Editorials from the Hearst Newspapers | Page 5

He in five seconds make a six months' old
calf? If He made it in five seconds it would not be six months old.
Nonsense more subtle comes from the educated, from those who know
enough to be preposterous in a pretentious way.
Hear the wise man:
God does not exist, because I cannot prove His existence: I can prove
everything else. With my law of gravitation I point to a speck in space
and say: "You'll find a new planet there," and you find it. If a God
existed could I not also point to Him? If I can trace a comet in its flight,
could I not trace the comet's maker?
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.
You make it smaller. Then the particles did not touch. Do they touch
now? No; relatively they are farther apart than this planet from its
nearest neighbor.
That piece of iron, apparently solid, consists of clusters of atoms
wonderfully grouped, each cluster called a molecule. The molecular
cluster is invisible, millions of clusters in the smallest visible fragment.
The atom is accepted by science as the final particle of matter. Its name
indicates that it is supposed to be indivisible. When science gets to the
atom it calmly gives up and says: "That is so small that it can no longer
be divided." A reasonable enough conclusion on the surface,
considering that you might have millions of atoms of iron in one corner
of your eye and not know it.
But why should the atom be incapable of further division? If it is any
size at all it can be thought of as split.
Where does the divisibility of matter end, if anywhere? What is there
SOLID about iron? Nothing in reality, except that it seems to us solid.
Already, with the X-ray, we can look through it. Forces such as heat
and electricity pass through it more readily than through free air.
Science, which gradually finds things out, denying as it goes along
everything one step beyond, tells you truly that the clusters of atoms in
iron float in a sea of ether, just as do our planets going round the sun.
Heat the iron intensely. What happens? You get what you call white
heat. The white heat and the white light come from the increase of

wave motion in this ether, and this ether, absolutely imponderable, of a
tenuity inconceivable, possesses elasticity greater and more powerful
than that of coiled steel. ----
So much for one small piece of iron, such as you would kick to one
side in a junk heap. If it interests you, read pages 159 to 162 of John
Fiske's admirable little book, "Through Nature to God." You will finish
the book the day you get it.
If you are surprised to learn how much you did not know about
iron--after living near bits of iron all your life--is it not just possible
that your mind may be too feeble to conceive of God?
For the fly buzzing about the edge of Niagara Falls, the falls do not
exist. The fly's brain cannot grasp their grandeur. It can understand
only the speck of spray that falls on its wing.
You live with God around you, hopelessly incapable of perceiving His
existence save through that faint spark of unconscious faith that was
mercifully planted in you. Snuff that