LOWELL LECTUIRES.
PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY;
S,7  R  Aft, -
~' —,',ltS   y
OF - 1'  Tct 
OR,
THE END OF PROVIDENCE IN THE
WORLD AND MAN.
BY
REV. ORVILLE DEWEY, D. D.
SECOND EDITION..
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY JAMIES MILLER
(SUCCESSOR TO C. S. FRANCIS AND COMPANY),
522 BROADWAY.
1864.
THE 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
JAMES MILLER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District
of New York.
JOHN F. TROW,
PRINTER, STEREOTYPER, AND ELECTROTYPER,
46, 48, & 50 Greene Street,
New York.
541
*l' USA
) E6 y 
PREFACE.
No person, with any comprehension of what he is doing
would publish a book on the Problem of Human Destiny,
without wishing to put into the title of it, some such phrase
as " humble attempt" at a solution of, or "approximation"
thereto.  HIerder denominates his great work, "IDEEN Ideas, on the History of Humanity." I would have entitled
this volume of Lectures, " Hints on the Problem of Hiumnan
Destiny," but that the word "hints" did not seem  to befit
a Course of Lectures. Nor could I very well say,  " Outlines
of the Problem; " for the work does not pretend to be so
much. In short, I do not see but I must let the title stand
in its appalling nakedness and vastness; presuming that the
reader will expect nothing on such a subject, but approximations, hints, and outlines.
I would say, however, very explicitly, that here are no
abstruse discussions, such as might be looked for, perhaps,
from the title of this volume; that, as I was to address a
popular audience, my discourse has been conformed to that
intention; that I undertook to speak for those who were to
0 
PREFACE.
hear me, and not for philosophers; and that all I attempted,
was to offer for the consideration of my hearers, certain
views of life, of the human condition, and of the scene of
the world, that might help themn better to understand their
nature, lot, and destiny.
I am sensible that I am putting forth this work at a
time when the public mind is absorb)ed with questions, not
of philosophy, but of awful fact; when we are pressed to
solve, not the problem of the world, but the problem of our
own national stability and honor. But although the first
shiock of the crisis seemned almost to unseat all our theories
and thoughts of life, yet as the struggle has gone on, I confess that it has driven me, more and more, to the great principles and resorts of my faith in Providence and Ilumanity;
and it has seemed to me, therefore, that the discussions
proposed have some pertinence to the time.
SHEFFIELD, April, 1864.
iv 
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
The title of these Lectures. The question proposed, and the propriety of dis   cussing it. That there is manifest design in the world system. What is the
ultimate design?  Answer: Human culture.  The history of thought on the
subject: in Egypt-Rite of burial; in Persia-the Zendavesta; in the He   brew religion-Book of Ecclesiastes; in the Christian-Epistle to the Ro   mans; Plato, and the neo-platonists, Vico, Herder, Hegel, Comte, Buckle,
Dr. Draper. The difficulties and trials of men's minds on this subject; the
discussion of it designed, not for philosophers, but for the people,. PAGE I
LECTURE II.
The problem of Evil in the world. 1. Statement of the case. The mystery in.
volved-what it amounts to. Very dark, but not all dark. The old civili.
zations. The case in actual experience, purely individual. 2. The question
about the solution of it.  The principle maintained that, from the nature of
the case, and by the very terms of the problem, it appears that it was impos.
sible to exclude all evil.   The difficulty lies in the application of  the
principle. Leibnitz's Theory; Rogers's Table Talk; Voltaire's indignant
protest.  Archbishop King on "The Origin of Evil."  3. Conclusions to be
taken into our future reasonings; that the moral system of the world is one
of spontaneous development-of law-and of restraint.  Its appeal is to hope
and courage,......... 24
LECTURE III.
The material world as the theatre of the great design. Its form and structure.
1. General arrangements. How the earth is made habitable. Means of
warming it. Ministry of the sea. 2. Specific adjustments of man to the
world, and of the world to man; the vegetable, mineral, and animal creation.
3. Distinct adaptations to the higher culture-in the moderated fertility of
the earth-in the order of nature-and in the beauty of nature,..52
i 
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
LECTURE IV.
Man's physical constitution. The ministry to the soul, of the senses and appe
tites-instanced in the sense of touch, in the faculty of speech, in laughter,
in the human countenance, and the human hand. The appetites; commonly
regarded as enemies, corrupters of the soul. Plea against this charge: from
their uses-from the distinction between their natural state and their artificial
and unnatural state-from what they teach and demand-from the evident
inversion which vice produces, of the natural relations of the body and
mind,........ PAGE 76
LECTURE V.
Man's spiritual constitution. Mind more intelligible than matter. Argument
against materialism. Division of the human faculties into the Intellectual,
Esthetic and Moral; the first made to apprehend Truth; the second, Beauty;
the third, Right. The old error of disparaging the human faculties and the
human world. What the intellect has achieved. Science; common sense.
The moral tendency of the love of beauty. Conscience: both directive and
executive. No escape from it. Swifter or slower, but sure to overtake the
transgressor. The penalty in the sin. Seneca, Plutarch; Tiberius. The
general results in human culture; what the human race has actually at
LECTURE VI.
Man's complex nature.  The periods of life: youth, manhood, old age. Society:
the trying conditions of it considered; its alleged selfishness and corrupt   ing influence; its competitions; inequality of lot; solidarity; immense
power of society in moulding the sentiments and character-the great edu   cator. The relation of sex, the foundation of the family. Home, the world's
bond to order and virtue. Balance of opposing powers and tendencies in
the complex nature of man,..... 118
LECTURE VII.
Man considered, first as nature takes him in hand to teach him, and next as
Providence apprentices him to certain life-tasks. Nature demands of him ac   tivity, discretion, care. Her teaching through the sciences. What the tel   escope and the microscope reveal. Next, the occupations of life, considered
as a system of culture. The great visible fact of the world is work. Di   vinely appointed, and better for human development than any abstract cul   ture. The occupations of life, considered in this view: agriculture, man   ufacture or mechanic art, trade, the learned professions-the physician, law  yer, divine, teacher; the arts of expression-authorship, artist life. The
world's need of such influences,...... 139
vi
tained,.
. 98 
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
LECTURE VIII.
Against despondency. Man's condition not to be regarded as strange or de   pressing. Examination of the interior and trying conditions of human cul.
ture: free will-imperfection-effort and struggle-penitence or regret for
failure-illusion-fluctuation-indefiniteness of the process-and  the clogs
and encumbrances that flesh is heir to, in the form of physical infirmity, of the
sensual passions, of sleep. The apparent ascendency given to intellect over
virtue and conscience. In fine, the discipline of life involves difficulty and
trial. Whether something like this must not be the discipline of all moral
life, in all worlds,...... PAGE 162
LECTURE IX.
Problems in Man's individuallife-pain; hereditary evil; death.  Pain useful   teacher of prudence; a sentinel that warns of danger; morally necessary and
ennobling. Hereditary descent of qualities; no more trying than other gen   eral laws; itself a useful law; its connection with nationality, and the family
bond. Death, an evident and original part of the system of the world. The
death threatened in Scripture "not the going out of the world, but the man   ner of going." The isolation of this event, and the pain attending it, consid   ered.  Its influence upon life; as an epoch in our moral course-as near  as inevitable-as admonitory-as filling the world with touching and sublime
memorials-as giving a grandeur to life, through confronting and conquer  ing it,.........  183
LECTURE X.
Historic problems. General view to be taken of the world's life. Plato's view.
With regard to the bad or defective institutions and usages, religious, po   litical, or warlike, that have prevailed in the world, three propositions laid
down, first: that they have been better than none; secondly, that they have
been the best that the world could receive; thirdly, that they have done
good. The particular systems considered: Polytheism and Idolatry-Des   potism-War-and Slavery-and the problem involved in the prevalence and
ministry of Error,.....          204
LECTURE XI.
