direct translation of some classical passage, are we to suppose that he had the original hunted up for him? On the contrary, we all feel sure those things glided into the body of the poetry; and if that does not prove a wonderful verbal memory, what could ? It is impossible here to follow up this point, nor is it necessary; but we have given two examples of the way in which, in writing of a certain school, the page is too often made turbid with doubtful matter held in imperfect solution. re This is a natural characteristic of an age of "culture" and " search." Equally natural is the want of freshness and spontaneous life which is so common. Modern men of letters, with some exceptions, seem to move in chains. They are afraid of each other; or of something-not-themselves, which "makes for" nobody-knows-what. We can conceive the critical readers of another generation turning over some of the very best books of this, and saying, "To what dainty, supercilious oligarchy did these authors belong, and to what are we to attribute the almost general want of tidal force in their writings?" GEORGE H. CLARKE. THE UNITY OF NATURE. IN N the Preface to the first Edition of the "Reign of Law," published in 1866, the following passage occurs :-" I had intended to conclude with a chapter on Law in Christian Theology. It was natural to reserve for that chapter all direct reference to some of the most fundamental facts of Human Nature. Yet, without such reference, the Reign of Law,' especially in the Realm of Mind,' cannot even be approached in some of its very highest and most important aspects. For the present, however, I have shrunk from entering upon questions so profound, of such critical import, and so inseparably connected with religious controversy." The great subject spoken of in this passage has ever since been present with me. Time, indeed, has only increased my sense of its importance. But the years have also added, perhaps in more than equal proportion, to my sense of its depth and of its difficulty. What has to be done, in the first place, is to establish some method of inquiry, and to find some secure avenue of approach. Before dealing with any part of the Theology which is peculiarly Christian, we must trace the connection between the Reign of Law and the ideas which are fundamental to all Religions. It is to this preliminary work that the following chapters have been devoted. Modern Doubt has called in question not only the whole subject of inquiry, but the whole faculties by which it can be pursued. Until these have been tested and examined by some standard which is elementary and acknowledged, we cannot even begin the work. It has appeared to me that not a few of the problems which lie deepest in that inquiry, and which perplex us most, are soluble in the light of the Unity of Nature. Or if these problems are not entirely soluble in this light, at least they are broken up by it, and are reduced to fewer and simpler elements. The following chapters are an attempt to follow this conception along a few of the innumerable paths which it opens up, and which radiate from it through all the phenomena of the Universe, as from an exhaustless centre of energy and of suggestion. It is the great advantage of these paths that they are almost infinite in number and equally various in direction. To those who walk in them nothing can ever come amiss. Every subject of interest, every object of wonder, every thought of mystery, every obscure analogy, every strange intimation of likeness in the midst of difference-the whole external and the whole internal world-is the province and the property of him who seeks to see and to understand the Unity of Nature. It is a thought which may be pursued in every calling-in the busiest hours of an active life, and in the calmest moments of rest and of reflection. And if, in the wanderings of our own spirit and in the sins and sorrows of Human Life, there are terrible facts which resist all classification and all analysis, it will be a good result of our endeavours to comprehend the Unity of Nature, should it lead us better to see, and more definitely to understand, that which constitutes The Great Exception. I commend these chapters to the consideration, and I submit them to the criticism, of those who care for such inquiries. Like the former Work, of which this is a sequel, some parts of it have appeared separately in another form. These have been reconsidered, and to some extent re-written; whilst a new meaning has been given to the reasoning they contain by the place assigned to them in a connected treatise. The publication of it as a series of Articles in this Review, before its final appearance as a volume, will afford me, I hope, the advantage of hearing and of seeing what may be said and written of its errors or of its deficiencies. Perhaps, also, it may afford me an opportunity, before the whole of these Articles have appeared, of writing at least one more chapter on an important subject, for which leisure fails me now. I. GENERAL DEFINITIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE UNITY The system of Nature in which we live impresses itself on the mind as one system. It is under this impression that we speak of it as the Universe. It was under the same impression, but with a conception specially vivid of its order and its beauty, that the Greeks called it the Kosmos. By such words as these, we mean that Nature is one whole -a whole of