Volume 2 — ORATION.

From opposite parts of the country, from various schools of sentiment, we have come together, at this happy anniversary, to interchange salutations, to mingle in friendly communion, and to catch such words of cheer as the occasion shall convey. Here are the young, with freshest laurel of Alma Mater, with joy brightening and hope elevating the countenance, still unconscious of the toils which enter into the duties of the world. Here are they, too, of middle life, on whose weary foreheads the sun now pours his meridian ray, resting for a moment in these pleasant retreats to renew their strength. Here, also, are the fathers, crowned with length of days, and rich with ripened wisdom, withdrawn from active struggle, and dwelling much in meditation upon the Past. The Future, the Present, and the Past, all find their representatives in our Fraternity.

I speak of our Fraternity; for, though a stranger among you, yet, as a member of this society in a sister University, and as a student of letters in moments snatched from other pursuits, I may claim kindred here. Let me speak, then, as to my own brethren. Invited by your partial kindness, it is my privilege to unfold some subject, which, while claiming your attention during this brief hour, may not improperly mingle with the memories of this anniversary. I would, if I could, utter truth which, while approved by the old, should sink deep into the souls of the young, filling them with strength for all good works. Mindful, then, of the occasion, deeply conscious of its requirements, solicitous of the harmony which becomes our literary festivals, I cannot banish from my thoughts a topic which is intimately connected with the movements of the present age,—nay, which explains and controls these movements, whether in the march of science, the triumphs of charity, the widespread convulsions of Europe, or the generous uprising of our own country in behalf of Freedom.

Wherever we turn is Progress,—in science, in literature, in knowledge of the earth, in knowledge of the skies, in intercourse among men, in the spread of liberty, in works of beneficence, in the recognition of Human Brotherhood. Thrones, where Authority seemed to sit secure, with the sanction of centuries, are shaken, and new-made constitutions come to restrain the aberrations of unlimited power. Men everywhere, breaking away from the Past, are pressing on to the things that are before.

Recall for one moment what has taken place during a brief span of time, hardly exceeding a year. I do not dwell on that mighty revolution in France, with whose throes the earth still shakes, and whose issues are yet unrevealed; I do not pause to contemplate the character of that Pontifical Reformer who has done so much to breathe into Europe the breath of a new life; I can only point to Sicily and Naples, rising against a besotted tyranny,—to Venice and Lombardy, claiming long-lost rights,—to all Italy, filled with the thought of Unity,—to Hungary, flaming with republican fires,—to Austria, roused at last against a patriarchal despotism,—to Prussia, taking her place among constitutional states,—to Germany, in its many principalities, throbbing with the strong pulse of Freedom. These things are present to your minds.

Other events, of a different character, are not less signs of the age. Discovery has achieved one of its most brilliant, as also one of its most benign results. The genius of Leverrier, traversing the spaces of the heavens, has disclosed a new planet. By the application of ether, the dreaded pain of the surgical knife, and even the pangs of Nature, are soothed or removed, while Death is disarmed of something of its terrors.

These latter times have witnessed two spectacles of another nature and less regarded, which are of singular significance,—harbingers, I would call them, of those glad days of promise which we almost seem to touch. I would not exaggerate, and yet I must speak of them as they impress my own mind. To me they are of a higher order than any discovery in science, or any success in the acquisition of knowledge, or any political prosperity, inasmuch as they are the tokens of that moral elevation, and of that Human Brotherhood, without distinction of condition, nation, or race, which it is the supreme office of all science, all knowledge, and all politics to serve. I refer to the sailing of the Jamestown from Boston with succor to the starving poor of Ireland, and to the meeting of the Penitentiary Congress at Frankfort. All confess the beauty of that act, where prophecy seems fulfilled, by which a Ship of War was consecrated to a purpose of charity. Hardly less beautiful is the contemplation of that assembly at Frankfort (perhaps it is new to some whom I have the honor of addressing), where were delegates from most of the Christian nations,—from military France, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, the States of Germany, England, Spain, Italy, Denmark, Poland, distant Russia, and frozen Norway,—convened for no purpose of war or diplomacy,—not to agitate selfish coalitions, not to adjust or disturb the seeming balance of Europe, not to exalt or abase the vaulting ambition of potentate or state, but calmly and in fraternal council to consider what could be done for those who are in prison, to hear the recital of efforts in their behalf among all the nations, and to encourage each other in this work. Such a Congress forms a truer epoch of Christian Progress—does it not?—than the Congress of Vienna, with the bespangled presence of great autocrats distributing the spoils of war, as the sailing of the Jamestown is a higher Christian triumph than any mere victory of blood.

Profoundly penetrated by these things, you will confess the Progress of Man. The earnest soul, enlightened by history, strengthened by philosophy, nursed to childish slumber by the simple prayer, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven," confident in the final, though slow, fulfilment of the daily fulfilling promises of the Future, looks forward to the continuance of this Progress during unknown and infinite ages, as a law of our being.

It is of this that I shall speak to-day. My subject is The Law of Human Progress. In selecting this theme, I would not minister to the pride or gratulation of the Present, nor would I furnish motives for indifference or repose. Rather would I teach how small is the Present and all it contains, compared with the Future, and how duties increase with the grandeur upon which we enter, while we derive new encouragement from knowledge of the law which is our support and guide.

The subject is vast as it is interesting and important. It might well occupy a volume, rather than a brief discourse. In unfolding it, I shall speak first of the history of this law, as seen in its origin, gradual development, and recognition,—and next of its character, conditions, and limitations, with the duties it enjoins and the encouragements it affords.

I.

And, first, of its history. The recognition of this law has been reserved for comparatively recent times. Like other general laws governing the courses of Nature, it was unknown to Antiquity. The ignorance and prejudice which then prevailed with regard to the earth, the heavenly bodies, and their relations to the universe, found fit companionship with the wild speculations concerning the Human Family. The ignorant live only in the Present, whether of time or place. What they see and observe bounds their knowledge. Thus to the early Greek the heavens were upborne by the mountains, and the sun traversed daily in fiery chariot from east to west. So things seemed to him. But the true Destiny of the Human Family was as little comprehended.

Man, in his origin and history, was surrounded with fable; nor was there any correct idea of the principles determining the succession of events. Revolutions of states were referred sometimes to chance, sometimes to certain innate elements of decay. Plutarch did not hesitate to ascribe the triumphs of Rome, not to the operation of immutable law, but to the fortune of the Republic. And Polybius, whom Gibbon extols for wisdom and philosophical spirit, said that Carthage, being so much older than Rome, felt her decay so much the sooner; and the survivor, he announced, carried in her bosom the seeds of mortality. The image of youth, manhood, and age was applied to nations. Like mortals on earth, they were supposed to have a period of life, and a length of thread spun by the Fates, strong at first, but thinner and weaker with advancing time, till at last it was cut, and another nation, with newly twisted thread, commenced its career.

In likening the life of a nation to the life of an individual man, there was error, commended by seeming truth, not yet entirely banished. It prevails still with many, who have not received the Law of Human Progress, teaching that all revolutions and changes are but links in the chain of development, or, it may be, turns in the grand spiral, by which the unknown infinite Future is connected with the Past. Nations have decayed, but never with the imbecility of age.

