In the isolation of his clear, cold intellect, the sceptic abides in a glacial and spectral universe. No glow from the affections lights up the frost and shadow of the grave. He feels no prophecy in the thrill of the human heart-in the incompleteness of nature. He believes merely in things tangible, and sees only in the daytime. He will not confess the authenticity of that paler light of faith which was meant to shine when the sunshine of reason falls short, and the firmament of mystery is over our heads.
However logical our induction, the end of the thread is fastened upon the assurance of faith.
Skepticism has never founded empires, established principals, or changed the world's heart. The great doers in history have always been people of faith.
We do not compromise our own faith by admitting the honesty of another's doubt.
