ON THE COMMON PHRASE, "THE LAWS OF NATURE." No. I. BY THE REV. W. M. HETHERINGTON, A.M., Minister of Torphichen. THE use of general terms, or short and comprehensive modes of expressing some general result, is of great advantage to mankind, by enabling them to communicate the leading principles of knowledge in a brief, and where the terms have been accurately defined and are well understood, in an intelligible manner. Indeed, the use of general terms is indispensable to science of every kind, physical, mental, moral, and theological. But this advantage is, as usual, attended by its own corresponding disadvantages. If such terms be not understood, they cannot convey any information. If they be misunderstood, they will convey erroneous notions. And if men do not take the trouble to make themselves masters of their meaning thoroughly, they may serve little purpose, but to be employed as cloaks to hide a culpable degree of carelessness and ignorance. There is, perhaps, no general term which has been misused, in all these respects, more commonly, or with more injurious effect, than that to the examination of which we are now about to proceed, namely, "The laws of nature." Often has it been our lot to hear some mere smatterer in natural science exclaim, "O, that happened in consequence of one of the common laws of nature," in order to put a stop to any further inquiry into the true character of the wondrous works and ways of God; and not seldom have we heard such replies of petulant ignorance acquiesced in, as sufficiently explanatory of the matter. Now, before men acquiesce in any answer so very vague and general, it would be well if they would endeavour to ascertain whether they had any distinct notion what they meant by the term, "the laws of nature." To this inquiry no satisfactory answer could be given, without having first considered what is meant by the word Nature, then what is meant by the word Law, and then what is meant by these words combined into one general term, "the laws of nature." VOL. II. PRICE 14d. By the word Nature, is generally meant the material creation-sun, moon, and stars, this world, with all its component parts and various productions, animate and inanimate. Again, when we subject to a minute examination the various parts of the frame-work of the material creation which are within our reach, we find each part characterised by some permanent, and as we might term it, constitutional peculiarity, distinguishing it from every other part; and by no art or skill can we cause one natural object to assume permanently the characteristic of any other. These permanent and invariable peculiarities of character, we may term, in individual objects or productions, the Laws of their individual nature; and taken as characteristic of an entire class of objects or productions, we may term them the general laws of that class. But when we have in this manner applied the term law, to indicate the permanent peculiarity, or distinguishing characteristic, of any object in nature, we must not deceive ourselves, by supposing that we have obtained any knowledge of what that distinctive characteristic essentially is. All that we really mean by such a term is-that peculiar mode of existence which gives individuality of character to any object, or class of objects, in nature. The term law, then, as applied to nature, implies in its simplest acceptation, the mode of existence peculiar to any object in nature, distinguishing that object from every other. But it is also applied in a more complex and extensive acceptation, to indicate modes of action in the material creation. It is found, for example, to be a general fact, that all heavy bodies will fall, if unsupported; that water will always flow downwards, if unobstructed, &c.; and by an extensive analytical investigation, it is ascertained that all heavy bodies tend to a fixed centre, and this uniform principle being capable of explaining all the peculiarities of such cases, is designated by the general term, gravitation, or the law of gravitation. This term is used to imply a general mode of action, or rather of being acted upon, in the material creation; but it, in reality, no more explains that mode of action, than the more simple law in the individual explains its mode of being. We cannot tell by what law of nature, as we term it, or mode of being, it is, that gold is yellow and not white, that a rose is not a pink; neither can we tell why it is that heavy bodies do tend to a centre, though we may conceal our ignorance in either case, by asserting, that it is in obedience to a general law of nature. By the term, "laws of nature," we neither mean, nor can mean any thing more than the permanent modes of being, or of acting, which have been observed invariably to prevail throughout the material creation. The use of such terms may aid us in scientific researches,, but the reason and origin of these laws must be sought for in another quarter. If our inquiry be into the origin and reason of that simplest acceptation of the term, a law of nature, which