The ancients saw that there were changes, but did not detect the principles governing them, while a favorite fable and popular superstition conspired to turn attention back upon the Past, rather than forward to the Future. In the dawn of Greece, Hesiod, standing near the Father of Poetry, sang the descending mutations through which Mankind had seemed to travel. First came the Golden Age, so he fabled, when men lived secure and happy in pleasant association, without discord, without care, without toil, without weariness, while good of all kinds abounded, like the plentiful fruits which the earth spontaneously supplied. This was followed by the Silver Age, with a race inferior in form and disposition. Next was the Brazen Age, still descending in the scale, when men became vehement and robust, strong in body and stern in soul, building brazen houses, wielding brazen weapons, prompt to war, but not yet entirely wicked. Last, and unhappily his own, according to the poet, was the Iron Age, when straightway all evil raged forth; neither by day nor yet by night, did men rest from labor and sorrow; discord took the place of concord; the pious, the just, and the good were without favor; the man of force and the evil-doer were cherished; modesty and justice yielded to insolence and wrong. War now prevailed, and men lived in wretchedness.[244]

Such, according to the Greek poet, was the succession of changes through which mankind had passed. This fable found a response. It was repeated by philosophy and history. Plato adorned and illustrated it. Strabo and Diodorus imparted to it their grave sanction. It was carried to Rome, with the other spoils of Greece. It was reproduced by Ovid, in flowing verses that have become a commonplace of literature. It was recognized by the tender muse of Virgil, the sportive fancy of Horace, and the stern genius of Juvenal. Songs and fables have ever exerted a powerful control over human opinion; nor is it possible to estimate the influence of this story in shaping unconsciously the thoughts of mankind. It is easy to understand that the youth of Antiquity,—let me say, too, the youth of later ages,—nay, of our own day, in our own schools and colleges,—nurtured by this literature, should learn to neglect the Future, and rather regard the Past. The words of Horace have afforded a polished expression to this prejudice of education:—

Barren as is classical literature in any just recognition of the continuity of events, any true appreciation of the movement of history, or any well-defined confidence in the Future, it were wrong to say that it never found a voice which seemed, in harmony with the Prophets and the Evangelists, to proclaim the advent of a better age. Virgil, in his Eclogue to Pollio,—the exact meaning of which is still a riddle,—breaks forth in words of vague aspiration, which have been sometimes supposed to herald the coming of the Saviour. The blessings of Peace are here foreshadowed, while the Golden Age seems to be not only behind, but also before. Thus, notwithstanding the prejudice of superstition and the constraint of ignorance, has the human heart, in longings for a better condition on earth, gone forward as the pioneer of Humanity.

To the superstition of Heathenism succeeded that of the Christian Church. The popular doctrine of an immediate millennium, inculcated by a succession of early fathers, took the place of ancient fable; and a Golden Age was placed in advance to animate the hope and perseverance of the faithful. It was believed that the anxieties and strifes filling the lives of men were all to be lost in a blissful Sabbath of a thousand years, when Christ with the triumphant band of saints would return to reign upon earth until the last and general resurrection. Vain and irrational as was the early form of this anticipation, it was not without advantage. It filled the souls of all who received it with aspirations for the Future, while it rudely prefigured that promised period—then, alas! how distant!—when the whole world will glow in the illumination of Christian truth. Among the means by which the Law of Human Progress has found acceptance, it is only just to mention this prophetic vision of the ancient Church.

All the legitimate influences of Christianity were in the same direction. Christianity is the religion of Progress. Here is a distinctive feature, which we vainly seek in any Heathen faith professed upon earth. Confucius, in his sublime morals, taught us not to do unto others what we would have them not do unto us; but the Chinese philosopher did not declare the ultimate triumph of this law. It was reserved for the Sermon on the Mount to reveal the vital truth, that all the highest commands of religion and duty, drawing in their train celestial peace, and marking the final goal of all Progress among men, shall one day be obeyed. "For verily I say unto you," says the Saviour, "till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the Law, till all be fulfilled."

There is nothing of good so vast or beautiful, nothing so distant or seemingly inaccessible, as to fall beyond the reach of these promises. Though imperfectly understood, or recognized, in the night of ignorance and prejudice, they were heralds of the dawn. In the advance of Modern Europe, they led the way, whispering, Onward forever! Long before Philosophy deduced the Law of Human Progress from the history of man, the Gospel silently planted it in the human heart. There it rested, influencing powerfully, though gently, the march of events.

Slowly did it pass from the formularies of devotion into the convictions of reason and the treasury of science. Strange blindness! They, who, repeating the Lord's Prayer, daily called for the coming of his kingdom on earth, who professed implicit faith in the final fulfilment of the Law, still continued in Heathen ignorance of the significance and spirit of the Prayer they daily uttered and of the Law they daily recognized. They did not perceive that the kingdom of the Lord was to come, and the Law to be fulfilled by a continuity of daily labor. As modern civilization gradually unfolded itself amidst the multiplying generations of men, they witnessed the successive manifestations of power,—but perceived no Law. They looked upon the imposing procession of events, but did not discern the rule which guided the mighty series. Ascending from triumph to triumph, they saw dominion extended by the discoveries of intrepid navigators,—saw learning strengthened by the studies of accomplished scholars,—saw universities opening their portals to ingenuous youth in all corners of the land, from Aberdeen and Copenhagen to Toledo and Ferrara,—saw Art put forth new graces in the painting of Raffaelle, new grandeur in the painting, the sculpture, and the architecture of Michel Angelo,—caught the strains of poets, no longer cramped by ancient idioms, but flowing sweetly in the language learned at a mother's knee,—received the manifold revelations of science in geometry, mathematics, astronomy,—beheld the barbarism of the barbarous Art of War changed and refined, though barbarous still, by the invention of gunpowder,—witnessed knowledge of all kinds springing to unwonted power through the marvellous agency of the printing-press,—admired the character of the Good Man of Peace, as described in that work of unexampled circulation, translated into all modern languages, the "Imitation of Christ," by Thomas à Kempis,—listened to the apostolic preaching of Wyckliffe in England, Huss in Bohemia, Savonarola in Florence, Luther at Worms; and yet all these things, the harmonious expression of progressive energies belonging to Man, token of an untiring advance, earnest of a mightier Future, seemed to teach no certain lesson.

The key to this advance had not been found. It was not seen that the constant desire for improvement implanted in man, with the constant effort consequent thereon in a life susceptible of indefinite Progress, caused, naturally, under the laws of a beneficent God, an indefinite advance,—that the evil passions of individuals, or of masses, while retarding, could not permanently restrain this divine impulse,—and that each generation, by irresistible necessity, added to the accumulations of the Past, and in this way prepared a higher Future. To all ignorant of this tendency, history, instead of a connected chain, with cause and effect in natural order, is nothing but a disconnected, irregular series of incidents, like separate and confused circles having no common bond. It is a dark chaos, embroiled by "chance, high arbitress," or swayed by some accidental man, fortunate in position or power. Even Macchiavelli, the consummate historian and politician of his age,—Bodin, the able speculator upon Government,—Bossuet, the eloquent teacher of religion and history,—Grotius, the illustrious founder of the Laws of Nations,—whose large intelligence should have grasped the true philosophy of events,—all failed to recognize in them any prevailing law or governing principle.

It was reserved for a professor at Naples, Giambattista Vico, in the early part of the last century, to review the history of the Past, analyze its movements, and finally disclose the existence of a primitive rule or law by which these movements were effected. His work, entitled "The Principles of a New Science concerning the Common Nature of Nations,"[246] first published in 1725, constitutes an epoch in historical studies. Recent Italian admirers vindicate for its author a place among great discoverers, by the side of Descartes, Galileo, Bacon, and Newton.[247] Without undertaking to question, or to adopt, this lofty homage to a name little known, it will not be doubted, that, as author of an elaborate work devoted expressly to the philosophy of history, at a period when history was supposed to be without philosophy, he deserves honorable mention.

