Thoughts in a Haystack

I have read Darwin's book. It is clever, and calmly written; and therefore the more mischievous, if its principles be false; and I believe them utterly false. It is the system of the author of the Vestiges stripped of its ignorant absurdities. It repudiates all reasoning from final causes; and seems to shut the door upon any view (however feeble) of the God of Nature as manifested in His works. From first to last it is a dish of rank materialism cleverly cooked and served up. As a system of philosophy it is not unlike the Tower of Babel, so daring in its high aim as to seek a shelter against God's anger; but it is like a pyramid poised on its apex. It is a system embracing all living nature, vegetable and animal; yet contradicting -– point blank -– the vast treasure of facts that the Author of Nature has, during the past two or three thousand years, revealed to our senses. And why is this done? For no other solid reason, I am sure, except to make us independent of a Creator.