n it only a fortuitous aggregation of
atoms?

Intelligence radiates from the face of nature, and it is in vain that
men endeavor to veil its splendor. Nevertheless I consent to forget all
that has just been said, in order to intrench myself in an argument,
which of itself is sufficient for the object we have in view to-day. Our
object is to prove that material science does not contain the
explanation of all the realities of the universe. Even though they had
succeeded in persuading us that there is no intelligence in nature, it
would still be necessary to explain the origin of that intelligence
which is in us, and the existence of which cannot be disputed. Whence
proceeds the mind which is in ourselves?

Let us first of all give our attention to a strange contradiction. Those
savants who make of the human soul a simple manifestation of matter, are
the same who wish to explain nature without the intervention of the
Divine intelligence. In order to keep out of view the design which is
displayed in the organization of the world, they take a pleasure in
finding nature at fault, and in pointing out its imperfections. Still,
they do not pretend to be able to do better than nature; they would not
undertake the responsibility of correcting the laws of life, and
regulating the course of the seasons. They do not say, "We could make a
better world," but "We can imagine a world more perfect than our own."
Now what is our answer? Simply this: "You are right." Nature is not the
supreme perfection, and therefore we will not worship it. How admirable
soever be the visible universe, we have the faculty of conceiving more
and better. We understand that the atmosphere might be purified, so that
the tempest should not engulf the ships, nor the thunderbolt produce the
conflagration. We dream of mountain-heights more majestic than the
loftiest summits of our Alps, of waters more transparent than the pure
crystal of our lakes, of valleys fresher and more peaceful than the
loveliest which hide among our hills. The spectacle of nature awakens in
us the powers of thought, and the sentiment of beauty draws us on to the
pursuit of an ideal which surpasses all realities. Nature is not
perfect: let us be forward to acknowledge it, and let us draw from the
fact its legitimate consequence. The stream cannot rise higher than its
source. If man conceives an ideal superior to nature, he is not himself
the mere product of nature. By what strange contradi