Vico taught regard not merely for the individual and the nation, but the race, and showed, that, whatever the fortunes of individuals, Humanity advances,—that no blind or capricious chance controls the course of human affairs, but that whatever is done proceeds directly, under God, from the forces and faculties of men, and thus can have no true cause except in the nature of things,—excluding, of course, the idea of chance. He recognized three principles at the foundation of civilization: first, the existence of Divine Providence; secondly, the necessity of moderating the passions; and, thirdly, the immortality of the soul: three primal truths, answering to three historical facts of universal acceptance,—religion, marriage, and sepulture. Three stages marked the history of mankind: first, the divine, or theocratic; next, the heroic; and, lastly, the human. These appeared in Antiquity, and were reproduced, as he fancied, in modern times. Ingenuity and novelty are stamped upon this exposition, which is elevated by the exclusion of chance and the recognition of God.

While recognizing Humanity as governed by law, and with a common dependence, the Neapolitan professor failed to perceive that this same law and this common dependence promise to conduct it through unknown and infinite stages. Believing monarchy a perfect government, he did not see beyond the time of kings. Like others before him, and even in our own day, he was perplexed by the treacherous image of youth, manhood, and age, which he applied to nations, as to the individual man. No discovery is complete, and that of Vico, while most ingenious and fruitful, failed to grasp the whole law of the Future.

Meanwhile a gigantic genius in Germany,—whose vision, no less comprehensive than penetrating, embraced the whole circumference of knowledge and reached into the undiscovered Future, to whom the complexities of mathematics, the subtilties of philology, the mazes of philosophy, the courses of history, the rules of jurisprudence, and the heights of theology were all equally familiar,—Leibnitz, that more than imperial conqueror in the realms of universal knowledge,—the greatest, perhaps, of Human Intelligences,—enunciated the Law of Progress in all the sciences and all the concerns of life. The Present, born of the Past, he said, is pregnant with the Future. It is by a sure series that we advance, using and enjoying all our gifts for health of body and improvement of mind. Everything, from the simplest substance up to man, progresses towards God, the Infinite Being, Source of all other beings; and in bold words, which may require explanation, he says, "Man seems able to arrive at perfection": Videtur homo ad perfectionem venire posse.[248]

Leibnitz saw the Law of Progress by intuition, and became its herald. But there is no reason to believe that he appreciated its transcendent importance as a rule of conduct, and submitted his great powers to its influence. He saw more than Vico, but he did not discern the practical guide he had discovered. And yet, recognizing this law, the gates of the Future were open to him, and he saw Man in distant perspective, arrived at heights of happiness which he cannot now conceive. The vision of Universal Peace was to him no longer a vision, but the practical idea of humane statesmen, while he bent his incomparable genius to the discovery of a new agent of intercourse among men,—the aspiration of other philosophers since his day,—a Universal Language, where the confusion of tongues will be forgotten, and the union of hearts be consummated in the union of speech.

Close upon Leibnitz came Lessing, whose genius, less universal, but more exquisite, made him the regenerator of German literature. His soul was touched by sympathy for all mankind, and he saw its sure advance. Almost by his side was Herder, gifted among a gifted people, who in his "Philosophy of History" portrays Humanity in its incessant progress from small beginnings of ignorance and barbarism, when wrong and war and slavery prevail, to the recognition of reason and justice as the rule of life. "There is nothing enthusiastical," he says in that work, which is a classic of German prose, "in the hope, that, wherever men dwell, at some future period will dwell men rational, just, and happy,—happy, not through the means of their own reason alone, but of the common reason of their whole fraternal race."[249] In these last words the Law of Progress is announced, with all its promises.

In France we trace this law through a succession of master minds,—first of whom in time, as in authority, is Descartes, the chief of French philosophy. His life was crowded with triumphs of intellect, and after death his spirit seemed for a time to rule all departments of study. Like the universal soul of the Stoics, it was everywhere. Though not formally enunciating the Law of Progress, his "Discourse on Method," first published in 1637, acknowledged its influence in natural science. "The experience which I have in physics," he says, "teaches me that it is possible to arrive at a knowledge of many things which will be very useful to life, and that we may yet discover methods by which man, comprehending the force and the action of fire, water, air, stars, skies, and all the other bodies which environ us, as distinctly as we comprehend the different trades of our artisans, shall be able to employ them in the same fashion for all the uses to which they are appropriate, and thus shall render himself master and possessor of Nature." In these new triumphs of knowledge, he says, "men may learn to enjoy the fruits of the earth without trouble; their health will be preserved, and they will be able to exempt themselves from an infinitude of ills, as well of body as of mind, and even, perhaps, from the weakness of old age." As I repeat these words, uttered long before the steam-engine, the railroad, the electric telegraph, and the use of ether, I seem to hear a prophecy, the prophecy of Science, which each day helps to fulfil. "Without intending any slight," he continues, "I am sure that even those engaged in these matters will confess that all that they know is almost nothing in comparison with what remains to be known."[250] There is grandeur in the assurance with which the great philosopher announces the Future.

From Descartes I come to Pascal, never to be mentioned without a tribute to the early genius which, though removed from life at the age of thirty-nine, left an ineffaceable trace upon the religion, science, and literature of his time. The Law of Progress received from him its earliest and most distinct statement as a rule of philosophy applicable to all the sciences depending upon experience and reason. This is to be found in that posthumous work of eloquent piety and sentiment, Les Pensées, first published by his companions of Port Royal, in 1669, some time after his death; and it is not a little curious, as an illustration of the prejudices this truth has encountered, that the chapter where it is set forth, entitled Of Authority in Matters of Philosophy, was in this early edition suppressed. Not until the next century was the testimony of Pascal disclosed to the world. "By a special prerogative of the human race," says he, "not only each man advances day by day in the sciences, but all men together make continual progress therein, as the universe grows old; because the same thing happens in the succession of men which takes place in the different ages of an individual. So that the whole succession of men in the course of so many ages may be regarded as one man who lives always and who learns continually. From this we see with what injustice we respect Antiquity in its philosophers; for, since old age is the period most distant from infancy, who does not see that the old age of this universal man must not be sought in the times nearest his birth, but in those which are the most remote? They whom we call the Ancients were indeed new in all things, and properly formed the infancy of mankind; and since to their knowledge we have joined the experience of the ages which have followed, it is in ourselves that is to be found that Antiquity which we revere in the others."[251] We cannot admire too much this splendid inspiration, where the expression is in harmony with the thought. When it was said that mankind may be regarded "as one man who lives always and who learns continually," there was indeed a new discovery, as great as if a new continent or a new planet had been disclosed.

The age enlightened by the genius of Pascal was ready to discuss the question then at hand, on the comparative merits of Ancients and Moderns, involving an inquiry into the principles of Progress, particularly in art and literature. The close of the seventeenth century witnessed this memorable debate, which extended from France to England. French critics, under the lead of Boileau, espoused the cause of the Ancients. Against them was Charles Perrault, conspicuous at the time among academicians, and still remembered as author of those Fairy Tales, including "Cinderella" and "Bluebeard," which have given him a fame not inferior to that of his brother, Claude Perrault, with whom he is sometimes confounded, to whom France is indebted for that perpetual triumph in architecture, the unsurpassed front of the Louvre. In an elaborate work, published in 1688-92, entitled "Parallel between the Ancients and Moderns in regard to the Arts and Sciences,"[252] where the debate is in the form of dialogue, he vindicates the Moderns in comparison with the Ancients, and insists, that, notwithstanding the perfection at which the latter arrived, the Moderns have an advantage from prolonged experience and its necessary accumulations. Like Pascal, whose remarkable words were still unpublished, he, too, sees the life of Humanity as the life of an individual man eternal, and, though recognizing epochs of retrogression in history, asserts the continuous progress of the race, not only in the sciences, but also in morals and the arts, not forgetting the art of the kitchen.

