SCIENCE AND CHRISTIANITY.

A LECTURE

DELIVERED IN NEW YORK, WASHINGTON, RALEIGH, AND AT OTHER POINTS.

By T. L. CLINGMAN.

The subject I am now about to present, was strikingly brought to my mind by a casual conversation in a law office in the city of Washington A scientific and highly educated foreigner said that no scientific man in Europe believed in the truth of the Christian religion, and that any such person, by expressing a belief in its divine origin, would lose the respect of all men of science in that enlightened part of the world.

After hearing this remark, as I was passing to New York, on the next day, my reflections took the form I am now about to present. To show the relations existing between Modern Positive Science and Christianity, I will present a series of statements and propositions.

First, let it be supposed than an Esquimaux Indian has been brought to the city of New York in mid-winter. Having lived in the Arctic regions where no trees grow, he has only seen wood in the form of a spar from a ship, and been accustomed to regard it as a thing of the highest value. He is, therefore, greatly astonished at the number and size of the trees in the parks, and looks with wonder on their great trunks and leafless limbs. By one of those mishaps that sometimes occur, he is cast into prison, and remains closely immured for a long period.

At length he is released and walks abroad. It is now, however, midsummer, and he is amazed with the change. The trees, all covered with the green foliage of the season, present their broad leaves to his gaze. Remembering their appearance in winter, the present scene seems like the work of magic.

He soon finds himself in the presence of an intelligent and dignified gentleman, a Professor in the University, and thoroughly instructed in all the sciences. Attracted by the intelligence and benevolence of his countenance, the Indian thus addresses him:

"Sir, I am an ignorant Esquimaux, just discharged from prison, and am greatly astonished with what I see around me. Will you allow me, sir, to ask you a few questions?"

"Certainly," replies the philosopher, "for I read your singular case in the papers this morning, and as it is now vacation in the college in which I am a Professor, I have ample leisure."

"How fortunate I am," exclaims the savage, "in meeting a most learned professor, who can explain, without effort, all that perplexes my ignorance. When I first saw these trees, in the winter, their limbs were all naked, while now they are covered with broad and beautiful green leaves. Is this not wonderfully strange?"

"Not in the least," answers the Professor; "on the contrary, it would be strange if they did not have leaves on them, for they are live trees, and all live trees put out leaves in the summer."

"What is a live tree?" says the Esquimaux.

"A live tree," replies the Professor, "is one which has a vital principle in it, that causes it to germinate in the spring, and put out young branches and leaves."

"Most learned Professor," exclaims the delighted savage, "what is that vital principle that produces such wonders as I behold?"

'Why, in fact," the Professor answers, "though science explains almost everything else, it does not disclose what that vital principle is. We only see the effects, but the cause is a hidden mystery.'

"How unfortunate!" exclaims the Indian, with a look of disappointment, "that your great science, which explains everything else, should have failed in this, which seems the most wonderful of all. There are, however, other things which appear very strange, which I beg you to explain to me. During my long confinement, in cold weather they gave me a fire, and as I gazed on it, I often wondered what fire was. Do, my friend, as you can so easily, with the aid of your great science, tell me what fire is."

"Fire," answers the Professor, "is combustion attended with the extrication of light and heat."

"I am so ignorant," says the savage; "kind and learned Professor, do tell me what combustion is."

"Combustion," replies the Professor, "is the union of oxygen, which is a supporter of combustion, with the carbon and hydrogen in the fuel." "But why does the oxygen unite with the carbon and hydrogen ?" says the Esquimaux.

That oyxgen unites with these combustibles is a fact which is observed, but for which no cause can be assigned," answers the Professor. "Then at least tell me," says the Indian, "what light and heat are, for as these things are extricated, and made manifest, your science can easily explain them."

"Light," replies the Professor, "has been the subject of so much investigation that its properties are now well understood. There is an exceedingly elastic medium which pervades all space, in which undulations are excited by the luminous body, which are propagated to the eye, and cause the perception of vision."

"How delighted I am," exclaims the poor savage, "to learn this; for in my own country when the sun, after so many months of darkness came back to us, and sent a great flood of light over our ices and snows, the beauty of its colors reflected on all sides caused me to dance for joy, and I thought how much I would give to understand what it was that made the scene so glorious. Little did I then hope that I should, in a distant land, meet with a great and learned Professor, who would explain it all to me. Tell me now what is that elastic medium which performs such wonders."

'Science," answers his companion, "does not tell us what that medium is, we only recognize its effects.'

"You cannot tell what it is, you say," answers the Indian; "then how do you know that there is any such medium at all?"

"We have no positive knowledge of its existence, but as light is perceived and must have a cause, we can account for what we observe in no other manner than to suppose that there must be a medium of the elasticity and properties necessary to cause the effects we perceive." Hereupon the Esquimaux burst into a fit of laughter, on recovering from which he said: "Do not imagine, most learned Professor, that I laughed from any want of respect for you, but because your last remark brought to my mind something that happened when I was in prison. I had heard for some time a singular noise above my head, and I asked the man who waited on my cell, if he could tell me the cause of it. "Yes," said he, "there is something up there making a noise." "What is it," I enquired, "is it a man or a dog, or a cat or a rat?" "I don't know what it is," he answered, "but I expect there is something up there which makes the noise." "But do you know that there is anything up there?" I said. "No, I don't," he replied, "but if there is something up there, it could make a noise." Now I laughed, most learned Professor, at the folly of the man who ought merely to have said that he did not know the cause of the noise. Your saying that you did not know that there was a medium which propagated light, but that if there was one possessing certain qualities, it might do it, brought, I know not how, into my mind, the conversation I had with the silly clown."