which all the parts are inseparably united-joined together by the most curious and intimate relations, which it is the highest work of observation to trace, and of reason to understand. I do not suppose that there is any need of proving this-of proving, I mean, that this is the general impression which Nature makes upon us. It may be well, however, to trace this impression to its source-to see how far it is founded on definite facts, and how far it is strengthened by such new discoveries as science has lately added to the knowledge of mankind. One thing is certain: that whatever science may have done, or may be doing, to confirm Man's idea of the unity of Nature, science, in the modern acceptation of the term, did not give rise to it. The idea had arisen long before science in this sense was born. That is to say, the idea existed before the acquisition of physical knowledge had been raised to the dignity of a pursuit, and before the method and the results of that pursuit had been reduced to system. Theology, no doubt, had more to do with it. The idea of the unity of Nature must be at least as old as the idea of one God; and even those who believe in the derivation of Man from the savage and the brute, cannot tell us how soon the Monotheistic doctrine arose. The Jewish literature and traditions, which are at least among the oldest in the world, exhibit this doctrine in the purest form, and represent it as the doctrine of primeval times. The earliest indications of religious thought among the Aryan races point in the same direction. The records of that mysterious civilization which had been established on the Nile at a date long anterior to the call of Abraham, are more and more clearly yielding results in harmony with the tradition of the Jews. The Polytheism of Egypt is being traced and tracked through the ready paths which lead to the fashioning of many Gods out of the attributes of One.* Probably those who do not accept this conclusion as historically proved may hold rather that the idea of the unity of Nature preceded the idea of the unity of God, and that Monotheism is but the form in which that earlier idea became embodied. It matters not, so far as my present purpose is concerned, which of these two has been the real order of events. * Renouf, "Hibbert Lectures," 1879, p. 89. If the law prevailing in the infancy of our race has been at all like the law prevailing in the infancy of the individual, then Man's first beliefs were derived from authority, and not from either reasoning or observation. I do not myself believe that in the morning of the world Theism arose as the result of philosophical speculation, or as the result of imagination personifying the unity of external Nature. But if this were possible, then it would follow that while a perception of the unity of Nature must be at least as old as the idea of one Creator, it may be a good deal older. Whether the two ideas were ever actually separated in history, it is certain that they can be, and are, separated at the present time. A sense and a perception of the unity of Naturestrong, imaginative, and almost mystic in its character-is now prevalent among men over whom the idea of the personal agency of a living God has, to say the least, a much weaker hold. What, then, is this unity of Nature? Is it a fact or an imagination? Is it a reality or a dream? Is it a mere poetic fancy incapable of definition; or is it a conception firmly and legitimately founded on the phenomena of the world? For if it But there is another question which comes before these. What do we mean by unity? In what sense can we say that an infinite number and variety of things are nevertheless one? This is an important question, because it is very possible to look for the unity of Nature in such a manner that, instead of extending our knowledge, or rendering it more clear and definite, we may rather narrow it, and render it more confused. It has been said that all knowledge consists in the perception of difference. This is not accurate: but it is true that the perception of difference is the necessary foundation of all knowledge. be possible to give any short definition of that in which essentially all knowledge consists, perhaps the nearest approach to such a definition would be this: that knowledge is the perception of relations. To know a thing and to understand it, is to know it in its relation to other things. But the first step in this knowledge is to know it as distinguished from other things. The perception of difference comes before the perception of all other and higher relations. It is well, therefore, to remember that no increase of knowledge can be acquired by a wilful forgetfulness of distinctions. We may choose to call two things one, because we choose to look at them in one aspect only, and to disregard them in other respects quite as obvious, and perhaps much more important. And thus we may create a unity which is purely artificial, or which represents nothing but a comparatively insignificant incident in the system of Nature. For as things may be related to each other in an infinite variety of ways-in form, or in size, or in substance, or in position, or in modes of origin, or in laws of growth, or in work and functionso there are an infinite number and variety of aspects in which unity can be traced. And these aspects rise in an ascending series according to the completeness of our knowledge of things, and according to the |