Iistoric view of human progress. The manner in which the subject is to be
studied. Fichte's manner. The underlying principles-human spontaneity
and divine control.   The agencies employed in human progress.  First,
thought, in the forms both of philosophy and popular opinion: its progress
from the old Asiatic time, through Greece, Rome, and Europe in the Middle
Ages. Secondly, institutions: Religion, the Hebrew system, the Christian.
Thirdly, actions and events: Colonization-Invasions-political Revolu   tions,......... 227
vii 
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
LECTUREI XII.
Historic view of human progress.  Preliminary consideration-that it shlows a
divine purpose rather than any human planning. M. Hello's Philosophy of
the History of France.  Steps of progress: Infancy of the world; the child   hood of civilization was in Southern Asia; its youth in Greece; Rome, the
law-maker and diffuser: The Feudal System: The present age, the world's
manhood; not in its latter, but its earlier day. The certainty of prog   ress,.......       PAGE 252
"I iii 
ON THE PROBLEM OF tIUMAN DESTINY.
LECTURE I.
ON THE CHARACTER, FITNESS, HISTORY, AND CLAIJMIS OF
YIHE INQUIRY.
HAVE we any right to ask-is it natural and fit that a
human being should ask, such questions as these-" Why
do I exist?  Why am I here?  Why am I such as I am?
Why was the world made and arranged as it is?  This
dread mystery of nature and life-what does it mean? 
If it i proper to ask such questions, then is there such a
subject for legitimate discussion, as the problem of human
destiny. This is the subject on which I am to enter this
evening, with a view to some preliminary statement of its
character, of the propriety of discussing it, of its history as
a subject of thought, and of the natural interest that belongs to it.
Let me say a word or two of the title by which I have
announced it; both for the vindication of the title, and the
explanation of my purpose.
My thenme, then, is not natural theology, nor, indeed,
any other theology; it lies in the more general domain of
philosophy. Theology, as a science, is the study of the Supreme Nature; and natural theology is the study of it, in
what exists8, ill distinction from what is supernaturally revealed.  The results of this theology I take for granted.  I
1
6 o -- 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
believe in God, in his perfection and providence. But having found the Divinity, I seek to find the humanity, in nature and life-to find, that is, its place, its function, its vocation, its destiny. That is to say-having found the divine
nature, I seek to understand its intent and end in human
nature; and by consequence in the material creation as
ministering to it. After the problem of the Divinity, comes
by natural and logical sequence the problem of humanity;
in fact, it Aas followed in historical development. The Divinity was the question of the old Oriental sytems; the humanity has been that upon which the Hebrew and Christian,
have fixed attention.
Again, the title "philosophy of history" would not suit
my purpose; because history deals with nations, and my
subject embraces, not only national, but social, domestic,
and individual life. I might call it " the problem of existence; " but that would seem to indicate a more speculative
theme; as, for instance, how things came into existence, or
under what view existence is to be conceived of; and besides, though it is the problem of all earthly existence that
is in my mind, yet it centres in humanity; and therefore I
say, the problem of human, destiny.
If I should say that " the problem of evil in the world"
is my theme, I should come nearer to the matter in hand;
but then I should only point to the cause naturally and immediately prompting inquiry, not to the whole compass of
it, nor to its ultimate aim. The aim is to learn what this
scene of human affairs meaneth; the compass of the inquiry
is the whole mingled good and evil of the human lot; and
the existence of evil, obviously, is only a part of the theme.
But doubtless it is evil especially that raises the question,
that drives us upon it. If all were bright and happy in
this world, if the steps of men and generations were ever
onward and upward, were fiee and buoyant, then there
would be no problem to try, but only contemplation to delight us.  The great wisdom that reigns over the world,would, indeed, then, as it must forever, invite our thoughts,
2 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
but there would be no difficulty, no darklness, no doubt con cerning the human condition. If man had been perfectly
happy and pure, he would never have questioned his lot,
nor struggled for the solution of its mysteries. But how is
it now?  The steps of humanity have been slow and heavy,
and apparently backward at times; stumbling and weari ness and sorrow have been in the path; dark clouds have
hung over the way of generations, and men and nations
have struggled with one another in the darkness; and the
experience of every thoughtful human being, has pressed
home upon him the question, What means this troubled
scene of things?  In other words, what is the reigning and
ultimate aim that lies behind it?
What, then, is the reigning and ultimate aim that lies
behind? This is our question. Is there any presumption
in seeking to know what it is? Observe, that it does not
answer our question to say that infnite love is the principle
from which all things have sprung. What does that love
aim to accomplish? I say, again, may we not humbly ask.
There is a sort of mock modesty, mixed with philosophic
pride, in comparing man seeking to comprehend the moral
system of the world, to a fly upon a great wheel, seeking to
know why it revolves, and for what end. The profession of ignorance mlay be prouder than the profession of
knowledge. It is evident, I think, that Socrates himself
felt more pride than humility, in professing to know nothing. For my part, I do not claim to be one of the philosophers, and am so unpretending as to profess that I do know
something about our nature and condition, and what they
mean. It would be strange, I think, if to the grandest and
most importunate questioning of intelligent natures, there
were no answer.  In the humblest manufactory, a man
could not live his day's life, but in misery and distraction,
if he did not know what was going on there. And can he
live this life, of vaster breadth and wider relations-this
life, that "is sounding on its dim and perilous way"
through the years of time, and consent to know nothing of
3 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the sublime processes that are going on here?-nothing of
that great plan, that binding unity amidst boundless diversity, which alone makes of the universe an intelligent order
and a goodly system?
MAy belief is, that this great and irresistible impulse of
our nature to inquire into these things, is not given to be
balked by heaven, nor scorned by man.  My belief is, that
this high questioning does admit of some answer. The celebrated statesman and Oriental scholar, William Humboldt,
has said, "the world-history is not without an intelligible
world-government." And this declaration is placed as a
motto at the head of a philosophy of history, commonly
thought to be sufficiently sceptical; I mean the German
Hegel's.  And sceptical enough it is.  But while Ilegel
recognizes only all impersonal REASON as ruling in the
world, nothing is more remarkable in his work, than to see
how he traces everywhere in the history of the world, the
thread of a design and a destiny, as distinct and determinate, as if it were everywhere drawn and held fast by a
personal WILL,-a hint, by the bye, of what is often confirmed by the study of philosophy,-that seeming atheism in
the contemplation of the world, is often obliged to deny itself and to acknowledge a providence.
Our problem, then, is the world-problem; in short, it
really is the problem of human destiny. I confess that I
still feel some objection to this description of my theme; it
is a more sounding title than I like.  blot, however, that it
is presumptuous; because presumption, surely, must be out
of the question here; modesty, I think, is to be taken for
granted on such a subject; the very greatness of the probleinm-the vastness of the treasure-house to which we resort,
is an argument, nay, and a kind of warrant, at once for earnestness and humility. Everybody may go to the mines of
California for gold, because they are so vast and exhaustless; and yet, for the same reason, nobody expects to get
more than a small share of it. And so in the field of our
inquiry-if one may pick uLp a few of the golden sands on
4 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
this shore of boundless and mysterious wealth, it is well;
and well may it engage his attention.
I have adopted the title _)roblem of human destiny, then,
for' the simple reason that it better expresses and sets forth,
than any other which has occurred to me, the object I have
in view. A problem is something proposed, laid downthrown out, as we faniliar]y say,-for examination.  The
Greek root from which it comes, 7rpo/ga'Xo, from /aiXXco, to
throw, suggests, in fact, the very figure. A problem is a
ball thrown out, to be unwound, unravelled.  And the subject which is presented in this kind of investigation, is the
strangely mingled web of human destiny.  It is, indeed, if
I may say so, this ball of earth, around wwhich ages have
wound their many-colored tissues, tissues of savage and civilized life, of political institutions and social usages, of literature and art, of law, science, and religion; tissues woven out
of human hearts, and steeped in all the bright and all the
sombre dyes of human experience;  tissues which  have
clothed the earth, bare and naked at first, with countless
memories,  traditions,  histories,  associations,  sentiments,
affections —which have, in fact, given the term world a
human sense, which have made it mean a very different
thing from the bare word, earth; tissues, in fine, broken and
torn by outbreak, revolution, war, violence, or bound and
knotted fast by despotism, caste, serfdom, slavery,-and intermingled and intertwisted in a thousand ways; and yet
in which there is not one thread, laid by the Divine hand,
that has not, as I believe, been drawing on to a sublime
destiny.