means the mode of existence peculiar to any object in the material creation, there is no other answer can be given, than that any object exists as it is, and not otherwise, because the Creator has willed that such should be its peculiar and distinctive mode of existence. Every thing is what it is, because God made it so; and man can no more change its peculiar character, than he could have called it into being. That law of nature, then, which may be seen in any individual | object, is nothing but the will of God materially expressed in that object; and the constant permanency of that law, preserving to the object its own peculiar character, is nothing but a manifest proof of the unchangeableness of God's creative will. In like manner, those more complex laws of nature, which refer to the general modes of acting in the material creation, may be proved to be nothing but the modes of acting which God has prescribed to himself in his government of the material universe; and their unvarying constancy has its being in his unchanging character and will. The laws of nature, then, are but the laws, or rather the will of God; and what we term their steadfast uniformity of operation, is but a manifestation of his unchangeable character and attributes. If these views were clearly apprehended, and constantly borne in mind, when men use that common phrase, "the laws of nature," instead of their employing it as a sufficient explanation of the wonders of nature, and by its means endeavouring to avoid all reference to the Author of nature, shutting, so far as their mental perceptions are concerned, God out of his own universe, it would lead them to perceive God everywhere, in every thing; and in the minutest arrangements, that contribute to form the beauty and the order of an insect's wing, or the petals of a flower, equally as in the harmonious movements of suns and systems, they would read the proofs of his unerring wisdom, his all-present and all-ruling power, his all-preserving goodness, and his all-embracing love. But there is a very common way in which men escape from this conclusion, without being obliged distinctly to deny it; or to put to themselves the question in a plain and intelligible form, whether they mean to admit or to reject it. They admit, that every thing is what it is, because God created it so; but the unchanging constancy with which its characteristic peculiarities are maintained, instead of ascribing to the constant presence of the will of God in them, they explain by saying, "That God impressed certain laws on nature, in obedience to which it continues to exist, and to act, with unchanging uniformity, because these laws are invariable in their operation." The extensive employment of such an evasive attempt at explanation, even by men of scientific acquirements, is a very remarkable proof of the skill of the human mind in self-deception. The emptiness of the sophism would at once be perceived, if men would examine accurately what the language employed really meant; or whether it had actually any definite meaning at all. What is the meaning of "a law impressed on nature?" or, what, in this acceptation, does the word law itself mean? A law is not a thing-it has no substantive existence of its own. It cannot be seen in its own separate individuality, moulding, with powerful hand, material things into conformity with its sovereign pleasure. Law is merely mind willing the exercise of its energies in some peculiar manner. Its essential residence, therefore, must be in mind alone, of which it is merely an energetic modification, or the uniform operation of some governing attribute of mind. We This may easily be illustrated by reference to human law. The laws of a nation are merely the mind of the nation putting forth a governing power, according to the determination of its deliberate sovereign will. Human laws have no positive, substantial, personal existence, apart from the mind of the nation; and should the mind of a nation change in any point, the law would of necessity on that point, and by that change, immediately disappear. The permanence of human laws depends upon the fact, that the human mind possesses a remarkable consimilarity in all its leading elements, and under similar circumstances will almost always operate in a similar manner. are accustomed, indeed, to talk of human laws, as if they possessed an embodied being, and were endowed with powers of independent, self-enforcing energy; whereas, their only embodiment is in the persons of those human agents, whose own minds being actuated by these laws, impel them to put forth their personal energies for the enforcement of attributes and determinations purely mental. A law cannot be impressed on a nation, and mould its conduct by external influence; but it may be infused into the mind of a nation, and guide its conduct by internal influence. The simple truth is, that law is a term applicable to mind alone: it exists only where mind is; in mind alone it has its essential being, and by mind alone it acts and governs. By this we