ored by various reconciling schemes to persuade the combatants to lay down their arms. Historical spirits have searched out and retold the forgotten incidents of the struggle; the philosophic-minded have explored its secret springs. In one way or another all have drawn the attention of the world to the hostile attitude of the two.
Now, it is true that there have been no small number of conflicts between science and religion. But is the whole account of the relation of the two contained in this? Is there not another part to the story? I believe that there is.
Much, it seems to me, might be said in exhibition of the mutual indebtedness of science and religion, as well as of their hostilities. Having heard so much of late about the latter, perhaps it may not he unprofitable to consider a little the other side of the shield.
In the first place, religion is much indebted to science. Science has not been a mere iconoclast of everything sacred, but it has been a real helper in the progress of religion.
In the marvelous adventures through which Rabelais conducted his hero Pantagruel, a clime was reached so cold that the words of the men, it is said, as they passed the lips, froze and fell as hail on the deck; but, brought near the fire, the congealed words thawed and gave up their sounds. So, under the sunbeams of science, the dumb matter, the frozen thought of the Creator, melted into intelligible accents and spoke forth its secrets. Sun and cell, magnet and crystal, have each found a tongue and told the world of facts, exhibited to it achievements that, if predicted a thousand years ago, would have seemed like nothing but a chapter out of the Arabian Nights Entertainments.
Now, these triumphs of science have not redounded merely to the empty glory of their hero, but they have been solid contributions also to the benefit of man and to the glory of God.
What other argument for the existence of God has done more for theism than the argument from design? In the admirable harmonies and adaptations of the world, the natural theologian finds the most convincing illustrations of a Supreme Intelligence anterior to the universe. Whence is it that a knowledge of these instances of contrivance and order has been obtained? Plainly, it is from the scientific study of Nature that the overpowering strength of this argument has been derived. Ordinary observation—to be sure—would, of course, first surest the argument and present not a few illustrations. Three thouand years ago the Psalmist put those forceful questions "He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? He that formed the eye, shall he not see? He that teacheth man knowledge, shall not he know?"
Here lies, indeed, the gist of the whole argument from design. Yet it is to modern physical investigations, in anatomy, chemistry, natural history, that we owe those exquisite illustrations of curious