To a sublime destiny, I say: and what is that?  And
where is it to be looked for? Is it in the original nucleus
of the world, the mere material ball of earth?  Is it in the
sea, with its waves, or in the land, with its harvests-the
dust beneath our feet?  Is it in the ever-returning circuits of
the seasons?  Can you take any product of nature-flower
or diamond, Andes or India-and say, "To form this, and
such as this, was the end of all things "? No; instantly,
5 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
intuitively, we say, no; where there is a destiny, there must
be an experience, a consciousness of it; in our humanity only
is the problem of this world's existence solved; in our humaniity alone is there end or explanation; man is the world,
and the world is man.
But let us look into this matter a little more closely,
with a view to state more fully what is proposed as the subject of these Lectures, and more fully to legitimate this
kind of inquiry.
You will remember, many of you, the opening observation of Dr. Paley in his Natural Theology, in which he supposes a man, in crossing a heath, to find a watch. He
argues that the finder, on examining the mechanism, and
discovering the purpose which it was designed to answer,
would say, "somebody made it."  He applies this reasoning to the world, which exhibits more design by far than a
watch; and argues firom effect to Cause, from design to a
Designer, from the intelligence displayed in the universe to
an intelligent Creator. And it seems to me that the argument would have been stronger if it had not taken the form
of argument at all; statement here is argument; because
design not merely proves, but implies a designer; just as
action implies an actor, or a thing's being made implies a
maker.  You cannot say, "here is a design," without including in your thought, "here is a designer," any more
than you can conceive of speech without a speaker. The
world, the universe, is the utterance, the word, the expression of a mind.
There has manifested itself of late, in some quarters, a
disposition to discredit this argument from design. In Germany has been revived the old theory of Plotinus and Iamblicus-for it is far older than Berkeley-that the world
does not exist at all, but in our thought. Our inborn ideas,
says Fichte, projected into space, are the universe. The
world is but an idea; the world-creator is the mind. But
this, if it were true, would only bring the argument from
design out of nature into humanity-into this more aston
6 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ishing realm of creative thought.  Did this wonderful mind
-world-creating, as they say it is-did this mind then create itself?  Others have said, that the creation, not being
inj/ite, cannot prove an infinite Creator.  But if the Creator of this world or of the solar system, were imagined to
be a finite and dependent creature, who, then, created Aim?
The steps of this preposterous scepticism, alike lead us back
to an infinite and independent Cause.
This is not the place for any elaborate discussion of the
question, how it is that we come to be possessed with this
great conviction of the existence of a God; whether by arguments drawn from within, or fromn without us; or whether by no argument,-the conviction being the impress upon
our very nature, of the great hand that formed it. I will
only say that if any instructed man can look upon himself
or upon the universe around him; if he can ascend and
dwell in thought amidst the countless millions of stars, or
if he can take into his scope but the breadth of a summer's
day, from the time when it touches the eastern hills with
fire, to its soft and fading close; all its loveliness, its wealth
and wonder of beauty, its domain crowded with thousandfold life,-life clothing the mountain side, springing in the
valley, singing and making melody though all the round
of earth, and air, and waters; or if he can take any little
plot of ground by his side, and study all its vegetable
growth and insect life, and all that it drinks in from fostering nature around, all that it borrows from the ocean deep,
and from the pavilion of the sun, to deck its flowery margin; if, in a word, any instructed man can read the handwriting that is written all over the great tablet of the universe, and not feel that it expresses a Mind-an Intelligence,
a Wisdom, a love unbounded and unspeakable, he it is not
to whom I speak: and well may I judge that there is no
such man here, nor anywhere.  Why, if one found inscribed
upon some Rosetta stone, or upon the ribbed rocks of a desert mountain, but five such sentences as I anl now uttering,
he would say, without any doubt, "Some intelligent being
7 
ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
has done this; some mind placed these words thus, one
after another." And does the infinite volume of the universe give less assurance of a devising Intelligence? Good
heaven! I am tempted to say, what sort of stupid mystification is it, that leads any man to deny that such a universe
as this, expresses a Mind, and a Purpose?
But there being manifest design in the universe, and
therefore a designing Mind, the question arises, What is this
design? In other words, what is the end proposed in the
creation? What may we believe that the infinite Creator
intended to accomplish by the creation of this world, and
of the beings and things upon it? And this question arises
naturally and irresistibly; we cannot help asking it.  Thus
-to adopt the manner of Dr. Paley in the passage just referred to-if I were to bring here and place before you a
lump of clay or a piece of marble, no inquiry might arise in
your minds concerning it, unless it were the general question, why I had brought it here?  But if I should bring
and place before you an exquisite and beautifuil piece of
mechanism, that kind of vague question would not suffice,
but you would especially and immediately ask, concerning
this mechanism, what is it for?  Is it to plane wood, or to
print books, or to generate light and heat?  What is it
made for? And when this question was answered, you
would as irresistibly ask, how does it accomplish its purpose? If it were a very complex instrument, you would have
many questions to ask; as how this wheel, or that lever, this
pulley, or that weight, helps on the general design.
Now, the frame of the world, the frame of our body, the
firame of the soul, in other words, the whole system of nature and life and moral agency, is such a mechanism?
I do not suppose it is necessary to say anything to prove
this point. The phrases in constant use-system of nature,
system of the world, order of the universe, plan of the creation-recognize the doctrine and allow us to take it for
granted. Every step in science opens a deeper insight into
the wonderful and beautiful order of nature; the scientific
8 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
explorer sees in the world a vast manufactory, filled with
instruments and agencies, far more complicated and exquisite than the wheels and levers, the bands and pulleys, that
weave the most splendid fabrics of human art.  But every
man who sees how this vast vegetable growth that covers
the earth, ministers to innumerable living creatures, including the human race, sees a sublime order in nature.  The
earth, he cannot but see, is a bountiful table, spread and
evermore replenished, by day and by night, for countless
tribes of creatures. They come and go; they sleep and
wake, without care; " they toil not, neither do they spin;
they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; "
unbounded millions of creatures, with incessant wants, and
no intelligence in themselves to supply those wants; but
what then? There is an intelligence that provides for them.
There is a bounty that feeds them. Each one finds his place
and his position in the boundless feast. Each one has a set
of organs, an apparatus, to assimilate the food to his nature,
and convert it to his growth; a mouth to break it up, to
grind it like a mill; the stomach to digest, i. e., to amalgamate it with elements of animnal life, and other organs to
modify the supply-to dissolve and refine it, to bolt it, as
it were, and cast away the chaff, while the pure nourishment is conveyed by ducts and channels innumerable, to
every part of the system. Whoever knows this, knows that
there is order in nature. It is true that we are less sensible
of it, because we grow up amidst it; and many of its processes, too, are out of sight. I suppose, if there were machines in nature to mlake bones and build skeletons, and
then, if there were other machines gins to spin the hollow
arteries and veins, and looms to weave the muscular fibre
and the corded nerves, and founderies to mould the beating
heart and the breathing lungs; and other contrivances still,
for putting all the parts together, for setting up the frame
and laying in the engines and the pipes, and putting on the
integuments, and finishing off the man, like a statue-I suppose, I say, that many would be more impressed by all this
9 
10        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
visible mechanism. But it would be all coarse and clumsy
compared with that which now exists, and would be far less
indicative of an order and plan in the world.