may see the absurdity of saying, that" certain laws have been impressed on nature, in obedience to which it continues to exist and to act." It cannot surely be meant by those who use such language, that law has been externally applied to the material frame of creation, like a seal to softened wax, and has there left an inde- | in Lochwinnoch he hoped to return very soon. THE LAST ILLNESS, DEATH, AND CHARActer, of BY THE REV. ROBERT SMITH, MR WHYTE had a severe attack of jaundice in the end To this suggestion he yielded, and set out for Dykescroft in the beginning of 1837, saying to his friends Still, His when he moved away from his peaceful and happy residence, he looked wistfully round on all he was leaving behind, as if he had felt a presentiment of what actually happened, that he might never see them again. He reached his native place in safety, and did not suffer much from his journey; but he did not recover as he expected. Soon after his return, his affectionate and beloved mother was taken ill, and died rather suddenly by this event, produced a relapse and return of fever, and unexpectedly. The grief and fatigue occasioned from which he never completely recovered. strength, however, was so far restored, that he could take some exercise in the open air: and in the hope of restoring his strength more rapidly, he accepted an invitation to visit the comfortable and hospitable mansion of Viewfield, near Mauchline, where he recovered the His medical friends, however, soon perceiving, that his society which he had enjoyed so much at Dreghorn. case had become hopeless, apprised the family of this, and it was deemed expedient to make him acquainted with his situation and prospects. As the consumptive pa tient is often, by hectic excitement, and the insidious nature of his disease, inspired with false hopes of recovery, so Mr Whyte does not seem to have altogether escaped this delusion, for he did not till about this time resolve to resign his situation in Lochwinnoch; and then he did it in terms as expressive of attachment to his people, as of fidelity to the Master whom he served. "After much serious thought," said he in a letter to guidance of the great Head of the Church, I have come me from Viewfield, "and not, I trust, without the to the resolution of resigning my charge in Lochwinnoch. This, the state of my health renders imperatively necessary. Even under the most favourable circumstances, I could not hope to be able, for many months, to undertake my duties; and even then, I fear, they could be discharged only in such a manner, as would neither satisfy my own conscience, nor edify the people. With these views, I feel myself bound in justice to them, and in faithfulness to that Master whom I desire to serve, to resign my charge; and now only regret, that my attachment to them, and the hopes I was led to entertain of a speedy recovery, by which I would have been restored to my former pleasing duties, should have prevailed with me to defer so long taking this most painful step. In announcing my resignation to the committee of management, I beg that you will express to them my sense of the many obligations I lie under to them for the kindness which I have uniformly experienced at their hands. Had the Lord of the Vineyard so willed it, I could have wished to spend and be spent among the people of Lochwinnoch; but He has otherwise determined, and His holy will be done. And now that I am about to bid adieu to this pleasing scene of my labours, my prayer to God is, that He would send such a one to labour in my room as, by the grace given to him, may labour with more ability and faithfulness than he who now demits his charge, and may have his reward in a far more abundant harvest of success." This resignation was not accepted; but it was more from affection to him, and a reluctance to think of any other person so long as he lived, than from any firm hope of his ultimate recovery. When informed of the serious aspect of his disease, though perhaps for a little disappointed and solemnized, he was neither shocked nor overwhelmed. He preserved his usual equanimity and resignation, and just laboured harder to make sure of his interest in Christ, and to prepare for eternity. He was solicitous to avoid converse upon every subject except those which were of a religious nature, and delighted in no book so much as his Bible. His friends in Viewfield had much serious and improving conversation with him, of which I can only give a few specimens. He remarked on one occasion, "how well fitted to purify and elevate the mind, was the frequent contemplation of heaven, and looking forward to it." At another time, after noticing the great variety that was to be found of one flower, he observed, "if this world, upon which God in his Word has stamped vanity, be so beautiful and excellent, what must heaven be!" Speaking of the example of Christ, he said, "that in reading his life, he had been struck with this circumstance, He never resented any personal indignity offered to him, but where the glory of God was concerned