This sentiment found similar utterance in a lively contemporary, Fontenelle, an honored academician, whose life extended to a length of days unequalled in the history of literature, having accomplished one hundred years, after devoting that century of existence to the exclusive pursuit of letters. "A good mind cultivated," says this exceptional veteran, "is, so to speak, composed of all the minds of the preceding ages: it is but one and the same mind that has been cultivated during all this period. So that this man, who has lived from the beginning of the world to the present time, has had his infancy, when he was occupied only with the more pressing wants of life,—his youth, when he has succeeded pretty well in matters of imagination, such as poesy and eloquence, and when he has even begun to reason, but with less solidity than fire. He has now reached the age of manhood, when he reasons with more force and more intelligence than ever; but he would be yet further advanced, if the passion for war had not for a long time possessed him, and given him a contempt for the sciences, to which he has at last returned.... This man will have no old age; he will be ever equally capable of the things to which his youth was fitted, and ever more and more so of those which belong to the age of manhood: that is to say,—to quit the allegory,—men will never degenerate, but the sound views of the entire succession of good minds will always be added to one another."[253]—Titian, like Fontenelle, was remarkable for unusual length of days; but the consummate artist, among his immortal pictures, has left hardly one more worthy of immortality than this brilliant statement, where the discovery of Pascal is affirmed and presented with singular clearness and precision.

Thus, in France, was the Law of Progress confessed in the sciences by Descartes and Pascal,—in literature, in arts, and even in morals, by Perrault and Fontenelle. This was before the expiration of the seventeenth century. It remained that it should be announced, not only as a special law applicable to certain departments, but as a general Law of Humanity, universal in application, guiding men in all their labors, and erecting before them a goal of aspiration and of certain triumph. This was done by another, who was not philosopher only, nor statesman only, nor philanthropist only, but in whom this triumvirate of characters blended with rare success,—Turgot, the well-loved minister of Louis the Sixteenth. It was said of him by Voltaire, that "he was born wise and just"; and this tribute has especial point, when it is considered that his acceptance of this law was first announced in an essay[254] written in 1750, at the age of twenty-three, while he was yet at the Sorbonne. Let it be mentioned in his praise, that, as he grew in years, in power, and in fame, he did not depart from the happy intuitions of early life, or forget the visions which, as a young man, he had seen. Perceiving clearly the advance already made, he drew from it the assurance of yet further advance. In reason, knowledge, and virtue he did not hesitate to place his own age before preceding ages. "The corrupt of to-day," he was accustomed to say, "would have been Capuchins a hundred years ago." He declared the capacity for indefinite improvement a distinctive quality of the human race, belonging to the race in general, and to each individual in particular. He did not doubt that the progress of the physical sciences, of education, of method in the sciences, or the discovery of new methods, would enlarge the powers of man, rendering him capable of preserving a larger number of ideas in the memory, and of multiplying their relations. Nor did he doubt that the moral sense was equally capable of improvement,—that man would become constantly better in proportion as he was enlightened,—that the advance of society would necessarily keep pace with the advance of morals,—that politics, founded, like other sciences, upon observation and reason, would advance also,—that all useful truths must be finally known and adopted, while ancient errors are by degrees annihilated, or give place to new truths,—and that this Progress, increasing always from age to age, has no term, or none at least which can be assigned in the present state of human intelligence.

The early testimony of Turgot was repeated at a later day in his precious fragment on Universal History, which, when compared with the Introductory Discourse of Bossuet on the same theme, shows how superior in the philosophy of history was the layman to the bishop. All ages, says Turgot, are enchained by a succession of causes and effects uniting the present with what has preceded, and all accumulated knowledge is a common treasure, transmitted from generation to generation, as an inheritance, augmented by the discoveries of each age. In this spirit he inaugurates Universal History, giving to it a just elevation, as the exhibition of Human Progress in all its epochs, with all its hindrances, and crowned by all its triumphs.[255]

Such testimony, commended by the earnestness of conviction, was not without influence on the great movement which culminated in the earlier revolution of France, or rather it was part of that movement. It found welcome in many bosoms, and helped stir the vast mass. Among those especially penetrated by it was the friend and biographer of Turgot, who was not behind his master in this loyalty: I refer to Condorcet. This unfortunate nobleman, conspicuous for learning and genius, particularly in mathematics, and for honest devotion to the principles of the Revolution, when at last proscribed, and compelled to flee for life,—pursued by the very dogs he had helped to arouse, but was impotent to restrain,—sought shelter with a friend, where, in concealment, he passed the last eight months before his mournful death. His first thought was, to send forth a vindication of himself, addressed to his fellow-citizens; but soon renouncing this design, he devoted what remained to him of life—during that most hateful passage of human history, the Reign of Terror—to the preparation of a work in which he brought his various powers to the development of the Law of Human Progress. It is entitled "Sketch of an Historical Table of the Progress of the Human Mind,"[256] and reviews human society in its different stages, unfolding the order of its changes and the influences transmitted from age to age, pointing out the different steps in the march towards truth and happiness. From observation of man as he has been, and as he is to-day, the author passes naturally to those new triumphs which are his certain destiny, so long as he continues to possess the faculties with which he is endowed, and to be governed by the same universal laws.

Thus wrote Condorcet, while the hand of Death yet waited. He died; but the return to reason in France was signalized by unaccustomed homage to the victim. The Committee of Public Instruction reported, that the sketch was "a classical work offered to republican schools by an unfortunate philosopher, that everywhere in it the improvement of society was recognized as the object most deserving the activity of the human intelligence, and that pupils studying here the history of the sciences and the arts would learn to cherish liberty and to detest and vanquish all tyrannies"; and thereupon the National Convention ordered three thousand copies to be distributed at the expense of the nation.[257] And here properly closes this branch of our subject.

The high lineage and authority of this law I have traced, not by the enthusiasts of Humanity, not by Fénelon or Saint-Pierre, not by Diderot or Rousseau, but by a succession of masters who are our acknowledged guides in science, philosophy, and history. In Italy the torch was held aloft by Vico; in Germany, by Leibnitz, Lessing, and Herder; in France it passed through the hands of Descartes, Pascal, Perrault, Fontenelle, Turgot, and Condorcet:—

"Et quasi cursores, vitaï lampada tradunt,"[258]

till at last, at the close of the eighteenth century, its flame was seen from afar. To England we seem little indebted; and yet, when I think of Lord Bacon, I am disposed to say that we are much indebted. This law inspired his great work on the "Advancement of Learning," and is expressed in its very title. It entered into his aspiration to deliver man from present weakness by extending his power over Nature. It is foreshadowed in his great declaration, antedating Pascal, that Antiquity was the youth of the world,—"Antiquitas sæculi, juventus mundi."[259] For a time Bacon had no successors in England. At a later day this law was cordially embraced by Dr. Price,[260] the friend and correspondent of Turgot. Dr. Johnson, who surely did not accept it, shows an unconscious sympathy with it, when he says of life in pastoral countries, that it "knows nothing of progression or advancement."[261] Unhappy people, thus without visible Future on earth!