But now, when we say there is order, there is a plan in
the world, what precisely do we mean by that?  We mean
precisely that there is an arrangement of parts with a view
to an end. An end, and means to an end-these are the
two component elements of what we mean by intelligent
order. I say intelligent order. A child or an idiot may
place a hundred sticks parallel to each other, and this would
be a sort of order. But in the order of nature we see the
parts, the means, i. e., conspiring to an end.
The end and the means, then-these are the points
which we are brought to inquire into; these are the proper
subjects of all high philosophy of our humanity, of history,
and of the world, as the sphere of their development.
Our present inquiry is for the end. Let us look into
this order of nature, then, and see if it does not, by very
plain indications, lead us to a result-to a conclusion, that
is to say, on the point which we have before us. We see
subordinate aims in nature; let us see if they do not conduct us to an ultimate aim.
Herder commences his celebrated work on the "Philosophy of Hiumanity," by considering the world which we
inhabit, in its primitive naturre and relations. He devotes
several chapters to such propositions as these: that the
earth is one of the heavenly bodies; that it is a planet;
that it passed through many revolutions before it came to
its present form and condition; that it turns on its axis;
that it is enveloped with an atmosphere, &c. He then proceeds to consider the geographical relations of the earth,
and especially of its plains and mountain ranges, to human
development.   Other writers have followed in the same
track.  It would seem that philosophy, like Anteus, must
touch the earth, to be strong.
I do not think it necessary, with my present view, to go
back so far, or to take so wide a compass; something of this 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
I reserve for future consideration, especially the geographical relation. For the present, I wish to direct your attention to the simple point of organic growth in the world,
and see to what it will lead us. You must allow me to do
this in as few words as possible.
The basis of all is the soil. If the earth were a ball of
solid iron or granite, there would be no soil, and no growth.
It is formed of other materials, of other materials, i. e., combined with these; and this, plainly, for an end: to produce
trees, groves, the cedar of Lebanon, the hyssop that springeth by the wall, the herb yielding seed, the waving harvest
-the whole vegetable growth of the world, a harvest for
innumerable creatures. And this is the purpose answered
by the soil. There is much to be said, and which we shall
find occasion to say, of this basis and beginning of all
growth and life on earth, this vast bed of raw material for
all the varied fabric and workmanship of nature.
But look now a moment at this workmanship. Inlaid
in every vegetable structure, air-cells and sap-vessels, to
nourish its growth, and to produce fibre, flower, and seed;
varied forms of structure-the wheat straw hollow, because
for a given amount of material that form is strongest; the
tree not hollow, because then it could not be used for timber, nor be as valuable for fuel; the fruit-bearing shrubs,
like the blackberry, commonly provided with prickles, to
defend them, or with small tough leaves, like the huckleberry, which do not invite the browsing herd; the esculent
shrubs, herbs, and grasses, not so armed, because that would
be fatal to the end; the orchard, the garden, the meadow,
the pasture, the shady grove,-what is all this but a miiiistration of food and refreshment and beauty to the whole
animal and human creation?
Observe, next, the animal creation.  I do not say that it
was made solely for man.  It existed before man.  It has
an end proper to itself; a certain amount of enjoyment
which, though lower, is more unalloyed than that of the
human race.
11 
12        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Still, we see that it is mainly subservient to man. It
furnishes him with food and raiment; it relieves his
labor, and  ministers  to  his  pleasure.   Some  animals
were evidently designed to be domesticated by man and
to do him kindly and patient service —the horse, the
ox, the camnel, the dog. But of what use to him, it may
be said, are the lion and tiger?  I answer, of none, perhaps; but they are, at least, subject and subordinate to
him in this sense, that where man comes, they disappear.
They occupy, by the bounty of the Creator, a space which
man does not want; a space which, perhaps, as in the instance of the deserts of Africa, hlie never will want; but
whenever he does need the domain of these creatures, wild,
untainable, and useless to him, their claim yields to his.
They are made to live for him, or to perish for him, as he
has occasion.
To man, then, we come at last in the ascending scale,
and there is nothing higher; of this earthly creation, that
is to say, he is the head. But in man, again, we see a
double nature-a material frame, and something that is not
material. To the material frame the lower creation directly
ministers as cause.  The vegetable and animal creation, that
is to say, supplies to it food, without which it could not
grow nior live. But is the body the end, the crowning glory
of the world? Evidently it is not. Evidently it ministers
to the soul. Its senses, appetites, and passions are all engaged in this ministry.  To show this fully will require indeed some larger discourse. At present I am indicating
only the steps of the ascent. But look a moment at the
five senses in this view. Suppose a body in its general
frame like that which we now possess, but without the
senses, and the soul imprisoned in that body. What, then,
do we see?  What is done for it?  Why it is let out-if I
may say so-through  touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing.
For what end? Plainly for its delight, its culture, its growing knowledge. The senses are the specific organs of the
soul. Their office is finer than that of the stomach, the 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
liver, the lungs. These are but laborers in the comparison.
The senses are artists. And as their office is finer, it is they
that must have repose and relief. It is they only that sleep.
The stomach, the lungs, the heart, do not sleep; they labor
on, without pause or rest. These are servants. They keep
the house of life in order and repair, that the inhabitant
within, may have leisure and freedom to do his own proper
work-to think, to meditate, to gaze upon the glories of the
creation; to build up systems of science, philosophy, and
art; to build up himself in that culture which is the end
of all.
Nor does it conflict with this conclusion to say, that at
every step, correlative ends are accomplished for their own
sake. Nature is filled with lavish beauty and enjoyment;
but still it points to an end. The stream overflows on every
hand, but still there is a stream. Thus, in human life, I
see a thousand gratuitous enjoyments; but I see, too, a
higher and sublimer purpose. Thus the human body is a
machine for work; but it is also a shrine for indwelling
wisdom and devotion.
The Greek word for man, a'vpco'ro% is composed of two
words (a'a Rope'o), which signify to look upward.  Man is
made to look upward.  The ultimate end of all things on
earth, is to form a being, filled with all nobleness and beanty, filled with virtue, wisdom, piety. The world-system is
a pyramid of which humanity is the top. The broad earth,
the vast substructure of soil, is the base. On it repose the
layers and rounds, many and beautiful, of the vegetable
creation. Next rise the orders of animal life. Above all,
humanity, with its various component parts-some lower,
some higher:-the digestive or building apparatus and the
sentient organs; perception, memory, imagination, that
gathers and moulds the stores of cognate facts; judgment
that compares them, and the consequent grasp of general
truth; and, above all, and ministered to by all, the spiritualized soul, the divine reason-that united intelligence and
love, which gathers strength from all that is below, to rise
13 
14        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUA   DESTINY.
to all that is above; which communes with heaven, with
eternity, with God!
In this comparison, let it be observed that I describe the
system of the world as it actually exists; as a system of
relations, dependencies, connections running through the
whole. If it were otherwise; if the vegetable kingdom stood
completely distinct from the animal, and the animal from
the human, then we might say that each one was made for
ends proper, peculiar, limited to itself.  But when we trace,
throughout the system of the world, a connection and dependency as manifest as in any human machinery, as in
that, for instance, by which wool is carded for the spindle,
and spun for the loom, and woven for the fuller and dyer,
to make cloth-we see in both alike an ultimate end.  In
the world-system, man is the end; and the highest in man
is the ultimate end; that is, his virtue, his sanctity, his likeness to God.
Let me offer an observation in passing, upon the comparison which I have just used. There are sonice things in
that process of making cloth, which, taken by thenselves,
not seen in their relations, seem very little to contribute to
the desired result.  They seem, in fact, to hinder and thwart
the end. The material that is to be woven into a firm texture is, in the process of fabrication, rudely dealt withpulled, and strained, and torn in pieces. A pure and shining fabric is to be made, fit for the array of princes; but
soil, and damage, and discoloration, are a part of the process. So may the shilling robes of virtue be fashioned. So
may human affections be torn and riven.  So may there be,
in human life, many a hard struggle and strain, in order to
come to the end.
