but they are not progress; they are only the fruits of past progress.No outward and material thing is progress; no machinery causes progress; it merely spreads and makes popular the results of progress.Progress is inward, of the soul.And, therefore, improved constitutions, and improved book instruction--now miscalled education--are not progress: they are at best only fruits and signs thereof.For they are outward, material; and progress, I say, is inward.The self-help and self-determination of the independent soul--that is the root of progress; and the more human beings who have that, the more progress there is in the world.Give me a man who, though he can neither read nor write, yet dares think for himself, and do the thing he believes: that man will help forward the human race more than any thousand men who have read, or written either, a thousand books apiece, but have not dared to think for themselves.And better for his race, and better, I believe, in the sight of God, the confusions and mistakes of that one sincere brave man, than the second-hand and cowardly correctness of all the thousand.
As for the "triumphs of science," let us honour, with astonishment and awe, the genius of those who invented them; but let us remember that the things themselves are as a gun or a sword, with which we can kill our enemy, but with which also our enemy can kill us.Like all outward and material things, they are equally fit for good and for evil.In England here--they have been as yet, as far as I can see, nothing but blessings: but I have my very serious doubts whether they are likely to be blessings to the whole human race, for many an age to come.I can conceive them--may God avert the omen!--the instruments of a more crushing executive centralisation, of a more utter oppression of the bodies and souls of men, than the world has yet seen.I can conceive--may God avert the omen!--centuries hence, some future world-ruler sitting at the junction of all railroads, at the centre of all telegraph-wires--a world-spider in the omphalos of his world-wide web; and smiting from thence everything that dared to lift its head, or utter a cry of pain, with a swiftness and surety to which the craft of a Justinian or a Philip II.were but clumsy and impotent.
All, all outward things, be sure of it, are good or evil, exactly as far as they are in the hands of good men or of bad.
Moreover, paradoxical as it may seem, railroads and telegraphs, instead of inaugurating an era of progress, may possibly only retard it."Rester sur un grand succes," which was Rossini's advice to a young singer who had achieved a triumph, is a maxim which the world often follows, not only from prudence, but from necessity.They have done so much that it seems neither prudent nor possible to do more.They will rest and be thankful.
Thus, gunpowder and printing made rapid changes enough; but those changes had no farther development.The new art of war, the new art of literature, remained stationary, or rather receded and degenerated, till the end of the eighteenth century.
And so it may be with our means of locomotion and intercommunion, and what depends on them.The vast and unprecedented amount of capital, of social interest, of actual human intellect invested--Imay say locked up--in these railroads, and telegraphs, and other triumphs of industry and science, will not enter into competition against themselves.They will not set themselves free to seek new discoveries in directions which are often actually opposed to their own, always foreign to it.If the money of thousands are locked up in these great works, the brains of hundreds of thousands, and of the very shrewdest too, are equally locked up therein likewise; and are to be subtracted from the gross material of social development, and added (without personal fault of their owners, who may be very good men) to the dead weight of vested selfishness, ignorance, and dislike of change.
Yes.A Byzantine and stationary age is possible yet.Perhaps we are now entering upon it; an age in which mankind shall be satisfied with the "triumphs of science," and shall look merely to the greatest comfort (call it not happiness) of the greatest number; and like the debased Jews of old, "having found the life of their hand, be therewith content," no matter in what mud-hole of slavery and superstition.
But one hope there is, and more than a hope--one certainty, that however satisfied enlightened public opinion may become with the results of science, and the progress of the human race, there will be always a more enlightened private opinion or opinions, which will not be satisfied therewith at all; a few men of genius, a few children of light, it may be a few persecuted, and a few martyrs for new truths, who will wish the world not to rest and be thankful, but to be discontented with itself, ashamed of itself, striving and toiling upward, without present hope of gain, till it has reached that unknown goal which Bacon saw afar off, and like all other heroes, died in faith, not having received the promises, but seeking still a polity which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God.
These will be the men of science, whether physical or spiritual.
Not merely the men who utilise and apply that which is known (useful as they plainly are), but the men who themselves discover that which was unknown, and are generally deemed useless, if not hurtful, to their race.They will keep the sacred lamp burning unobserved in quiet studies, while all the world is gazing only at the gaslights flaring in the street.They will pass that lamp on from hand to hand, modestly, almost stealthily, till the day comes round again, when the obscure student shall be discovered once more to be, as he has always been, the strongest man on earth.For they follow a mistress whose footsteps may often slip, yet never fall; for she walks forward on the eternal facts of Nature, which are the acted will of God.A giantess she is; young indeed, but humble as yet:
cautious and modest beyond her years.She is accused of trying to scale Olympus, by some who fancy that they have already scaled it themselves, and will, of course, brook no rival in their fancied monopoly of wisdom.
The accusation, I believe, is unjust.And yet science may scale Olympus after all.Without intending it, almost without knowing it, she may find herself hereafter upon a summit of which she never dreamed; surveying the universe of God in the light of Him who made it and her, and remakes them both for ever and ever.On that summit she may stand hereafter, if only she goes on, as she goes now, in humility and in patience; doing the duty which lies nearest her;lured along the upward road, not by ambition, vanity, or greed, but by reverent curiosity for every new pebble, and flower, and child, and savage, around her feet.
End