We are sorry to be obliged to say that, in our judgment, F. Louage's work cannot be exempted by the most impartial criticism from either theological or philosophical censure for radical unsoundness on most important points, and besides this, that it cannot stand the test of even literary criticism, and is, therefore, wholly unsuitable for use as a text-book in Catholic schools. We give the author full credit for good intentions, and attribute his failure to accomplish his laudable undertaking simply to the fact that he has attempted a very difficult task, in which very few have achieved a remarkable success, without having duly estimated its arduous nature, and made the requisite preparation for coping with the formidable obstacles in the way of a happy issue.

We are bound to sustain the judgment we have pronounced by solid proofs and reasons, in view of the great importance of the subject to Catholic teachers and pupils, and this duty we shall now endeavor to fulfil, in accordance with the sentiment of the trite old philosophical adage:

And, first, we think that the author has underrated the average aptitude of our young men for philosophical studies. We have not the pleasure of knowing F. Louage's pupils or their literary attainments; but we presume that they are not worse off than the pupils of other Catholic colleges, where the philosophical education receives a far greater development than his “text-book for the use of schools” seems to warrant. We know, of course, that the literary instruction hitherto given in the public schools of this country is too light and superficial to serve as a fair preparation for philosophical pursuits; and we admit that even our Catholic schools and colleges, though certainly superior to most public institutions of a like kind, may yet complain in some measure of the same evil; but, notwithstanding this, we believe that those among our youths who feel any inclination to dedicate themselves to the study of philosophy have sufficient ability to master ten times as much of philosophical matter as F. Louage's text-book contains.

The London Tablet, November 22, 1873, remarks that our author “does not go very deeply into anything.” This remark is true. Many important philosophical doctrines are not even mentioned by him; his book says nothing about universals, nothing about the essential constituents of being, nothing about real and logical distinction, nothing about simplicity and composition, nothing about quantity and quality. We do not think that any one can aspire to the honor of being a philosopher without a clear and distinct knowledge of these subjects, and of the many momentous questions connected with them.

Again, the “text-book” is altogether silent about creation, its true notion, its possibility, its reality, and its final end—a silence which is all the more remarkable, as every one knows how pertinaciously this Christian and philosophical dogma is attacked every day by the adepts of the rationalistic schools. The “text-book” ignores cosmology altogether; and therefore it does not even allude to any theory concerning the constitution of bodies, the nature of matter, the laws of physical causation, or the conditions of natural phenomena. Neither is anything said in particular about the origin of the human soul—a subject concerning which many ancient and modern errors should have been pointed out and refuted; nor anything about that important truth that the soul is the form of the body; nor anything about the scholastic view of the origin of ideas—a view which the author should not have silently passed over, but was obliged to refute before concluding, as he does, in favor of the exploded ontologistic system.

In his theodicy we have sought in vain for any mention of a positive conservation of creatures, or of God's immediate concurrence with all creatures in their operations. We only found a few remarks, altogether unsatisfactory, on the “influence” of God over the free actions of man. The “text-book” is equally deficient in ethics, where the whole discussion about the ultimate end of man is entirely forgotten, although it is unquestionably one of the cardinal points of moral philosophy. Natural rights are not even mentioned; habits, virtues, and passions are likewise absolutely ignored.

An elementary course of philosophy, to be really useful, should be nothing less than an accurate summary of some complete standard work already accepted and recognized by good philosophical and theological authorities; so that the student may know that, in case of need, he can, by referring to the latter, solve the doubts and difficulties now and then arising from the incompleteness and brevity of the former. We have many such courses of philosophy in the Latin language. They are the work of patient writers, who carefully collected and methodically condensed in their books the learning and the wisdom of centuries for the benefit of those who needed an introduction to the philosophical discipline. Any student who can make use of such Latin books perceives, while going through his course of philosophy, that he is brought into constant relation with the most eminent thinkers of the classical philosophical ages, knows that their works are always accessible to him, and is gratified to think that their recognized authority affords him a solid guarantee against the subreption of fallacious doctrines. When such conditions as these are realized, it is evident that an elementary course of philosophy may be very useful indeed. But such is not the case with an English course of philosophy designed as a text-book for those who do not understand Latin. Such a text-book cannot refer the English student who knows nothing but English to other complete and approved works of philosophy; for we have none such in our language.