To the eighteenth century belongs the honor—signal honor I venture to call it—of first distinctly acknowledging and enunciating that Law of Human Progress, which, though preached in Judea eighteen hundred years ago, failed to be received by men,—nay, still fails to be received by men. Writers in our own age, of much ability and unexampled hardihood, while adopting this fundamental law, proceed to arraign existing institutions of society. My present purpose does not require me to consider these, whether for censure or praise,—abounding as they do in evil, abounding as they do in good. It is my single aim to trace the gradual development and final establishment of that great law which teaches that "there is a good time coming,"—a Future even on earth, to arouse the hopes, the aspirations, and the energies of Man.

II.

The way is now prepared to consider the character, conditions, and limitations of this law, the duties it enjoins, and the encouragements it affords.

Let me state the law as I understand it. Man, as an individual, is capable of indefinite improvement. Societies and nations, which are but aggregations of men, and, finally, the Human Family, or collective Humanity, are capable of indefinite improvement. And this is the destiny of man, of societies, of nations, and of the Human Family.

Restricting the proposition to the capacity for indefinite improvement, I believe I commend it to the candor and intelligence of all who have meditated upon this subject. And this brings me to the remarkable words of Leibnitz. He boldly says, as we have already seen, that man seems able to arrive at perfection. Turgot and Condorcet also speak of his "perfectibility,"—a term adopted by recent French writers. If by this is meant simply that man is capable of indefinite improvement, then it will not be questioned. But whatever the heights of virtue and intelligence to which he may attain in future ages, who can doubt that to his grander vision new summits will ever present themselves, provoking him to still grander aspirations? God only is perfect. Knowledge and goodness, his attributes, are infinite; nor can man hope, in any lapse of time, to comprehend this immensity. In the infinitude of the universe, he will seem, like Newton, with all his acquisitions, only to have gathered a few pebbles by the seaside. In a similar strain Leibnitz elsewhere says that the place which God assigns to man in space and time necessarily limits the perfections he is able to acquire. As in Geometry the asymptote constantly approaches its curve, so that the distance between them is constantly diminishing, and yet, though prolonged indefinitely, they never meet, so, according to him, are infinite souls the asymptotes of God.

There are revolutions in history seeming on a superficial view inconsistent with this law. From early childhood attention is directed to Greece and Rome; and we are sometimes taught that these two powers reached heights which subsequent nations cannot hope to equal, much less surpass. I would not disparage the triumphs of the ancient mind. The eloquence, the poetry, the philosophy, the art, of Athens still survive, and bear no mean sway upon earth. Rome, too, yet lives in her jurisprudence, which, next after Christianity, has exerted a paramount influence over the laws of modern communities.

But exalted as these productions may be, it is impossible not to perceive that something of their present importance is derived from the early period when they appeared, something from the unquestioning and high-flown admiration of them transmitted through successive generations until it became a habit, and something also from the disposition, still prevalent, to elevate Antiquity at the expense of subsequent ages. Without undertaking to decide if the genius of Antiquity, as displayed by individuals, can justly claim supremacy, it would be easy to show that the ancient plane of civilization never reached our common level. The people were ignorant, vicious, and poor, or degraded to abject slavery,—itself the sum of all injustice and all vice. Even the most illustrious characters, whose names still shine from that distant night, were little more than splendid barbarians. Architecture, sculpture, painting, and vases of exquisite perfection attest an appreciation of beauty in form; but our masters in these things were strangers to the useful arts, as to the comforts and virtues of home. Abounding in what to us are luxuries, they had not what to us are necessaries.

Without knowledge there can be no sure Progress. Vice and barbarism are the inseparable companions of ignorance. Nor is it too much to say, that, except in rare instances, the highest virtue is attained only through intelligence. This is natural; for to do right, we must first understand what is right. But the people of Greece and Rome, even in the brilliant days of Pericles and Augustus, could not arrive at this knowledge. The sublime teachings of Plato and Socrates—calculated in many respects to promote the best interests of the race—were limited in influence to a small company of listeners, or to the few who could obtain a copy of the costly manuscripts in which they were preserved. Thus the knowledge and virtue acquired by individuals were not diffused in their own age or secured to posterity.

Now, at last, through an agency all unknown to Antiquity, knowledge of every kind has become general and permanent. It can no longer be confined to a select circle. It cannot be crushed by tyranny, or lost by neglect. It is immortal as the soul from which it proceeds. This alone renders all relapse into barbarism impossible, while it affords an unquestionable distinction between ancient and modern times. The Press, watchful with more than the hundred eyes of Argus, strong with more than the hundred arms of Briareus, not only guards all the conquests of civilization, but leads the way to future triumphs. Through its untiring energies, the meditation of the closet, or the utterance of the human voice, which else would die away within the precincts of a narrow room, is prolonged to the most distant nations and times, with winged words circling the globe. We admire the genius of Demosthenes, Sophocles, Plato, and Phidias; but the printing-press is a higher gift to man than the eloquence, the drama, the philosophy, and the art of Greece.

There is yet another country which presents a problem for the student of Progress. In vivid phrase Sir James Mackintosh pictures the "ancient and immovable civilization of China."[262] But in these words he spoke rather from impressions than from actual knowledge. By the side of the impulsive movement of modern Europe, the people of this ancient empire may appear stationary; but it can hardly be doubted that they have advanced, though according to a scale unlike our own. It is difficult to assign satisfactory reasons for the seeming inertness of their national life. Perhaps I shall not err, if I refer it to peculiar constitutional characteristics,—to inherent difficulties of their language as an instrument of knowledge,—to national vanity on an exaggerated scale, making them look down upon others,—to an insulation excluding all others,—and also to the habit of unhesitating deference to Antiquity, and of "backward-looking thoughts," cultivated by the Chinese from the distant days of Confucius. They do not know the Law of Human Progress.

In receiving this law, two conditions of Humanity are recognized: first, its unity or solidarity; and, secondly, its indefinite duration upon earth. And now of these in their order.

1. It is true, doubtless, that there are various races of men; but there is but one great Human Family, in which Caucasian, Ethiopian, Chinese, and Indian are all brothers, children of one Father, and heirs to one happiness. Though variously endowed, they are all tending in the same direction; nor can the light obtained by one be withheld from any. The ether discovery in Boston will soothe pain hereafter in Africa and in Asia, in Abyssinia and in China. So are we all knit together, that words of wisdom and truth, which first sway the hearts of the American people, may help to elevate benighted tribes of the most distant regions. The vexed question of modern science, whether these races proceeded originally from one stock, does not interfere with the sublime revelation of Christianity, the Brotherhood of Man. In the light of science and of religion, Humanity is an organism, complex, but still one,—throbbing with one life, animated by one soul, every part sympathizing with every other part, and the whole advancing in one indefinite career of Progress.

2. And what is the measure of this career? It is common to speak of the long life already passed by man on earth; but how brief and trivial is this, compared with the countless ages before him! According to received chronology, six thousand years have not yet elapsed since his creation. But the science of Geology, that unimpeached interpreter of the Past, now demonstrates (and here the geology of New York furnishes important evidence), that, anterior to the commencement of human history, this globe had endured for ages upon ages, baffling human calculation and imagination. Without losing ourselves in the stupendous speculations with regard to different geological epochs, before the earth assumed its present figure, and when it was occupied only by races of animals now extinct, it may not be without interest to glance at the age of the epoch in which we live. This, happily, we are able to do.

