefore that no one can reasonably blame us for freely adopting from other languages as many terms and phrases as we need to express our thoughts with philosophical rigor. Yet the task, for obvious reasons, is extremely difficult, as it requires a degree of judgment which unfortunately is common only to the few. "The English language," adds the same writer, "only needs Catholic restoration and culture to be the richest and noblest language ever written or spoken. But it deteriorates, as does everything else, in the hands of Protestants and unbelieving Englishmen and Americans." At least two things are certain; first, that if the English language ever becomes a perfect instrument of philosophical education, it will be due to Catholic writers, for they alone will be able to utilize for its healthy development all the treasures of the scholastic terminology; second, that only in proportion as such a development will be carried on, shall we acquire the means of training our youthful generation in a vernacular course of philosophy. This thought should rouse our dormant energies into action. It was with this object that I undertook to say a few words on philosophical terminology. Our language may be capable of receiving and assimilating all the riches of other languages; but so long as such an assimilation is in abeyance, the language remains poor and imperfect, nay, it continues to "deteriorate, as does everything else, in the hands of Protestants and unbelieving Englishmen and Americans." We still need many philosophical words. I have given a few examples of such a need in the preceding pages.

That we also need a number of new phrases is undeniable; but I will not enter into the discussion of so difficult a subject. I prefer simply to mention a few Latin phrases, which are much used by Catholic philosophers or theologians, and will allow the reader himself to attempt their translation without altering their philosophical meaning, and without infringing upon English usages. Translate:

Actus et potentia conspirant in unitatem essentiæ.

Actio motiva terminatur materialiter ad mobile, et formaliter ad motum.

Sicut se habet actus substantialis ad esse simpliciter, ita se habet actus accidentalis ad esse secundum quid.

Facultas ordinatur ad operationem ut actus primus ad secundum.

Quidquid sistit in suis essentialibus, nullo superaddito, est unum per se.

Intellectus attingit objectum sub ratione veri, voluntas autem sub ratione boni.

Actus et potentia principiant ens principiatione metaphysica.

Relatio est id cuius totum esse est ad aliud se habere.

Motus est actus existentis in potentia ut in potentia.

These and such like phrases will afford matter for a great exercise of patience to him who will undertake to translate them faithfully. To conspire into unity, to be terminated to a movable object, to be ordered to the operation, etc., are scarcely good English expressions: yet it is not easy to see what other phrases would be calculated to express the same thoughts in an unobjectionable manner.

I will conclude by giving the opinion of a competent authority on this very point. The Rev. F. Hill, in the preface to his substantial work lately published under the title of Elements of Philosophy, says: "The Latin of the schools, besides being brief, is also peculiarly capable of expressing precisely, clearly, and comprehensively matters which it is difficult to utter through the less accurate vernacular in terms that are neither obscure nor ambiguous." And speaking of the Latin philosophical axioms and sentences, which he inserted in his treatise with their English translation, he remarks: "It was not, however, an easy task, in some instances, to reproduce them with fidelity in the English phraseology, as the classic scholar will readily see from the result." Certainly, the task was not an easy one. Yet the author has most creditably carried out his object. May his example encourage others to cultivate the same field, and thus contribute towards developing "the resources of our noble language," and making it a fit channel for sound philosophical education.

A Friend of Philosophy.