It seems to us that before we can employ a good English text-book of philosophy for the use of schools to the best advantage, we must be provided with a great, sound, and exhaustive philosophical work in our own language, to which the student would refer for all those questions and difficulties which cannot be sufficiently explained in an elementary course. We think that even F. Hill's English Elements of Philosophy, excellent as it is, needs to be supplemented by a higher English philosophical work. Those of his pupils who cannot consult the Latin volumes of the schoolmen may frequently remain in doubt as to the proper settlement of many important questions which their professor did not judge necessary or possible to examine thoroughly in his valuable book; and we have no doubt that all professors of philosophy will agree with us that such a great English work as we suggest—a very arsenal of good philosophical weapons—is one of the greatest necessities of our time and of our country. Without it, all our philosophical efforts are doomed to be more or less insufficient and unsuccessful.

His definition of possibility, as “the agreement of the attributes which constitute a being, in such a way that its existence does not involve any contradiction,” we do not approve, not exactly for the reason adduced by Dr. Brownson, that the non-existent has no attributes, but because the definition considers the attributes as “constituents” of being (which they are not), and because the word “agreement” should either be replaced by “non-repugnance,” or at least qualified by the epithet “intellectual,” referring to the divine intellect, in which all possibilities are ideally contained.

That “the essence of a being consists of the collection of its essential attributes,” as the author of the “text-book” says (p. 7), is certainly a great error. The attributes of a being are not the material components of its essence, nor do they precede the essence; it is, on the contrary, from the essence itself that all the attributes flow. The essence of any given being is nothing else than “the ratio of a given act to its term,” as has been clearly established by a writer in The Catholic World, March, 1874, and the attributes of any given being are nothing else than different aspects of the actuality of its essence.

It is no less erroneous to say that “a genus is a collection of beings having one or more attributes common to each” (p. 8). This definition might be admitted in natural history; but, in philosophy, genus is not a collection, nor is it conceived by composition, but by abstraction. Genus is usually defined to be “a ratio which can be found in many things, and be predicated of each of them when an incomplete answer is given to the question What is it?” To confound the universal with the collective is inexcusable, we think, in a “text-book” of philosophy.

“A species,” says the author, “is a collection of beings belonging to one and the same genus, but having particular and constitutive properties” (p. 8). Same remark as above: Species, in philosophy, is not a collection, but is “a ratio which can be found in many things, and be predicated of each of them when a complete answer is given to the question, What is it?” Species, like genus, is a universal.

“Science ... is objective, when we consider it as existing in the object contemplated” (p. 9). Can science be considered as existing in the moon?

“Art is the application of science to external things according to determined rules” (p. 9). If so, then all artists and artisans should be men of science; which, unhappily, is not true. Art is usually and rightly defined as Recta ratio factibilium—“a right method of making anything” with or without the application of science.

“Logic is the first part of philosophy—the part which treats of the first efforts of the human mind to discover truth” (p. 17). We think that apprehension, judgment, and reasoning, which are the proper object of logic, are no efforts of the human mind, but very natural and spontaneous operations.

“An idea may be considered as existing either in the mind or out of it” (p. 18). It is very improper to give the name of idea to anything out of the mind, as words, gestures, and other outward natural or conventional signs.

“Ideas are, first, either true or false. They are true when they conform with their objects, false when they do not. But since this conformity is always with the objects as represented in our minds, and not as they may be in reality, we may, with this explanation, admit the opinion of those who pretend that there are no false ideas” (p. 20). This explanation has no grounds. Ideas are never compared with the objects as represented in our minds. Such a comparison would have no meaning; for the object as represented in our minds is nothing else than a subjective form identical with the idea itself. When philosophers say that there are no false ideas, they mean that ideas always conform to their object as it shows itself. This is the common and true doctrine. Even the author himself, probably forgetful of what he had said in this passage, teaches, a few pages later, that “we cannot err in perceiving or in feeling” (p. 23).

“An idea is distinct when it can be readily separated from any other idea, ... and is confused when the object cannot be distinctly determined” (p. 21). We believe that ideas are called “distinct,” not when they can be readily separated from one another (a thing which we cannot even conceive), but when they represent distinctly their object in all its particulars. In the contrary case, they are called “confused.”

“The extension of an idea signifies the whole collection of the individuals which the same idea embraces” (p. 21). This is false. The extension of an idea is the range of its universality; and we have already remarked that universality is not a collection of individuals. Moreover, it is comprehension that “embraces” whatever it comprehends, while extension embraces nothing, but only “reaches” potentially the terms to which it extends, inasmuch as the idea is applicable to them.