From the flow of rivers we have a gigantic measure of geological time. It is supposed that the Falls of Niagara were once at Queenstown, and that they have gradually worn their way back in the living rock, for a distance of seven miles, to the place where they now pour their thunders. An ingenious English geologist, a high authority in his science, Sir Charles Lyell, assuming that this retreat might have been at the rate of one foot a year, shows that the cataract must have poured over that rock for a period of at least 36,960 years. And the same authority teaches us that the alluvion at the mouth of the Mississippi, the delta formed by the deposits of that mighty river (here let it be remarked that alluvions and sand-banks are the most recent geological formations on the surface of the earth, being nearest to our own age), could not have been accumulated within a shorter period than 100,500 years.[263] Even this term, so vast to our small imagination, is only one of a series composing the present epoch; and the epoch itself is but a unit in a still grander series. These measurements, adopted in this branch of knowledge, can be little more than vague approximations; but they teach, from the lips of Science, as perhaps nothing else can, the infinite ages through which this globe has already travelled, and the infinite ages which seem to be its future destiny.

Thus we stand now between two infinities,—the infinity of the Past, and the infinity of the Future; and the infinity of the Future is equal to the infinity of the Past. In comparison with these untold spaces before and after, what, indeed, are the six thousand years of human history? In the contemplation of Man, what littleness! what grandeur! how diminutive in the creation! how brief his recorded history! and yet how vast in hopes! how majestic and transcendent in the Future!

If there be any analogy between his life on earth and that of the frailest plant or shell-fish, as now seen in the light of science, he must still be in his earliest and most helpless infancy. In vain speak of Antiquity in his history; for all his present records are as a day, an hour, a moment, in the unimaginable immensity of duration which seems to await the globe and its inhabitants. In the sight of our distant descendants, successive eras of the brief span which we call History will melt into one; and as to present vision stars far asunder seem near together, so Nimrod and Sesostris, Alexander and Cæsar, Tamerlane and Napoleon, will seem to be contemporaries. Nor is it any exaggeration to suppose that in the unborn ages, illumined by a truth now, alas! too dimly perceived, the class of warriors and conquerors, of which these are signal types, will become extinct,—like the gigantic land reptiles and monster crocodileans belonging to a departed period of zoölogical history.

Admitting the Unity of Mankind, and an Indefinite Future on earth, it becomes easy to anticipate triumphs which else were impossible. Few will question that Man, as an individual, is capable of indefinite improvement, so long as he lives. This capacity is inborn. None so poor as not to possess it. Even the idiot, so abject in condition, is found at last to be within the sphere of education. Circumstances alone are required to call this capacity into action; and in proportion as knowledge, virtue, and religion prevail in a community will that sacred atmosphere be diffused under whose genial influence the most forlorn may grow into forms of unimagined strength and beauty. This capacity for indefinite improvement, which belongs to the individual, must belong also to society; for society does not die, and through the improvement of its individuals has the assurance of its own advance. It is immortal on earth, and will gather constantly new and richer fruits from the teeming generations, as they stretch through unknown time. To Chinese vision the period of the present may seem barren, but it is sure to yield its contribution to the indefinite accumulations which are the token of an indefinite Progress.

Tables speak sometimes as words cannot. From statistics of life, as recorded by Science, we learn the capacity for progress in the Human Family; the testimony is authentic, as it is interesting. A little more than two centuries have passed since Descartes predicted that improvement in human health which these figures exhibit. Could this seer of Science revisit the scene of his comprehensive labors and divine aspirations, he might well be astonished to learn how, in the lapse of so short a period in the life of Humanity, his glowing anticipations have been fulfilled. From the following tables[264] we learn that even the conqueror Death has been slowly driven back, and his inevitable triumph postponed.

Table showing the Diminution of Mortality in different Countries.

Deaths in England, in 1690, 1 in 33, in 1848, 1 in 47.

" France, in 1776, 1 in 25-1/2, in 1848, 1 in 42.

" Germany, in 1788, 1 in 32, in 1848, 1 in 40.

" Sweden, in 1760, 1 in 34, in 1848, 1 in 41.

" Roman States, in 1767, 1 in 21-1/2, in 1829, 1 in 28.

Diminution of Mortality in Cities.

Deaths in London, in 1690, 1 in 24, in 1844, 1 in 44.

" Paris in 1650, 1 in 25, in 1829, 1 in 32.

" Berlin, in 1755, 1 in 28, in 1827, 1 in 34.

" Vienna, in 1750, 1 in 20, in 1829, 1 in 25.

" Rome, in 1770, 1 in 21, in 1828, 1 in 31.

" Geneva, in 1560, 1 in 18, in 1821, 1 in 40.

Glancing at the cradle of nations and races risen to grandeur, and observing the wretchedness by which they were originally surrounded, we learn that no lot is removed from the influence of this law. The Feejee Islander, the Bushman, the Hottentot, the Congo negro, is not too low for its care. No term of imagined "finality" can arrest it. The polished Briton, whose civilization we now admire, traces his long-descended lineage from one of those painted barbarians whose degradation still lives in the pages of Julius Cæsar. Slowly, and by degrees, he has reached the height where he now stands; but this is no "finality." The improvement of the Past is the earnest of yet further improvement in the long ages of the Future. And who can doubt, that, in the lapse of time, as the Christian Law is gradually fulfilled, the elevation of the Briton will be shared by all his fellow-men?

The tokens of improvement may appear at a special period, in a limited circle only, among the people, favored of God, enjoying peculiar benefits of commerce and Christianity; but the happy influence cannot be narrowed to any time, place, or people. Every victory over evil redounds to the benefit of all. Every discovery, every humane thought, every truth, when declared, is a conquest of which the whole Human Family are partakers, extending by so much their dominion, while it lessens by so much the sphere of future struggle and trial. Thus, while Nature is always the same, the power of Man is ever increasing. Each day gives him some new advantage. The mountains have not diminished in size; but Man has overcome the barriers they interpose. The winds and waves are not less capricious now than when they first beat upon the ancient Silurian rocks; but the steamboat,

The distance between two points on the surface of the globe is the same to-day as when the continents were upheaved from their ocean-bed; but the art of man triumphs over such separation, and distant people commune together. Much remains to be done; but the Creator did not speak in vain, when he blessed his earliest children, and bade them "multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it."

There will be triumphs nobler than any over inanimate Nature. Man himself will be subdued,—subdued to abhorrence of vice, injustice, violence,—subdued to the sweet charities of life,—subdued to all the requirements of duty,—subdued, according to the Law of Human Progress, to the recognition of that Gospel Law of Human Brotherhood, by the side of which the first is only as the scaffolding upon the sacred temple. To labor for this end was man sent forth into the world,—not in the listlessness of idle perfections, but endowed with infinite capacities, inspired by infinite desires, and commanded to strive perpetually after excellence, amidst the encouragements of hope, the promises of final success, and the inexpressible delights from its pursuit. Thus does the Law of Human Progress

by showing Evil no longer a gloomy mystery, binding the world in everlasting thrall, but an accident, under benign Power destined to be surely subdued, as the Human Family press on to the promised goal of happiness.

While recognizing Humanity as progressive, it is important to consider a condition or limitation which may justly temper the ardors of the reformer. Nothing is accomplished except by time and exertion. Nature abhors violence and suddenness. Nature does everything slowly and by degrees. It takes time for the seed to grow into "the bright consummate flower." It is many years before the slender shoot grows into the tree. It is slowly that we pass from infancy and imbecility to manhood and strength. Arrived at this stage, we are still subject to the same condition of Nature. A new temperature or a sudden stroke of light may shock us. Our frames are not made for extremes; so that death may come, according to the poet's conceit, "in aromatic pain."

Gradual change is a necessary condition of the Law of Progress. It is only, according to the poetical phrase of Tacitus, per intervalla ac spiramenta temporum, "by intervals and breathings of time," that we can hope to make a sure advance. Men grow and are trained in knowledge and virtue; but they cannot be compelled into this path. This consideration teaches candor and charity towards all who do not yet see the truth as we do. It admonishes us also, while keeping the eye steadfast on the good we seek, to moderate our expectations, and be content when the day of triumph is postponed, for it cannot be always.