"But as light, like the vital principle in the trees, is not explained by science, tell me at least what heat is? for that is so familiar and seemingly so near to my feelings, that it will be more easily explained."

The Professor, not without manifesting some signs of impatience, answered: "The old philosophers used to speak of heat as one of the imponderable elements of nature."

Imponderable; that means it has no weight," said the savage, "but this only makes it more obscure, for if it had weight, I should know one thing about it."

The Professor proceeded: "Tyndall, in a most profound scientific work, has shown that heat is in all cases the equivalent of a certain amount of motion."

"Equivalent, you say, to motion," quickly said the Esquimaux; "ah, that reminds me of what I heard this morning as I came along. One man asked another what he had been doing last year, and the other

answered, that his work had been equivalent to five hundred dollars. As I came along, I said to myself, did he make ten suits of clothes, worth fifty dollars each, or a hundred hats, or did he work on a farm, or at the printing business, and for my life I could not tell what the man had been doing all last year. So that when I am told that heat

is equivalent to motion, still I do not know what it is."

"The pain I now feel causes me to ask you to explain something else. An hour ago, while I was looking at one of the stones with which they were paving the street, I carelessly let it slip out of my hand, and it instantly went down to my foot with such force that I feel the pain even yet. Professor, do tell me what caused the stone to go with such violence against my foot."

"That," said the Professor, with a serious look, "was caused by the force of gravity."

"And what is the force of gravity?" said the Indian.

"It is the attractive force which each particle of matter exerts on every other particle, and extends throughout the entire universe, keeping every planet and comet in its proper place, and influencing all material things."

"It is most wonderful!" exclaims his auditor. "Tell me what that attractive force is that is so mighty in its effects."

"You ask me," said the Professor, "what it is beyond the power of science to answer. The universal fact is perceived, but nothing more is, or can be known."

"Then," sorrowfully responds the savage, "all your great science tells me only such things as I can see for myself, but it does not explain what I am most anxious to know. When in my own country I felt the warm glow of the fire, and saw the brilliant light which the great sun cast over the world, I longed to know the cause of these things. prophets said that the Great Spirit, by his secret but mighty power that pervaded all space, caused the results daily exhibited. But your science does not tell me how any of these effects are produced. There must be a cause for all these appearances, and as your science shows none, I will go back to the ideas of my ignorant barbarism."

Such is, indeed, all human science! Whatever be the subject it takes hold of, before it moves far in one direction its course is arrested, and it fails to elucidate what it is most anxious to know. Like a fly in a glass jar, in whatever direction it may start, its progress is soon arrested. I will now present a second scene for consideration.

There was, last evening, a great gathering of the worms at a locality near us. By worms, I mean such as are found in the moist earth, usually called red worms. The meeting was the annual assemblage of their Association for the Advancement of Science, and the occasion derived unusual interest from its being known that some important questions, about which there had long been a difference of opinion, were to be discussed and settled.

The questions were whether certain Englishmen had built of iron a ship called the "Great Eastern," six hundred and eighty feet long. Secondly, whether the Emperor of Germany could bring together a-million of armed men. And thirdly, whether the citizens of the United

States had constructed a railroad from the Atlantic to the Pacific ocean, more than three thousand miles long. The fact known that these questions were to be discussed and settled, attracted an unusually large concourse of scientific worms.

There was an especial desire to hear the views of a certain venerable and distinguished philosopher, who had published a work on the universe, so learned and comprehensive that it was a common opinion that the portion of science which he did not know was, in fact, not worth knowing. He was especially noted for his extensive travels, it being asserted that he had traveled at least twenty times his own length, and therefore, as he was six inches long, he had probably traveled in his life not less than one hundred and twenty inches, or ten feet.

On this occasion he arose only after the debate had already taken a wide range, and his exposition of his views was so lucid, and at the same time so logical and accurate, that he carried conviction to the mind of every hearer. He declared that in all his extensive travels he had never seen a ship of any size whatever, and that the existence of one so prodigious as the Great Eastern, was not more probable than that of the gorgons and hydras, invented by the fertile imaginations of the Greeks.

As to the second question about a million of men, he did not believe there had ever been a single man in existence. The jarring of the earth over their heads sometimes, which the ignorant believed to be caused by the tread of a man above, was doubtless due to an earthquake, while the upturning of immense masses of earth at times, so detrimental to many worms, instead of being, as popularly supposed, the effect of a plow in the hands of a man, was rather to be attributed to some convulsion of nature, not yet understood, but which science would, doubtless one of these days, be able to take hold of and explain. As to the third proposition, if there were no men, of course no railroad three thousand miles long had ever been built by them. After this most convincing and luminous address by the great philosopher, it was unanimously decided that the existence of man was as improbable as that of the genii of eastern romance; that all of the propositions should be rejected as absurdities, and that any one maintaining a different opinion would forfeit the respect of all scientific worms.

How much was this decision worth as an element in determining the truth of the three propositions discussed? I maintain that it ought to be considered as of quite as much value in that respect as are the teachings of science explained after the manner of the positive philosophers of the present day, in deciding the questions which I am about to present.

But it will, perhaps, be said that there is no analogy whatever bctween the cases, and that the worms could not have any data to rest their decision upon. This is admitted, but I merely affirm, that they might be able to make greater progress in the pursuit of the facts necessary in their case, than can the positivists through their systems in acquiring a knowledge even of the material universe.

The star Sirius is so near us that it is estimated that its rays of light reach the earth in twelve years. If one of these worms were able to