“When the mind, after having compared two ideas, declares their consistency or their inconsistency, it makes a judgment” (p. 23). The mind properly compares, not the ideas themselves, but their objects as cognized. Two ideas may be found consistent, and yet no judgment be made. Thus, I see that the idea of whiteness is consistent with the idea of paper; but does it follow that my mind judges the paper to be white? Not at all. It might as well judge the paper to be green; for the idea of green is no less consistent with the idea of paper. It is therefore evident that the mind in judging does not declare the consistency or inconsistency of two ideas, but affirms the mutual inclusion or exclusion of two objective terms as apprehended.

“Nothing is more obscure or less useful than such classifications (of categories)” (p. 24). The author should have been loath to condemn what all great philosophers have praised. He might have considered that classification, as in all the other sciences, so also in philosophy, brings clearness, and that clearness is very useful.

“Reasoning is said to be immediate when no comparison is needed” (p. 30). How can there be reasoning without the comparison of two terms with a third?

“Method is that operation of the mind, etc.” (p. 44). Method is the order followed in the operation; the operation itself is the use of method.

“Induction ... is an operation of the mind inducing us to affirm, etc.” (p. 46). Why “inducing us”? It is the conclusion that is induced, not ourselves.

“The criterion of certitude is the sign by which certitude is perfectly distinguished from error” (p. 52). We remark, that there are criteria of truth, but not properly of certitude. Certitude is the firm adhesion of the mind to the truth made known to it, and needs no criterion, because it certifies itself by its very existence. The author says that “certitude is at the same time a state and an act of the mind. As a state, it may be defined to be a disposition by which the mind tends to adhere firmly to the known truth” (p. 50). But this is a great mistake. First, the act of adhering to truth is an act of judging, not an act of certitude. Secondly, the state of certitude is not a disposition by which the mind tends to adhere to truth. So long as the mind tends to adhere, there is no adhesion, and therefore no certitude. Certitude is the rest of the mind in the known truth.

“Reason is a perception” (p. 62). It is superfluous to remark that reason is a faculty, and no perception is a faculty.

“Consciousness cannot be deceived, although it may deceive” (p. 62). How can consciousness deceive? And if it can deceive, on what ground does the author immediately add: “Hence consciousness gives true certitude”?

“Common sense is nothing else than that general knowledge of first notions or principles which is found in all men” (p. 65). Common sense, according to Webster, is that power of the mind which, by a kind of instinct or a short process of reasoning, perceives truth, the relation of things, cause and effect, etc., and hence enables the possessor to discern what is right, useful, or proper, and adopt the best means to accomplish his purpose. This definition, or rather description, is wonderfully correct. That kind of instinct, in fact, which the Scotch philosophers wrongly consider as blind, is really nothing less than a short process of reasoning, which carries evidence within itself. Reasoning, when formal—that is, when its premises and its conclusion present themselves distinctly and in a logical form, as in the scientific demonstration—carries within itself what may be styled reflex evidence; and, when informal—that is, when the conclusion and its grounds present themselves as implied in one another without assuming the formal shape of an argument—it carries within itself what may be called direct evidence; and because it is in this second manner that men commonly acquire their first convictions, this shorter and informal process of reasoning is called reasoning of common sense. Accordingly, common sense is not merely “a general knowledge,” but a source of general knowledge, extending to all conclusions that are evident but informal, and especially to moral dictates, such as “Good is to be done,” “Evil is to be shunned,” “God is to be honored,” etc., which in fact have ever been known by the special name of judgments of common sense—sensus naturæ communis.

“The laws of nature, considered individually, are contingent” (p. 76). Would they cease to be contingent if they were not considered individually?

“Metaphysics literally means above nature, and nature here signifies the material world” (p. 81). These two assertions do not agree with the common notion of metaphysics, and have been refuted in The Catholic World for December, 1873.

“Special metaphysics has been called pneumatology” (p. 81). Pneumatology is only a part of special metaphysics. Every one knows that cosmology and anthropology belong to special metaphysics no less than natural theology.

“In this dissertation (ontology) we consider being as abstracted from existence” (p. 81). Ontology does not consider being as abstracted from existence, but considers being as such, and therefore as existing either in the order of things, or at least in the order of ideas. It is as impossible to conceive being as abstracted from existence as to conceive a circle as abstracted from rotundity.

“Some existence must have existed before any possibility” (p. 84). We do not like the expression “existence exists,” as we would not like this other, “velocity runs.” Moreover, possibilities are co-eternal with God; it is therefore incorrect to say that some existence must have existed before them.