This essential condition of the Law of Progress serves to reconcile movement with stability, and to preserve order even in change; as in Nature all projectile forces are checked and regulated by the law of inertia, and the centrifugal motion of the planets is restrained by the attraction of gravitation. In this principle of moderation, honestly pursued, from proper motives, and promising the "well-ripened fruits of wise delay," we find a just Conservatism, which, though not always satisfying our judgment, can never fail to secure our respect.

But there is another Conservatism,—and its treatment belongs to this occasion,—of a different character, which performs no good office, and cannot secure respect. Child of indifference, of ignorance, of prejudice, of selfishness, it seeks to maintain things precisely as they are, deprecates every change, and, disregarding the transitory condition of all that is human, blindly prays for the perpetuity of existing institutions. Such an influence is productive of disorder rather than order, and is destructive rather than justly conservative. Contrary to the Law of Progress, it plants itself upon ancient ways, and vainly exalts all that was done by our ancestors, as beyond addition and above amendment. It is well illustrated in the early verses,—

and again, in the conversation between two eminent English ecclesiastics. "Brother of Winchester," said Cranmer to Lord Chancellor Gardyner, "you like not anything new, unless you be yourself the author thereof." "Your Grace wrongeth me," replied the inveterate Conservative. "I have never been author yet of any one new thing; for which I thank my God."[265] Such a Conservatism is the bigotry of science, of literature, of jurisprudence, of religion, of politics. An example will exhibit its character.

When Sir Samuel Romilly proposed to abolish the punishment of death for stealing a pocket-handkerchief, the Commons of England consulted certain officials of the law, who assured the House that such an innovation would endanger the whole criminal law of the realm. And when afterwards this illustrious reformer and model lawyer (for, of all men in the history of the English law, Romilly is most truly the model lawyer) proposed to abolish the obscene punishment for high treason, requiring the offender to be drawn and quartered, and his bowels to be thrown into his face, while his body yet palpitates with life, the Attorney-General of the day, in opposing this humane amendment, asked, "Are the safeguards, the ancient landmarks, the bulwarks of the Constitution, to be thus hastily removed?" Which gave occasion for the appropriate exclamation in reply, "What! to throw the bowels of an offender into his face, one of the safeguards of the British Constitution! I ought to confess that until this night I was wholly ignorant of this bulwark!"[266] An irrational enormity, with a fit parallel only in our own country, where Slavery is called a "divine institution," and important to the stability of our Constitution!

"Esto perpetua!" was the dying conservative ejaculation of Paul Sarpi, the Venetian friar, over the constitution of his atrocious republic; and this same phrase is invoked by Sir William Blackstone for the British Constitution, enfolding so many inequalities and so many abuses. It were well—and here all must agree—to exclaim of Truth, of Justice, of Peace, of Freedom, May it be perpetual! But is it not irrational to make this claim for any institutions of human device, and therefore finite? How can they provide for the Infinite Future? The Finite cannot measure the Infinite. Nothing from Man's hands—nor laws, nor constitutions—can be perpetual. It is God alone who builds for eternity. His laws are everlasting.

Out of this pernicious prejudice have proceeded that persecution and neglect which are the too frequent lot of the world's pioneers. Among the ancient Greeks, the wisdom which first assigned the natural cause of thunder and storm was condemned by conservative savages as impiety to the gods. In the eighth century, an ignorant conservative Pope persecuted a priest who declared that the world was round. At a later day, to the everlasting scandal of mankind, the book of Copernicus, unfolding the true system of the universe, was branded by a conservative Papal bull as heretical and false, and Galileo, after announcing the annual and diurnal motions of the earth, was sentenced to the dungeons of the conservative Inquisition. This was in Italy; but in England—and here we come nearer home—Harvey was accustomed to say, that, after the publication of his book on the circulation of the blood,—one of the epochs of modern discovery,—"he fell mightily in his practice, and it was believed by the vulgar that he was crack-brained, and all the physicians were against his opinion."[267] According to him, nobody older than forty, at the time of his discovery, received it as true. The age of forty was the dividing line of life,—a Mason and Dixon's line,—determining the capacity to receive that discovery. This little story may admonish all who have passed that conservative line to be careful how they are inhospitable to any new truth.

This same undue tenacity to existing things and repugnance to what is new threw impediments in the way of successive improvements by which travel and intercourse among men are promoted. Surely stage-coaches, when first introduced into England, must have been welcome, though novel, as contributing to the comfort of men. But this was not the case universally. An early writer calls for their suppression, breaking forth against them in this wise. "These coaches," he says, "are one of the greatest mischiefs that hath happened of late years to the kingdom,—mischievous to the public, destructive to trade, and prejudicial to lands. First, by destroying the breed of good horses, the strength of the nation, and making men careless of attaining to good horsemanship, a thing so useful and commendable in a gentleman: for, hereby they become weary and listless, when they ride a few miles, and unwilling to get on horseback, not able to endure frost, snow, or rain, or to lodge in the fields; and what reason, save only their using themselves so tenderly, and their riding in these stage-coaches, can be given for this their inability? Secondly, by hindering the breed of watermen, who are the nursery for seamen, and they the bulwark of the kingdom: for, if these coaches were down, watermen, as formerly, would have work, and be encouraged to take apprentices, whereby their number would every year greatly increase. Thirdly, by lessening of his Majesty's revenues: for now four or five travel in a coach together, without any servants, and it is they that occasion the consumption of beer and ale on the roads; and all inn-keepers do declare that they sell not half the drink nor pay the king half the excise they did before these coaches set up."[268] Such was the conservative bill of indictment against stage-coaches. The history of canals, of steamboats, and, lastly, of railways, shows similar prejudices. Even Mr. Jefferson (and I cannot mention him as an immoderate conservative), when told that the State of New York had explored the route of a canal from the Hudson to Lake Erie, and found it practicable,—that same canal which now, like a thread of silver, winds its way through your imperial State,—replied, that "it was a very fine project, and might be executed a century hence." This is only a little better than the observation of the Greenwich pensioners, who, on first seeing the steamboat upon the waters of the Thames, as they looked out from their palatial home, said, "We do not like the steamboat, it is so contrary to Nature." In our own country, Fitch brought forward the idea of a steamboat amidst ill-disguised sneers; and at a later day, Fulton, while building his first experiment at New York, was viewed with indifference or contempt, as a visionary; and when, at last, he accomplished the long distance to Albany, distrust of the Future still prevailed, and it was doubted if the voyage could be accomplished again, or, if successful again, it was still doubted if the invention could be of permanent value. Thus did this evil spirit perplex noble aims! And in England, as late as 1825, railways were pronounced "altogether delusions and impositions," and the conservative "Quarterly Review," alluding to the opinion of certain engineers that the railway engine could go eighteen or twenty miles an hour, says: "These gross exaggerations may delude for a time, but must end in the mortification of those concerned.... We should as soon expect the people of Woolwich to suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's ricochet rockets, as trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine, going at such a rate."[269]

It is related that the Arve, a river of Switzerland, swollen by floods, sometimes drives the waters of the Rhone back into the Lake of Geneva; and the force is sometimes so great as to make the mill-wheels revolve in a contrary direction. There are too many in the world who by their efforts would cause the stream to flow back upon the fountain, and even make the mill-wheels revolve in a contrary direction.