he shewed his indignation." When one said to him, "that the nearest idea we could form of the happiness of heaven was derived from the society of believers on earth," he answered, "next to communion with God; but a believer's communion with God must furnish us with the nearest idea of the happiness of heaven." The same person said, "that the precept, 'Love thy neighbour as thyself,' was less understood and obeyed than any other," to which he replied, "To love God is still less attended to. How much kindness is there to be met with; and that, even from persons not living under the influence of religion!" And to illustrate this, he said, "What would you think of a child who should show all manner of kindness, and behave in the most amiable way, to the other children of the family, and yet should neglect or show disrespect to his own parents" It might have been supposed, that one so amiable from his earliest years, whose character and conduct had been so uniform and consistent, and who had been so diligent and faithful in the discharge of every duty, would have experienced great comfort and joy under sickness, and at the approach of death; and yet the exercises of his mind were rather entire resignation and holy tranquillity, earnest desire and humble hope, trembling faith and fervent prayer, than the full assurance of faith and joy unspeakable and full of glory. Should any wonder at this, I would remind them, that this is not an uncommon thing even in the experience of eminent Christians. I shall produce one example of this from a memoir of the life of the late learned and talented, pious and zealous Dr Hamilton of Strathblane. "From the time," says he, "that I knew the value of religion, I wished to enjoy assurance of my personal salvation; and often in the course of my ministry, I urged my hearers to secure the knowledge of their own relation to the Redeemer. I was hopeful that on my death-bed I should be blessed with joy, or at least filled with good hope, and honoured with peace. I was, therefore, exceedingly surprised and disappointed, both in 1826 and 1833, when I believed myself dying, to find that I was deprived of that high hope and joyful expectation which I had so much coveted, and so long prayed for. I was blessed with peace and hope, but I had no joy." Now as this was the confession of one much older, and in various respects still more eminent, than Mr Whyte, it need not be wondered at if he made a similar confession. He was reduced to a state of great weakness, and had only spiritual life, to sustain him. He was naturally extremely modest and diffident of himself, and withal was very jealous of any mistake in a matter of so momentous a nature. "It was always my practice said he, "to speak cautiously of the final destination of others, and now I must speak with great diffidence of my own." Accordingly, he complained to many who visited him, of weak faith and want of assurance, of the coldness of his love to God, and his remaining corruption. Still he appeared peaceful and resigned-declared his persuasion that he had passed from death unto life and was sustained by an humble hope, and sometimes enjoyed as much comfort as he expected. He was earnest in his desires, and assiduous in his endeavours to live near to God, and to enjoy fellowship and communion with him. To accomplish this, he not merely presented frequent and fervent prayers, but sometimes took a particular subject and meditated upon it, in order to fix his mind; and when, through infirmity of the flesh or spirit, his thoughts wandered after vanities, he mourned over it. In addition to his own prayers, he solicited the prayers of others, saying, "He had much need of the prayers of the faithful." His soul followed hard after God; and if he was sometimes afraid to say, "Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee," I am sure he could adopt the characteristic language of J. Earle, "I cannot say that I do love thee; but I am sure I can say, that I would love thee. This thou knowest that knowest all things. I can appeal to thee, that, if I might have my wish, I would love thee better than any saint on earth, yea, than any angel in heaven does. I had rather love thee as I ought to love thee, than be master of all the treasures on earth, rather than have all the monarchs of it at my feet, rather than have all that the world admires at my disposal. I had rather (Lord, thou knowest!) die in an ecstacy of holy love, and breathe out my soul into the arms of the holy Jesus, than live ten millions of years, yea, to all eternity, in the fulness of all created enjoyments." In spite of his modesty and self-diffidence, the evidence of Mr Whyte's love to God sometimes broke out unconsciously. He acknowledged to his friends, that he had great pleasure in thinking of the love of God, remarking, "It is not merely said, God loves, but God is love, even love itself." When he became so feeble and exhausted before death, that he dosed away much of his time in sleep, he mourned over this misspending of time, as he called it, saying, "If