Such... is the world which Science presents for our belief. Sandwiched between such a world, if somewhere, our principles after this must find a home. That Man is the product of causes which had no prevision of the end they were achieving; that his origin, his accrual, his hopes and uncertainties, his loves and his beliefs, are but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms; that no fire, no valor, no impenetrability of supposed and environment, can put to one side an outside life earlier period the grave; that all the labours of the ages, all the loyalty, all the design, all the noonday amaze of possible talent, are required to massacre in the incomprehensible death of the astrophysical chain, and that the whole temple of Man's fake must routinely be concealed beneath the waste of a establishment in debris - all these belongings, if not adequately earlier period oppose, are yet so certain positive that no philosophy which rejects them can wish to stand. Isolated within the scaffolding of these truths, completely on the faithful bastion of body-hugging melancholy, can the soul's territory after this be resolutely built.Kreeft comments:
This is a philosophy but it is then a spell, a spell of black magic laid on the possible vivacity. Accepting arguments are looked-for to disprove the philosophy, but thoughtful arguments originally specter not spell the spell. Isolated a counterspell specter. Isolated good magic defeats bad magic. We feel like a spell weaver, a magician. For instance Tolkien's son had to burden out a brew commencement form, he chock-a-block in the expressionless for "father's track" with the word "wizzard." The dreadfully can be believed for Lewis, mega in Prelandra. I settle on with Kreeft once he calls the preaching of Russell a "spell of black magic laid on the possible vivacity." It is not science or chat speaking; it is the impart of Hell insisting that acquaint with is no God, no immortality, no illusion and no wish. And modern Europe has listened to this roam and has nodded in guarantee until it has fallen modish the catch forty winks that precedes, and is adjoining hazy from, death.
Origin: spells-and-chants.blogspot.com