“The condition is the difficulty to be conquered in order to obtain the effect” (p. 86). By no means. Is the presence of the object a difficulty to be conquered in order to see it?

“The end ... has been improperly called the final cause” (p. 87). Why “improperly”?

“Modification ... is the substance appearing to us with such or such determined form” (p. 89). Quite absurd. Modification is not the substance, but the accidental form itself, no matter whether appearing or not appearing to us.

“Modification cannot exist without substance, nor substance without modification” (p. 90). This proposition is too universal. Would the author admit modifications in the divine substance?

“Some authors divide infinite into the infinite actu, or the actual infinite, ... and the infinite potentia, or the potential or virtual infinite, which can be infinitely increased or diminished. But certainly this division cannot be accepted, since the infinite and a substance which can be increased are two terms involving contradiction” (p. 91). What the author calls “some authors” are all the schoolmen. We put to him the following question: Will the human soul have a finite or an infinite duration? If finite, it must have an end; but, if it has no end, it cannot but be the contradictory of finite—that is, infinite. Yet this infinite duration is successive; it is therefore not actually, but potentially, infinite. Hence the division of the schoolmen can and must be accepted. The author thinks that the potential infinite is not infinite, but indefinite; but surely what has no end is infinite, not indefinite, although it is conceived by us indefinitely, because it transcends our comprehension. The indefinite is not that which has no end, but that of which the end remains undetermined.

“That we have in our mind the idea of the infinite is certain.... Evidently it has been placed in our mind by God himself, since the finite could not give the idea of the infinite” (p. 91, 92). We undoubtedly have a notion of the infinite; but the author gratuitously assumes that this notion is an idea placed in our minds from without, while the fact is that such a notion is not an idea, but a concept of our mind, or a result of intellectual operation. Of course, the finite cannot give us the idea of the infinite; but from the finite we can, and we do, form a concept of the infinite. This is the true and common doctrine. We cannot undertake to give in this place a refutation of ontologism; we only remark that the ontologistic theory is so generally repudiated that it should not find a place in a text-book for the use of schools.

“A material being is one which is essentially extensive and inert” (p. 92). If so, how can the author consider as “more acceptable” the view of Leibnitz, that “a monad is essentially unextensive”? (p. 93).

“The properties of a being are those parts which constitute the being” (p. 93). We have already observed that the being is constituted by its principles, and not by its properties.

“A being is true when it agrees with its own attributes” (p. 94). It would be more philosophical to say that a being is true when its constituent principles agree with one another.

“A bad action or a sin is something merely negative” (p. 95). False. The physical action is positive, and its sinfulness is not a negation, but a privation, as theologians know.

“We may define relation, in general, to be a property pertaining to a being when compared with another being” (p. 95). This is a wrong definition. Relation can hardly be called a property. Distance and time are relations; yet no one would dream of calling them properties.

“Identity is the perseverance of a being in the same state” (p. 96). The author should have said “in the same entity”; for a mere change of state does not destroy identity.

“Space is virtually (potentia) infinite, using the word infinite, as we have before explained, in the sense of indefinite. It is also immense and infinitely divisible” (p. 97). The author might have considered that immensity is infinity; and therefore, if space is immense, it is infinite, and not indefinite.

“Time is the duration of a being, or the permanence of its existence” (p. 97). Without successivity there is no time; and therefore the definition of time given by the author is essentially defective.

“Duration without an end ... is the same as immortality” (p. 98). If the earth is to last without an end, shall we call it immortal?

“Perfections are modifications of beings” (p. 107). This proposition, as understood by the author, who extends it to all the perfections of contingent beings, is evidently false.

“The Scotists teach that there is a real distinction among God's attributes” (p. 115). By no means. The Scotists would never have taught such a gross error. They taught that the distinction between God's absolute attributes was a formal, and not a real, distinction.

“For God, the interior acts are those whose object is himself” (p. 123). There are not many interior acts in God, as the author implies, but one permanent act only.

“It appears difficult to reconcile the immutability of God with his liberty. Three systems have been formed for this purpose, but they are not satisfactory” (p. 124). If the author had considered that God's liberty is all ad extra, and not ad intra, he would have seen that he had no right to qualify as he does the theological solution of the present difficulty. Each of the three solutions is satisfactory, at least in this sense: that each of them sets at naught the objections of the opponents. This is all we need. As to which of the three solutions is the best, it is not our duty to decide.

