Huxley says: "The cosmic process has no sort of relation to
moral ends." That's a philosopher's way of saying something
foolish. Lalande, the astronomer, remarked that he had swept the
entire heavens with his telescope and found no God there. That's
funnier than any ant who should say: "I've searched this whole
dead caterpillar and found no God, so THERE IS NO GOD." The
corner of space which our telescopes can "sweep" is smaller,
compared to the universe, than a dead caterpillar compared with
this earth.

Moleschott, an able physiologist, believed that phosphorus was
essential to mental activity. Perhaps he did prove that. But he
said: "No thought without phosphorus," and thought he had wiped
the human soul out of existence. Philosophers do not laugh at
Moleschott. But they would laugh at a savage who would say:

"I have discovered that there is a catgut in a fiddle. No fiddle
without catgut--no music without cats. Don't talk to me about
soul or musical genius--it's all catgut."

We peek out at this universe from our half-developed corner of
it. We see faintly the millions of huge suns circling with their
planet families billions of miles away. We see our own little
sun rise and set; we ask ourselves a thousand foolish questions
of cause and Ruler--and because we cannot answer, we decry faith.

Wise doubter, look at a small piece of iron. It looks solid.
You suppose that its various parts touch. But submit it to cold.