Conceive now, on the whole, and yet more distinctly,
of the highest thing in our humanity-what it is.  It is
not comfort, nor ease, nor pleasure; it is not birth, nor
station, nor magnificent fortunes; it is not nobility, nor
kingship, nor imperial sway.  It is something more  noble, i, the mind; more kingly, more imperial, than all 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
this. Conceive of a human being; what he is, and how it
is with him, when he challenges your purest admiration;
when unbidden tears start from your eyes as you think of
him; when you, with all mankind, unite to consecrate and
canonize his worth. Is earthly splendor or fortune, or is
mere earthly happiness, any part of his claim? So far from
that, it is when he stands alone, in the majesty of self-subsistent virtue; it is when he suffers for principle, and sinks
and goes down with the last plank that honor has left him;
it is when he wears himself out in unshared labors of philanthropy; it is when he dies for his country or for mankind-ay, rent and torn in pieces on the rack and the
scaffold; it is then that he is noblest in your eyes. This
highest in man, all that is highest and holiest, I believe, is
the end of Providence; and it is my aim in these lectures
to show how it is that Providence is ever promoting this
end.
I have thus explained my design, and endeavored to
justify it-to legitimate this kind of inquiry.
I cannot doubt that this is a subject of immense interest
to all reflecting persons. The history of thought itself on
this subject, would be one of immense interest.  In the early
ages of the world, indeed, there may have been but little
thought about it; as we see there is but little now, in the
earlier stages of our own life. And yet I cannot help believinig, that in the mysterious depths of our humanity, this
inquiry has always been dimlyshadowed forth, even amidst
barbarian ignorance; that the man who turned froml the
glare of day to his shaded Scythian tent or Bactrian hut,
smitten down by the bitter strife of passion or sorrow, somietimes said with himself; "Wherefore is all this? Why am I
made thus, and to what end?" But doubtless this inquiry
has slowly developed itself with the progress of the world;
and the history of it would be found to mark the steps of all
human progress. It arose dimly in the old Hindoo, Chinese,
and Persian systems of religion and philosophy. It struck
far deeper roots into the Hebrew spiritualism. It occupied
15 
16        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the thoughts of the Grecian and Roman sages. It has revealed itself in modern times in the more distinct forms of
a philosophy of history, and a philosophy of humanity. It
has swelled and deepened its channel through all the fields
of human thought; history, philosophy, science, literature,
are all more and more occupied with the question, what do
all things mean?  No question, I believe, has sunk so deeply into the cultivated mind of the modern world. And
when, some twenty or thirty years ago, the Rev. and Earl
of Bridgewater left a bequest of ~8,000 as a prize for the
best work on this subject, I believe it was widely felt that
the sum was worthily bestowed, and that this specific direction of it, had touched the very theme of the age. It has
been well said, I think, by one of the eloquent philosophers
of France, Jouffroi, that this point of destiny, this object
and end of being, is the very point about which all true
poetry, philosophy, and religion have revolved-poetry,
with its lofty sadness, with its visions and dreams of moral
beauty, with its longings for better times on earth, and
blessed regions in heaven; philosophy, with its profound
and painful inquiries after the all-embracing, all-harmonizing result of human weal and woe; and religion, as it stands
on the heights of the world, and speaks with authority from
God, and faith in eternity.
It may be said, what need we more, since we have such
a revelation?  I answer, our having a Bible does not preclude us from preaching about it; our having a faith does
not forbid our inquiring into it, and seeking for its confirmation; our receiving the facts of a revelation rather inclines us to study the philosophy of those facts.  I may
believe, as I do believe, that all the conditions of this life
are designed and arranged to advance in us the highest
culture; but how they fulfil their mission is a wide question,
and into this question I propose thoughtfully and reverently
to enter.
But let us go back a moment to the history of this great
minquiry. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HIUMAN DESTINY.
All the religions in the world have recognized this
grand problem of human destiny. They have contemplated
man as haeving a destiny beyond the little round of his
daily pursuits; beyond earthly weal and woe, beyond the
sphere of this world's kingdoms and empires. They havo
lifted up the dark curtain of time, on which the shows and
glories, the battles and disasters of this world, are pictured,
and pointed the busy actors to a solemn audit beyond.
Everlasting repose, Elysian fields: or fair hunting grounds,
have awaited them; or Tartarus, Tophet, Gehenna, and
blackness of darkness.
The old Egyptian Sacerdotalism had an institution connected with the burial of the dead, which brought out this
fact of a spiritual destination for men, into visible and impressive significance. The disposal of the body with the
Egyptians, let it be remembered,  was closely connected
with the final state of the soul. They embalmed the body
in the belief that the soul would return to it, after a wandering or metempsychosis of three thousand years. The
institution to which I refer was this.  On the banks of the
lake Acherusia, sat a tribunal of forty-two judges, to
examine into the life of all who were brought for burial in
the great cemetery on the other side. In this examination
no regard was to be paid to the rank or riches of the deceased, but only to his character, to his virtues or vices. If
the result was favorable, his remains were conveyed in a
boat to the Elisout or place of rest; if otherwise, they were
cast into a deep trench, called Tartar-place of lamentations. Transferred to the Greek mythology, we find all this
in Charon, his ferry-boat, Tartarus and the Elysian fields.
In the religious system of the Persians, among whom
Hegel traces a development entitling them in his opinion
to be called the earliest historical people-in the Zendavesta of Zoroaster, that is to say, we find the mind of the
author and the age, laboring with the problem of evil, and
striving to meet it. Evil is in the world; how came it
here?  From theAll-good, nothing but good could come;
2
17 
18         ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
whence came the evil?  Two principles, teaches the Zendavesta, reign over the world: Ormuzd, Light; and Ahriman, Darkness.   From the accursed Ahrirnan comes all
evil; not physical evil alone, as "winter and vermin," but
"reprehensible doubt, and magic, and the false worship of
Peris, and that which poisons men's hearts."   Ormuzd,
however, is the more powerful principle; and in twelve
thousand years shall gain the victory." *
In the Hebrew Religion we find deeper traces of this
great inquiry. The book of Ecclesiastes is a remarkable account of the questionings and strugglings of the mind upon
this point. Throughout the largest portion of the work,
the wise man of Israel appears as a sceptic and a satirist;
he sees no high end for man; he sees no fitness in the conditions of life, to promote such an end; wealth and poverty,
honor and shame, nay, science and ignorance, wisdom and
folly, seem alike purposeless and useless: " vanity of vanities, all is vanity," is the burden of the teaching; and
man  is commended to eating and drinking and enjoying
himself as he may; seemingly after a very reckless fashion.
Then again the high and righteous aim is set before him,
and God's favor and help are promised to him as his security and strength. So that to explain the book, the learned
Eichhorn was led to adopt the theory that it is a, dialogue,
in which the sceptic and the believer are brought forward
by the writer, to express their conflicting views; though
there certainly are no marks of dialogue in the work, and
it seems unnecessary to suppose in the case anything
more than the strugglings of a single mind, after some clue
to this maze of human passions and pursuits.  Every mnan's
thought is a dialogue.