“Immensity means the same as omnipresence” (p. 130). This is not true. Omnipresence is relative, and its range is measured by the actual existence of creatures, as it does not extend beyond creation; while immensity is absolute, and transcends all created things.

“But Molina and his disciples contend that with such a system (S. Thomas's) it is impossible to defend human liberty” (p. 133). Here Molina and his disciples are represented as the decided adversaries of the Angelic Doctor. It is not fair. The author should have remembered that S. Thomas's doctrine is variously explained by various writers, and that it is possible to be a follower of S. Thomas without being a Thomist in the usual sense given to this word.

“Veracity consists in this: that a being can neither deceive nor be deceived” (p. 134). Shall we deny the author's veracity because he has been sometimes deceived?

“Justice is the attribute according to which we give to others what belongs to them” (p. 135). Justice with us is a virtue, not an attribute; with God, justice is an attribute, but does not consist in giving to others what belongs to them; it consists in giving to others what the order of reason demands.

“Providence is, therefore, a continuous creation” (p. 137). The mistake is evident. It is conservation, not providence, that is thus defined.

“The action of God upon us during life is constant, and this is what we mean by his providence” (p. 137). This is another mistake. The author confounds the notion of providence with that of concursus.

“In regard to its wrong use (of liberty), God cannot have an immediate, but only a mediate, influence on man's actions, in the sense that he has granted liberty of which a bad use is made against his suggestions. His sanctity forbids that he should act immediately in that case” (p. 138). Not at all. God immediately concurs to all our actions, whether good or bad, as every theologian knows, inasmuch as they are physical actions; and concurs neither immediately nor mediately to their badness, because their badness is nothing but a privation, and therefore requires no efficient cause.

The author misrepresents (pp. 138, 139) the doctrine of the Molinists concerning the influence (concursus) of God upon our actions. He says that this influence, according to the Molinists, “is positive and direct, but not on our will,” and “consists in affording a concourse of circumstances the most suitable for the determination.” The author may have found this interpretation of Molina's doctrine in some old book; but it is known that the Molinists have always admitted God's influence “on our will,” though they never admitted the physical predetermination; and it is no less certain that none of them maintain that “a concourse of circumstances” suffices to explain God's influence on our free actions.

And here we stop. We have given sixty passages of F. Louage's book, by which it is manifest that his course of philosophy is as sadly deficient in philosophical accuracy as it is glaringly incomplete in its survey of the philosophical topics. It is to be regretted that a man of his facility in writing has not devoted himself to some subject more congenial to his talents. Such books as this are a mistake. A philosophy which is not precise in its definitions nor deep in its bearings can only do harm. Such a philosophy will certainly not enable the young student successfully to uphold truth, nor make him proof against sophistry, nor afford him any guidance whatever in after-life. It will, on the contrary, lay him open to temptation and seduction, as it will open his eyes to many objections which he has not the power to solve. Indeed, unpretending common sense is safer for individuals and for nations than a superficial philosophical training. A sad experience shows this to be a fact. It was shallow philosophy that most powerfully aided the spread of rationalism and infidelity in France, Germany, and other European nations. America needs no such thing.

We need thorough and comprehensive philosophical teaching in accordance with the tradition of the schools which have been formed and directed by the highest ecclesiastical authority, and which shall be conducted by men thoroughly competent for the task. The only fruit our youth can gather from any other system will be noxious in its effects both on their minds and their morals. Yet, as we cannot remain idly waiting and doing nothing until the perfect system of education descends from heaven, we cannot dismiss this important matter without a few more remarks upon the practical course to be pursued under our present disadvantages.

This leads us to remark that the religious women who are dedicated to the work of higher instruction need themselves better preparation for their elevated and important task than they can at present receive in convents. Beyond their previous education in the convent-school, which prepares them only to give what they have received, they can at present proceed no further, except by private study, for which both time and proper books are lacking. Lectures by learned priests, which advanced pupils might attend, would be the most effectual means of giving this training. And as the principal object of these higher studies is not a mere intellectual culture, but education in the principles and doctrines of the Catholic religion, there is need of more thorough doctrinal, and we might even say theological instruction in convent-schools, from priests who can devote a large part of their time and labor to a truly pastoral care of this choice and precious portion of Christ's flock—religious women and the young girls under their maternal care. There are many things to be amended and improved in all departments of Catholic education. Emendemus in melius quod ignoranter peccavimus.