he loved his Saviour he would not sleep so much." The spirit truly was willing, even when the flesh was weak. more, After he had been fully apprised of his danger, he resolved to leave Viewfield and return home, to spend his last days and close his eyes under his father's roof. On a day fixed, his medical adviser, Dr Aitken of Kilmarnock, who was an early and devoted friend, and not more remarkable for his skill in treating the case, than for the affectionate care with which he watched over him till he was laid in the grave, as well as for his solicitude that his memorial should not perish when he was gone, this faithful friend accompanied him in the carriage on his way home, that he might administer to him such assistance as he required. He said little for several miles after they left Mauchline, as if he had been looking out upon every house and field, tree and stream, for the last time. And it was not till they came to the neighbourhood of Loudon churchyard, where his mother had lately been buried, and in which he was soon to be laid, that he was roused from his musings. After some remarks upon the fineness of the scenery, and the sentimentality which it was calculated to awaken, he addressed his friend, not in a sentimental, but solemn and serious strain, about the value of the soul and the interests of eternity, which he thought the best requital he could make for all his kindness, and the best legacy he could leave him. At Dykescroft he was visited not merely by many of his former friends, from Kilmarnock and Lochwinnoch, but by his early companions from different parts of the country, with all of whom he conversed in a manner agreeable to the view which has been given of the frame of his mind, asking counsel and encouragement from his seniors and fathers in the Church, and tendering advice and warning to his companions and early friends. But the members of his father's family were the objects of his special solicitude and care. He often spoke to them in a very impressive manner of their mother's death, and exhorted them to improve it. Adverting to the precarious state of his own health, he said, “* If it had been the will of God, he could have wished to recover, but he hoped he could submit to his destination." "It is a small matter," added he, "whether we be taken away early or at a late period; if early, we are removed from trials and temptations." When requiring the attention of his friends, and obliged to observe the regimen of the physician, he said, "It is a pity that this vile body, which is just sinking into the grave, should often demand more solicitude than the precious and immortal soul." He told them he saw more and more the vanity of every thing in this world, and the necessity of preparing for another and a better. He declared there was no book to him like the Bible, and he delighted especially in the Epistle to the Hebrews. He made them read the Scriptures to him, and often expounded the passage read, going over all the leading topics introduced. He complained, sometimes to his friends, as well as to others, of obscure apprehensions and weak faith, a cold heart and languid affections, but said he was labouring to get above these imperfections; and so far did he succeed, that he declared, in the end, he did not wish to return to the world, but was willing to depart out of it. Though he had been happy, too happy, in his last situation, as he thought, to live sufficiently above the world, yet he was just as happy now. Accordingly, during many long and sleepless nights, when asked if he was getting any sleep, he would have said, "No, but I am resting well;" at other times his answer was, "I am passing the time very pleasantly;" or, "I am sorry I sleep too much. If I loved my divine Master as I ought, I would not sleep away my precious time." Allied to this feeling was a desire he expressed for heaven, "because it is a place of perfect purity." When one of his brothers said to him, "I think your situation enviable," he replied, "Yes; you are entering on the world; soon you will be in the middle of life, and in a little old age will overtake you. This is only a world of trouble; there is no real happiness here." Two nights before he died, when his friends were all gathered around him, he gave them a solemn advice to prepare for their latter end. When he became feeble towards the close of life, he sometimes breathed forth this short aspiration, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." And after a considerable struggle with pain and bodily anguish, which ceased some time before death, I am satisfied the prayer was answered, and on the morning of the 22d April, his soul passed into glory. The following notice of him by an early friend, who knew him well, and could appreciate his talents and worth, appeared in the Ayr Advertiser a few days after his death:-" Died, on the 22d April, at his father's house, Dykescroft, in the parish of Kilmarnock, the Rev. Robert Whyte, preacher of the Gospel. He was a young man of high attainments and great Christian worth. At