In our Christian writings there is one book, Paul's
Epistle to the Romans, which distinctly brings forward the
same question. First, the great and universal fact of human
imperfection, of human misery, is laid down; next the mis
* Zendavesta, quoted by Heeren, Appendix I., in the 2d vol. on Asiatic
Nations. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
sion of Christ to a weak and wandering and sin-burthened
race.   These subjects, with some digressions, occupy the
first six chapters. In the next chapter, Paul enters more
particularly into the distress of the case, describes the
struggle with sin and sorrow, and ends with the exclamation,
"Oh wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me? "   In
the ninth chapter he speaks in encouraging and even exulting terms of a triumph.  Man, it is true, "is subject to vanity," i e. to dissatisfaction, weariness and pain; not willingly-life's burthens he would fain escape-but at the will
of Him who hath subjected the same in hope.  That is,
for a good end, the Supreme Will hath placed him here; the
case is hopeful; the destiny is noble, though fraught with elements of trial, strife and sorrow.  Through strife and sorrow,
the victory is to be gained.  Man is "savred by hope."  His
state is one not of attainment, but of expectation, of progress.  The great futurity forever draws him on.  He does
not see all that he seeks for. He struggles on through imperfection, uncertainty, darkness, error. Only by these, only
by a battle does he gain the victory. This is the theory of
his condition.
The thread of our inquiry, which runs through the whole
course of philosophy, I have not time inow to trace. Plato
took it up again and again, and Aristotle; and after them,
Zeno, and Epicurus, and even Pyrrho, the doubter-each
after his own fashion. The new Platonic school in the
third century, seems to me to have framed its theories with
distinct, if not ultimate reference to this question.  Plotinus,
Jamblicus and Proclus cast scorn uponI the present life and
all its objects; and as the true end for man, strove to live
above it, in a certain divine contemplation and ecstasy. In
the early part of the eighteenth century, John Baptiste Vico
of Naples, in his "Nuova Scienza," first expounded as a
new science, the philosophy of history.  Herder, Fichte and
Hegel in Germany have labored in the same field. In
France, Auguste Comte, in his great work, entitled "Philosophie Positive," has undertaken the herculean, task of an
19 
20        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
appreciation of the whole course and progress of human
thought and history.
Mr. Buckle's Introductory Volumes on "the History of
Civilization in England" have been added to the works I
have mentioned-in sonie respects the most remarkable of
them  all.  Failing on the moral side-denying freedom to
thie mind, and of course denying all proper moral influence
in human affairs, it is at the same time such an account of
the intellectual, scientific, political and material causes of
human development and progress, that I know of nothing
comparable to it, in the treatment of that branch of the subject. It is the more strange, that Mr. Buckle should have
ignored the moral element-it is positively a phenomenon in
literature-because his own mind was full of the very force
that he denied; hardly anywhere is to be found a keener indignation at wrong, or a more eloquent espousal of human
ri,lghts, or urging of humnian duties.  In America, we havestill more recently-one mnost creditable contr'ibution to the
same general subject, in Dr. Draper's work on the Intellectual Development in Europe; in which the author seeks to
show, though the point is sometimes almost lost sight of in
the admirable and splendid array of facts, that this development is never uncertain or fortuitous in the causes or
processes that lead to it, but always strictly dependent on
law.
This brief allusion to the history of our theme, shows that
it has been encompassed with doubt and difficulty. There are
two lines in our great dramatist, that express the feeling of
the sceptic and the scorner with almost terrific point and
energy. Life, hlie says,
"Life is a tale,
Told by an idiot; full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
There is a sound of the wayward and mad world sometimes in our ears, that seems to answer to that description.
There are spectacles of failure, defeat, moral disaster, and
miserable degradation, that sorely try the better faith. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Alas! we say, perhaps, is there any end for man-for man,
the victim of absurd institutions, the sport of untoward circumstances, the burden-bearer, the slave; for man, baffled,
thwarted, worn down with tasks, beguiled by illusions,
wandering  after phantoms,-is there any end for man?
Was he made for anything high, great, ultimate?  Is there
a power above that guides him, and that has  appointed
such an end for him, and the means to that end?  Is there
any contemplation of our sin-stricken humanity, in which
all that composes its mysterious frame and fortunes can
find a mission and a destiny?  Life is a bewildering scene;
is there any clue to it?  It is a changeful and often tragic
drama; is there any tendency, any plan, any plot in it? It
is a tale of strange things: has it any moral?
This is no idle or curious question. It is vital, and it is.
imperative.  It is not given to us to choose whether we
shall be, and shall be such as we are. Suppose a man is
angry with his lot-angry with the world and with himself
— with his nature, his freedom, his remorse, his life-long
struggle, and says he does not care, and will not yield.
What then? Down upon him, and upon his very fraime
and fate, sink the silent and everlasting laws: and there is
no escape. Still the question of destiny presses upon him,
and there is no discharge from the great bond of his nature
and condition.
It is experience that is involved in this question.  It is
the life-experimnent of every human being. The issue of
the experiment is not merely fuiture and everlasting, but
now, day by day, it comes out-out from every event,
exigency, situation, pursuit, engagement-tlithe absolute,
distilled essence of good or ill for us. Can it come to
good?  Was it meant for that?
It is a wide-reaching experiment; it embraces every
thling; can it all come to good?
"The whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
21 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,"
is it all to be reckoned in the good account?
It is a diversified experiment; it seems often strainge,
confused and purposeless; there are doubtless high traits in
it, but it seems often poor, paltry and low.  What conflict
ing elements mingle in it!-melancholy and gladness,
laughter and tears, solemn intent and wayward levity!
Can any lines be descried, stretching through this field, apparently of wide waste and disorder, and pointing to a
happy issue?  In all its diversified states-of youth, of
manhood, and of old age, of sex, parentage,  childhood,
home, neighborhood, community-is it good?
It is an experiment of depth and reality-enough, far
enough, from being indifferent to any who knows it. Stern,
inexorable, overwhelming at times, is the lot of our being,
take it as we will.  Beneath the smooth surface of life,
under the mask of pride or politeness, how many a fierce
battle is fought, or bitter sorrow endured! What raging
passion, dark intrigue, brooding discontent, despite, shame,
sorrow!  Like the black cloud beneath a smiling sky, like
the lightning in that cloud, so oftentimes is the heart of
man.  Oh, could we say that "with like beneficent effect,"
sorrow gathers and broods, and passion darts its fires!
Could I but see that life is a school-all of it, altogether,
and always; that all the homes of life are full of divine instruction; full, not of petty details alone, but of sublime instrumentalities; that eating and drinking and waking and
sleeping, are not accidents but ordinances; that labor and
weariness, and the tending of infancy, and the sports of
childhood, and the voice of singing, and the making merry,
and the feeling sad and low and heavy-hearted, are all ministrations to an end, and are actually doing something to bring
it about-that would be an optimism, which would clear up
to me the troubled brow of life, would renovate the face of
the world.
But I must not pursue this subject  any farther at
22 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
present.   In my next Lecture I must consider the dread
problem of evil; whence it sprang, or in what light it is to
be regarded: for this lies at the foundation of my whole
theory of life.
One word more let me say in close: The advocate
before a jury, or the speaker in a deliberative assembly, has
one great and singular advantage, in that he addresses those
who, in common with himself, have something to do; who
must share his labor, to come to a decision. Most other assemblies are full of passive hearers, content if they are entertained.  Indeed in our popular lyceumis, and in our popular literature too, entertainment is the thing so especially,
if not exclusively demanded, that the speaker, the writer, is
led to select the most salient points, and often to pass over topics and details less attractive, but of the utmost importance
to his subject. ANow I do not want such passive hearers;
and I cannot pursue any such holiday course.    I must
descend to humble, pains-taking details, when the subject
requires it.  Indeed, Gentlemen and Ladies, I am  afraid
I must weary you sometimes, for your profit. In short, if
you will permit me to say so, I desire to establish between
you and me for the time, the friendly compact of persons
giving their minds to a common task; together seeking to
understand a vast and momentous subject, on which the
stability, peace and happiness of all thinking minds do
much depend.
I am not sorry that the place and occasion require me
to make this a popular theme. I am to speak, not for phisophers, but for the people. I wish to meet the questions
which arise in all minds, that have awaked to any degree
of reflection upon their nature and being, and upon the
collective being of their race. I have hoped that I should
escape the charge of presumption, by the humbleness of my
attempt-the attempt, that is to say, to popularize a theme
which has hitherto been the domain of scholars.