Unhappily, this same bigotry,—conservatism, if you will,—which has blindly opposed improvement in physical comforts, sets its face more passionately still against those movements whose direct object is the elevation of the race. In all times and places it has persecuted the prophets and stoned the gifted messengers of truth. Of its professors Milton pictures the boldest type in Satan, who, knowing well the sins and offences of mortals, would keep them ever in their present condition, holding them fast in degradation, binding them in perpetual slavery, nor indulging in any aspiration, except of long dominion over a captive race, whose sorrows and hopes cannot touch his impenetrable soul. From a sketch by another hand we learn something of his activity. With honest plainness, characteristic of himself and his age, the early English prelate, Latimer, says, in one of his sermons, "The Devil is the most diligentest bishop and preacher in all England."[270] It may be said with equal truth,—and none can question it,—that he is the busiest and most offensive Conservative.

Time forbids my dwelling longer on the ample illustrations of this influence: nor need I. One world-renowned example shall suffice. The early efforts in England for the overthrow of the slave-trade were encountered by an enmity black as the bad passions of the crime itself. In Liverpool the excited slave-traders threatened to throw Clarkson into the dock. But gradually the heart of the nation was touched, until at last the people of England demanded the abolition of this Heaven-defying traffic.

Thus ever has Truth moved on,—though opposed and reviled, still mighty and triumphant. Rejected by the rich and powerful, by the favorites of fortune and of place, she finds shelter with those who often have no shelter for themselves. It is such as these that most freely welcome moral truth, with its new commandments. Not the dwellers in the glare of the world, but the humble and lowly, most clearly perceive this truth,—as watchers placed in the depths of a well observe the stars which are obscured to those who live in the effulgence of noon. Free from egotism and prejudice, whether of self-interest or of class, without cares and temptations, whether of wealth or power, dwelling in the mediocrity or obscurity of common life, they discern the new signal, and surrender unreservedly to its guidance. The Saviour knew this. He did not call upon Priest or Levite or Pharisee to follow him, but upon the humble fishermen by the Sea of Galilee.

Let us, then, be of good cheer. From the great Law of Progress we derive at once our duties and our encouragements. Humanity has ever advanced, urged by instincts and necessities implanted by God,—thwarted sometimes by obstacles, causing it for a time, a moment only in the immensity of ages, to deviate from its true line, or seem to retreat, but still ever onward. At last we know the law of this movement; we fasten our eyes upon that star, unobserved in the earlier ages, which lights the way to the Future, opening into vistas of infinite variety and extension. Amidst the disappointments which attend individual exertions, amidst the universal agitations which now surround us, let us recognize this law, let us follow this star, confident that whatever is just, whatever is humane, whatever is good, whatever is true, according to an immutable ordinance of Providence, in the sure light of the Future, must prevail. With this faith, we place our hands, as those of little children, in the great hand of God. He will guide and sustain us—through pains and perils it may be—in the path of Progress.

In such a faith there are motives to beneficent activity which will endure to the last syllable of life. Let the young embrace this law; it shall be to them an ever-living spring. Let the old cherish this law; it shall be to them a staff for support. It will give to all, young and old, a new appreciation of their existence, a new sentiment of their force, a new revelation of their destiny. It will be as another covenant, witnessed by the bow in the heavens, not only that no honest, earnest effort for the welfare of man can be in vain, but that it shall send a quickening influence through uncounted ages, and contribute to the coming of that Future of Intelligence, Freedom, Peace we would now secure for ourselves, but cannot. Though not ourselves partakers of these brighter days, ours may be the pleasure at least of foreseeing them, of enjoying them in happy vision, or the satisfaction, sweeter still, of hastening by some moments the too distant epoch.

A life filled with this thought will have comforts and consolations else unknown. In the flush of youthful ambition, or in the self-confidence of success, we may be indifferent to the calls of Humanity; but history, reason, and religion all speak in vain, if any selfish works, not helping the Progress of Man, although favored by worldly smile, can secure that happiness and content so much coveted as the crown of life. Look at the last days of Talleyrand, and learn the wretchedness of an old age enlightened by no memory of generous toil, by no cheerful hope for our fellow-men. When the weakness of years rendered him no longer able to grasp power or hold the threads of intrigue, he surrendered himself to discouragement and despair. By the light of a lamp trimmed in solitude he traced these lines, the most melancholy ever written by an old man,—think of them, politician!—"Eighty-three years of life are now passed! filled with what anxieties! what agitations! what enmities! what troublous complexities! And all this with no other result than a great weariness, physical and moral, and a profound sentiment of discouragement with regard to the Future and of disgust for the Past."[271] Poor old man! Poor indeed! In loneliness, in failing age, with death waiting at his palace-gate, what to him were the pomps he had enjoyed? what were titles? what were offices? what the lavish wealth in which he lived? More precious far at that moment the consolation that he had labored for his fellow-men, and the joyous confidence that all his cares had helped the Progress of his race!

Be it, then, our duty and our encouragement to live and to labor, ever mindful of the Future. But let us not forget the Past. All ages have lived and labored for us. From one has come art; from another jurisprudence; from another the compass; from another the printing-press; from all have descended priceless lessons of truth and virtue. The most distant are not without a present influence on our daily lives. The mighty stream of Progress, though fed by many tributary waters and hidden springs, derives something of its force from the earlier currents which leap and sparkle in distant mountain recesses, over precipices, among rapids, and beneath the shade of the primeval forest.

Nor should we be too impatient to witness the fulfilment of our aspirations. The daily increasing rapidity of discovery and improvement, and the daily multiplying efforts of beneficence, outstripping the imaginations of the most sanguine, furnish assurance that the advance of man will be with a constantly accelerating speed. The extending intercourse among the nations of the earth, and all the children of the Human Family, gives new promise of the complete diffusion of Truth, penetrating the most distant places, chasing away the darkness of night, and exposing the hideous forms of Slavery, War, and Wrong, which must be hated in proportion as they are seen. And yet, while confident of the Future, and surrounded by heralds of certain triumph, it becomes us to moderate our anticipations, nor imitate those children of the Crusades, who, in their long journey from Western Europe,

hailed each city and castle which they approached as the Jerusalem that was to be the end of their wanderings. Though the goal is distant, and ever advancing, the march is none the less certain. As well attempt to make the sun stand still in his course, or restrain the sweet influences of the Pleiades, as arrest the incessant, irresistible movement which is the appointed destiny of man.

Cultivate, then, a just moderation. Learn to reconcile order with change, stability with progress. This is a wise conservatism; this is a wise reform. Rightly understanding these terms, who would not be a conservative, who would not be a reformer?—a conservative of all that is good, a reformer of all that is evil,—a conservative of knowledge, a reformer of ignorance,—a conservative of truths and principles whose seat is the bosom of God, a reformer of laws and institutions which are but the wicked or imperfect work of man,—a conservative of that divine order which is found only in movement, a reformer of those earthly wrongs and abuses which spring from a violation of the great Law of Human Progress? Blending these two in one, may we not seek to be, at the same time, Reforming Conservatives and Conservative Reformers?

And, finally, let a confidence in the Progress of our race be, under God, a constant faith. Let the sentiment of loyalty, earth-born, which once lavished itself on King or Emperor, give place to that other sentiment, heaven-born, of devotion to Humanity. Let loyalty to one man be exchanged for Love to Man. And be it our privilege to extend these sacred influences throughout the land. So may we open to our country new fields of peaceful victory, which shall not want the sympathies and gratulations of the good citizen or the praises of the just historian.

Go forth, then, my country, "conquering and to conquer!"—not by brutal violence, not by force of arms, not, oh! not on dishonest fields of blood,—but in the majesty of Peace, Justice, Freedom, by the irresistible might of Christian Institutions!