the university he was distinguished for his proficiency in classical, in mathematical, and theological learning. Afterwards as an assistant to the late Rev. W. Wodrow of Dreghorn, as town missionary in Kilmarnock, and finally in Lochwinnoch, he discharged his allotted duties with such fidelity, such Christian wisdom, and such a high regard to the welfare of souls, as showed that he was one who might have adorned any station in the Church, and proved an eminent blessing to any people. In him were found exalted piety, a thoroughly Christian character, great knowledge of the doctrines of Scripture, and great ability in unfolding them. In the full exercise of faith he met the appointment of his divine Master, to whose will he had ever sought to render a meek submission, and from whom alone he expected or could receive his reward." The leading features of Mr Whyte's character may be easily gathered from the outline of his history which has been given. His understanding was naturally acute and vigorous; it was improved by assiduous and persevering industry, and enlarged by varied and extensive acquirements. His was the merit of being indebted still more to patient culture than to original endowment. His intellectual powers were more remarkable than his imagination or fancy, and yet his taste was accurate and refined, being improved by his classical acquirements. But it is his highest praise to say that his heart was still better than his head. Better regulated and more equable affections are seldom to be found in a human breast. Indeed, he was so faultless from his childhood, and so conscientious in every thing that he did, that I am inclined to think he feared God from his youth; for such amiable dispositions and inoffensive conduct do not naturally flow from the corrupt heart of man. I am aware, however, his own opinion was, that he did not pass from death unto life till he arrived at the years of maturity; yet, modest and jealous of himself as he was, he did not deny that he had experienced a saving change; and I have seen few persons who afforded more evidence of it. His piety towards God was evinced in a habitual regard to his approbation and zeal for his glory. When told of the esteem which he enjoyed, he said it was a comparatively easy matter to please men, but he felt it a very different matter to walk so as to please God. He delighted in his Word and ordinances, and, we have seen, was so eager to be restored to his labours in the Church, that he could enter, in no ordinary degree, into the sentiments of his divine Master: " My meat and my drink is to do the will of my heavenly Father, and to finish his work." Whilst he was sometimes afraid to say he loved God, and often complained of the coldness of his heart, yet he evinced the reality of his affection, not merely in longing and striving after divine communion, but in the complacency and delight which he felt in meditating on the love of God. His prayers afforded striking evidence of his piety and devotion. There was, indeed, no display in them more than in any other public duty that he performed, and nothing very palpable and impressive to obtuse worshippers, but there was a solemn earnestness, and rich variety, that struck the intelligent and experienced Christian. I never could trace the least sameness in his prayers; and the variety and unction which they contained evinced an ever wakeful exercise, both of the understanding and the heart, in the performance of the duty. Another proof of his piety was his conscientious discharge of every duty, and perfect resig nation under the heaviest afflictions. No person could be more regular and methodical in attending to every thing committed to his care, nor more scrupulous and conscientious in performing every duty as in the sight of God. But it is still more difficult to suffer than to do all the will of God, to submit with cheerful acquiescence to the greatest disappointments and the sorest trials; and this attainment was his. Mr Walker of Truro, in his "Christian," represents the rebellion of the human will against the holy will of God as the very essence of human depravity, and an entire resignation of our will to his as the perfection of Christian character. Now, if we are to judge by this test, Mr Whyte had attained great perfection of character. His faith and patience were long and severely tried by the alternation of hope and fear during his protracted illness, but this produced no rebellion of mind. He had laboured to prepare himself for the work of the ministry by extraordinary exertions and fervent prayers for divine grace; had made great acquirements, and enjoyed encouraging acceptance. He had just reached his thirty-first year, was fixed in a situation, where he was singularly happy, and was furnished with the prospect of entering upon the fruit, and reaping the rewards of those labours in which he had expended so much, when, by the hand of God laid upon him, his prospects were blasted for ever; and yet the calm and compla cent expression never departed from his countenance, |