23 
LECTURE II.
THE PROBLEM OF EVIL. THE CASE PRESENTED, THE THE ORY OFFERED), AND) THE BEARING OF IT CONSI DERED.
I FOREWARN you that this is the longest, and perhaps
the least entertaining Lecture that I have to deliver to you.
I have to grapple with a hard problem, and I ask your close
and careful attention. We shall go on more easily when
we get through with this.
I am to consider, in this Lecture, the problem of evil in
the world. In doing this, I shall first state the case; next
propound the theory which I have to offer, and thirdly
consider the bearing of this theory upon our future inquiries,-or the principles by which, under this theory, we
must abide.
First. I am to state the case; what the problem is; what
is the degree, extent, and pressure of evil.
It is often said that this life is a mystery, that this world
is a mystery; and I confess that I am so sensible of a feeling of this kind, that I am so haunted with it, and as it
seems to me sometimes, so strangely and inexplicably
haunted with it through all my life, and especially through
all my hours of more abstract meditation and soliloquy,
that I am often tempted to question myself on this point,
and to say, "Well, what  is so mysterious? what  is it?
Something certainly there is that is not mysterious; much
there is that is intelligible."  And it is pertinent and iuportant to the investigation before us that we should draw
the line of distinction here, though it be a very simple 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
thing to do so, and should say plainly-the line is clearly
between what can be known, and what cannot be known.
There is a veil which we cannot penetrate; but all things
do not lie in its shadow. Something we can know; much,
I believe.  In short, mystery has its place, but manifestation also has its place in all things.
I feel the mystery; I am overshadowed by it; but there
is light upon the edges of the great shadow, and there are
openings of light into it; these I may humbly explore.  1
feel the mystery.  Infinitude, eternity, the immeasurable
plan; life, being, and the Being of all being-God; depth
beyond depth is here, unfathomable, unsearchable.  Nay,
the common scene around us, doubtless, and our own life in
it, are full of mysteries; only our familiarity cheats us out
of the natural wonder.  If on some bright summer's day
you had found yourself standing here in the street or in the
field, amidst all this moving throng of men and things-if
you had found yourself standing here, without one precedent step, with no memory of the past; your eye, your- ear,
your sense and soul suddenly opened to all the siglits and
sounds of the living univei:e-un and sky overhead, and
waviig trees around, and "men as trees walking," you
would have asked, with uncontrollable astonishment, what
is all this? And whence and what ani I that behold it? But
it is no less a real wonder for being familiar; and'there are
moments, in dreams of the mind, when we lose our intense
self-consciousness and almost our personality, in which all
this appears the wonder and mystery that it is.
But when we wake from this bemazing wonder into
knowledge and inquiry, when we begin to understand what
our life is, and to study the life of the world, then the
mystery becomes profound difficulty, and seeming contradiction; our very knowledge confounds us. For we know
that we suffer; that the world suffers. _Ttat needs not to be
insisted on; we know it too well.  And we know that God
is good.  Instinctively we say, the Author of this fair universe and of this human nature, must be good: to Hlim the
25 
26        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
happiness of his creatures must be desirable, nay infinitely
precious.  Why, even our humnan paternity feels unspeakable longings for the good and happy life of its offspring;
this same world is filled with such yearning, ay, and sacrifice, even unto death. And yet-I say it with reverential
awe, and I say it too with perfect trust-here is AnIIighty
power, here is Infinite love; and the world is its creation
and care; and yet, in spite of faith and humility, we cannot
but exclaim, what a world is it!
Very dark it is. But not all dark- let us make up our
account of it carefully-not all darkness, not all misery, not
all evil; not, in the aggregate and mass of its experience, a
hateful and  miserable world; but nevertheless, such  an
amount of evil, both physical and moral, as bewilders all
calculation; such an amount of hardship, disaster, sickness,
sorrow, injustice, bloodshed, brutality and bitter sufferance,
as must fill every thoughtful beholder with mingled horror
and indignation.  And yet, I repeat, this is a part of the
domain of Infinite Benevolence.  And I humbly venture to
think that I can understand, in some degree, the problem
of its sins and sorrows. But it is anl awful problem. From
the beginning, says the great Expositor of Christianity to
the nations, "this creation groaneth and travaileth in pain
until now." For sixty centuries, says another, the human
race has been travelling on in quest of repose, and has not
found it. And history tells the same sad tale. Whole races of
men, like the Tartars and Africans, wandering in darkness
and barbarism; whole empires torn and rent in pieces, or
dying out by slow decay; whole armies mown down on ten
thousand bloody fields; cities sacked, towns and towers
whelmed in ruin; thousands and tens of thousands of
human beings sighing away their lives in prisons and dun geous, which no sunlight nor blessed breath of lleaven's air
ever visits; the foot of man set upon the neck of his brother
to crush him down to agony and despair-suchi things, oh!
and many such things, of more indescribable horror, have
had their place in the history of the world. As it was be 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
fore man dwelt on the earth; it passed through ages of material convulsions, through the thunder of earthquakes,
through the smoke and fire of volcanoes; so, in its moral
history, there have been volcanoes and earthquakes, thunders of war, and fires of human wrath, and the smoke and
smouldering of widespread and mournful desolations.
And yet, if we would make out a fair statement of the
case, which we are now attempting, ill the first place, we
must not forget that there is something besides evil in the
world. We must not pass by the observation, however
familiar, that history, as it has been usually written, is
likely very much to mislead us. It deals with what is
palpable and public, and not with what is private and
unseen-with the tragedy, and not with the comedy of life
-with the camp and court, rather than with households
and homes.  Suppose the history of Europe in Napoleon
Bonaparte's time to be read twenty centuries hence; and
that, of all the literature that might illustrate its social character, only a few fragments should remain-that almost the
only record left, were one of murderous wars and of court
intrigues and vices.  Why, the men of that distant day
would doubtless look back upon the French Revolution and
the years succeeding, as a barbarous and bloody time; and
they might say of Europe, then, with as much emphasis as
we do of the world at large-what traces are there upon it
but of war, and havoc, and nisery? They would see ovei
all the horizon but the one black cloud. The millions of
happy homes beneath it; the cultivated fields which spread
far and wide on each side of the track of armies- ay, fields
which fed those armies, and all Europe beside; the quiet
abodes that were scattered over hundreds of valleys and
mountains, and the virtues and charities that flourished in
them-these, the observers, looking through the glass of Iristory, would not see.
And it is worthy of special notice that the fartker we
are removed firom the field of observation, the more are we
exposed to mistake the facts. Thus the terms Arab, Egyp
27 
28        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tian, Assyrian, and Hindoo, carry to most minds nothing but
ideas of barbarism. WTe think of the multitudes of Asia in
past times, as but more intelligent hordes of animals. Our
useful arts and profound sciences not known to them, we
conclude that they have known nothing. Their customs,
costumes, ways of life, mode of being, so different from
ours, we hardly bring them within the range of our coinmnon humanity. But if there is any clear proof of intellectual
culture and refinement, it is in the language of a people.
And by this rule of judging there must have been, and we
knowv that there have been, periods of Asiatic culture exhibiting a very high order of attainments.  The Sanscrit,
the old HIindoo language, with its fifty letters, is, in its
alphabet, the most perfect language in the world; and it
has an  extant literature of  which only ignorance  can
profess to think lightly.*   The old Persian and Arabic
are not uncultivated tongues; they have many affinities
with  onr English and  with German speech; so much
so, that Leibnitz said, that a German could understand,
at sight, whole Persian verses. Nay, and we know that
those languages have bodied forth, in philosophy and in
fiction, some of the finest conceptions of human  thought.
