I am far from maintaining that science is a sufficient guide in religion. On the other hand, if left to itself, as I fully admit,—
“It leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.”
Nor do I maintain that scientific truth, even when properly appreciated, will compare at all, in its influence upon the human mind, with those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by revelation. All I contend for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as it does the divine character, plans, and government, ought to fan and feed the flame of true piety in the hearts of its cultivators. He, therefore, who knows the most of science ought most powerfully to feel this religious influence. He is not confined, like the great mass of men, to the outer court of nature’s magnificent temple, but he is admitted to the interior, and allowed to trace its long halls, aisles, and galleries, and gaze upon its lofty domes and arches; nay, as a priest he enters the penetralia, the holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burning upon the altars, where hovers the glorious Schekinah, and where, from a full orchestra, the anthem of praise is ever ascending. Petrified, indeed, must be his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration of such a spot. He ought to go forth from it among his fellow-men with radiant glory on his face, like Moses from the holy mount. He who sees most of God in his works ought to show the stamp of divinity upon his character, and lead an eminently holy life.
Finally, the subject gives great interest and dignity to the study of science.
It is not strange that the religious man should sometimes find his ardor damped in the pursuit of some branches of knowledge, by the melancholy reflection that they can be of no use beyond this world, and will exist only as objects of memory in eternity. He may have devoted many a toilsome year to the details and manipulations of the arts; and, so far as this world is concerned, his labors have been eminently salutary and interesting. But all his labors and researches can be of no avail on the other side of the grave; and he cannot but feel sad that so much study and efforts should leave results no more permanent. Or he may have given his best days to loading his memory with those tongues which the Scriptures assure us shall cease; or to those details of material organization which can have no place or antitype in the future world. Interesting, therefore, as such pursuits have been on earth, nay, indispensable as they are to the well being and progress of human society, it is melancholy to realize that they form a part of that knowledge which will vanish away.
The mind delights in the prospect of again turning its attention to those branches of knowledge which have engrossed and interested it on earth, and of doing this under circumstances far more favorable to their investigation. And such an anticipation he may reasonably indulge, who devotes himself on earth to any branch of knowledge not dependent on arrangements and organizations peculiar to this world. He may be confident that he is investigating those principles which will form a part of the science of heaven. Should he ever reach that pure world, he knows that the clogs which now weigh down his mind will drop off, and the clouds that obscure his vision will clear away, and that a brighter sun will pour its radiance upon his path. He is filling his mind with principles that are immortal. He is engaged in pursuits to which glorified and angelic minds are devoting their lofty powers. Other branches of knowledge, highly esteemed among men, shall pass away with the destruction of this world. The baseless hypotheses of science, falsely so called, whether moral, intellectual, or physical, and the airy phantoms of a light and fictitious literature, shall all pass into the limbo of forgetfulness. But the principles of true science, constituting, as they do, the pillars of the universe, shall bear up that universe forever. How many questions of deep interest, respecting his favorite science, must the philosopher in this world leave unanswered, how many points unsettled! But when he stands upon the vantage-ground of another world, all these points shall be seen in the bright transparencies of heaven. In this world, the votaries of science may be compared with the aborigines who dwell around some one of the principal sources of the River Amazon. They have been able, perhaps, to trace one or two, or it may be a dozen, of its tributaries, from their commencement in some mountain spring, and to follow them onwards as they enlarge by uniting, so as to bear along the frail canoes, in which, perhaps, they pass a few hundred miles towards the ocean. On the right and on the left, a multitude of other tributaries swell the stream which carries them onward, until it seems to them a mighty river. But they are ignorant of the hundred other tributaries which drain the vast eastern slope of the Andes, and sweep over the wide plains, till their united waters have formed the majestic Amazon. Of that river in its full glory, and especially of the immense ocean that lies beyond, the natives have no conception; unless, perhaps, some individual, more daring than the rest, has floated onward till his astonished eye could scarcely discern the shore on either hand, and before him he saw the illimitable Atlantic, whitened by the mariner’s sail and the crested waves; and he may have gone back to tell his unbelieving countrymen the marvellous story. Just so is it with men of science. They are able to trace with clearness a few rills of truth from the fountain head, and to follow them onward till they unite in a great principle, which at first men fancy is the chief law of the universe. But as they venture still farther onward, they find new tributary truths coming in on either side, to form a principle or law still more broad and comprehensive. Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous minds that are able, from some advanced mountain top, to catch a glimpse of the entire stream of truth, formed by the harmonious union of all principles, and flowing on majestically into the boundless ocean of all knowledge, the Infinite Mind. But when the Christian philosopher shall be permitted to resume the study of science in a future world, with powers of investigation enlarged and clarified, and all obstacles removed, he will be able to trace onward the various ramifications of truth, till they unite into higher and higher principles, and become one in that centre of centres, the Divine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all truth originally sprang, and to which it ultimately returns. To trace out the shores of that shoreless Sea, to measure its measureless extent, and to fathom its unfathomable depths, will be the noble and the joyous work of eternal ages. And yet eternal ages may pass by and see the work only begun.
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