WVe know that the regal halls of Arabia and Persia have
not shone with barbaric splendor only, but have listened
to some of the loftiest and sweetest strains of poetry. I
can hardly instance anything in our literature more admiirable than the prayer of the Persian poet, Sadi, " O
God, have merey- upon the wicked; for thou hast done
everything for the good in having made them good!"  And
I know not that a scene of greater moral beauty can be produeed from all our works of inmagination than that of an
Arabian romance, in which the monarch calls to his pres
* Dr. Draper, in his admirable book on the Intellectual Development of
Europe, says that the works of Gotama, the great expounder of Buddhism, consist of 800 large volumes. I cannot help thinking they must be very small in
the amount of matter contained in each; but even then, the fact is remarkable
enough.  (See Dr. DRAPER, p. 53.) 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMIAN DESTINY.
ence the youthful poet, and placing him in the midst of his
court, points him to all the luxuries and splendors which he
had brought to decorate his royal halls, and, in the pride of
his heart, bids him describe the scene; when the poet, severe in youthful virtue and full of the inspiration of genius,
bursts foirth into admiration of the surrounding magnificence,
and at the conclusion says: "L ong live the king under the
shadow of his mnighty palaces!-but let him remember that
all this lustre shall grow dim and fade away; and the eyes
that see it shall grow dim, and darkness shall settle upon
them; and these lofty palaces shall sinkl to the dust, and
their mighty lord shall sink to the dust also: " then, wlhen
trembling courtiers interfered, and fawning sycophants
grew bold in their displeasure, we read that the king bowed
down, humble and in tears at the rebuke, and loaded the
noble reprover with his approbation and his gifts.  We
have inherited a good measure of the Jewish contempt for
heathens; but it may be doubted whether there are many
Chrltrsa, courts that would ever witness such a scene, or
many Christian monarchs that would have shown  such
nobleness.
There is one further observation, of an entirely different
character, to be made in this statement of the problem of
evil in the world. It is this: that broad and vast and immense as that problem may appear, it is, after all, in actual
experience, purely individual.  Millions of beings lived in
India, millions in China. In Assyria, in Egypt, in Greece,
in the Roman Empire, in the whole world, millions upon
millions untold have lived; but the question really does not
turn upon some vast calculation of weal and woe, but upon
the part which each individual man has had in them. We
generalize this boundless mass of human existence, and are
apt to regard.it as if one being had experienced it all. But
the truth is, nobody has experienced more of it, than you or
I have, or might have experienced.  With regard to all the
intrinsic difficulties of the case, it is as if but one life had
been lived in the world; and since no man has lived an
29 
30       ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
other's life, or any life but his own, there has been, to actual, individual consciousness, but one life, of thirty, seventy, or a hundred years, lived on earth. The problem really
comes within that compass. In the questions which humanity asks concerning a providence, each one of the unnumbered millions of the human race stands apart and
alone; as much so, as if they were separated from each
other by an interval of a million years.  It is enough for
every being, in every world, satisfactorily to settle the questions that arise concerning his existence for himself; he has
no occasion to go farther; perhaps he has no business to go
farther; but certainly hlie has no occasion to go farther,
,nless he finds beings, the conditions and allotments of
whose existence are different from his. If he does not find
a differing lot, then, I say, settling the question for himself
does settle it for all. If I caii solve the problem of existence
for myself, I have solved it for everybody; I have solved it
for the human race. In other words, if I can see it to be
right that one being should be created so, I can see it to be
right that unnumbered millions should be.
Let us, then, analyze this vast aggregate of human existence into its separate and individual consciousness, if we
would understand it, or the questions that arise from itinto that form, in fact, in which only it can be said to exist.
Humanity, mankind, but as an abstraction, does not exist;
man only lives.  From the vast mass of what we call misery, uLischance, and failure, let us single out this man.  Did
the man who lived in India, in Tartary, ages ago-did the
man who walked in the train of an Assyrian court, or was
marshalled in the hosts of Rome, or travelled down through
the Middle Ages-did he enjoy anid value his life?  Were
there pleasures and satisfactions amidst his strugglings and
sorrows? And amidst his strugglings and sorrows, was any
valuable experience developed? Did he learn anything
worth learning? And does the man who stands in this
modern world-do you and I, find anything in our life, that
makes us prize it; anything that makes us feel that we 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
had infinitely rather have it, than have it not? Doubtless
we do, and other men do; all men do. I am satisfied that
there is an almost universal overrating of the miseries of life
as compared with its blessings; and that not one in a million of those whom we lament over as if their life was a
misfortune, would thank us for our sympathy, or accept the
conclusion that they had better not have existed at all.
II. And now, such being the case of the world's life, we
come to inquire, in the next place, upon what theory this
state of things is to be accounted for. In this system of the
world, there is suffering and Sill; there is suffering and sill
in the individual heart.  How, inder the sway of a good
and wise providence, are these things to be understood?
How could these things be?  In other words, we meet here
with the long-vexed problem of "the origin of evil."  Let
me say here, that I do not like the phrase " origin of evil."
Not whence is evil, nor how it camne into the world, is my
question; but the fact that evil exists; and what view is to
be taken of it.
With regard to this problem, I know it is often said,
that no theory ever offered, and none that ever can be
offered, does, or will, throw any satisfactory light upon it;
and that those only who do not understand the problenm,
will imagine that it can be relieved, in any degree, from
its insurmountable difficulties. It may be that this is nmy
own case; at any rate, I must risk the imputation, for I
conceive that this problem does not defy all human efforts
for relief or explanation. I do not believe that a point so
essential to any reasonable comprehension of the lot of our
life, is left to be a dark and terrible enigma. It would be
strange, indeed, if the one thing that crushes me to the
earth —evil, should be as unintelligible as if it were the blindest mischance; if the only word I can utter, when writhing
with pain, or weighed down by affliction, is mystery; if the
one great question which my nature asks,-" why is evil,
erring, grief, sin, permitted in the world? "-is to strike me
dumb, as an idiot. It is vain to think of keeping the human
31 
32        ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
mind away from it. It will as7c the question. It has been
asking from the beginning.
I do not submit, then, to this lofty caveat against inquiry. I am satisfied that to this ever-pressing question
about the reason why evil exists, there is an answer as to
the principle; and that all the difficulty lies in detailsi. e., in the application of the principle.  And this is the
distinction which I should take in regard to an observation of Bayle, quoted with approbation  by  Leibnitz.*
"Those who pretend," says Bayle, "that the conduct of
God in regard to sin, and the consequences of sin, has
nothing in it for which they cannot render a  reason,
deliver themselves up to the mercy of their adversary."
I grant that this is true, or may be true, with regard to
details, but not with regard to the principle. I do not pretend that there is nothi)ng in the events of human life and
history, for which I cannot render a reason. In the application of the principle there may be difficulty, though not a
difficulty that has any tendency to disturb it.  Leibnitz
himself says the same thing in reference to his own theory.
His theory-if that can be called a theory, which is nothing
but an assertion,-is this: that in the best possible systemn
of things evil was an inevitable part; and when explanation is demanded by his antagonist, hle says, " Ifr. Bayle
demands a little too much; he would have us show how evil
is bound up with the best possible plan of the creationwhich would be a perfect explanation of the phenomenon;
but we do not undertake to give it, nor are we obliged to
do so; it would be impossible in the present state; it is
enough that it may  be true, it may  be inevitable "(though, strangely to me, while hovering about this point
throughout almnost the entire Theodicee, he never once says
wherein this inevitableness consists-) "it may be," he says,
"that certain particular evils are bound up with what is
best in general.  This," hle says, " is sufficient for an answer
to objections; but not for a comprehension of the thing." t
* Theodicee, p. 55, edition of MI. A. Jacques.
f Ib., p. 158. 
ON TIIE PPOBLE.A OF IIHUMAN DESTINY.
But such difficulty, I repeat, about the apliceation of
principles, is common to all subjects; it attaches no peculiar
mystery to the problem of evil. I may also say, that to go
into this application-to go into details, is the very business
of these lectures: we shall have perpetually to answer questions; our present concern is with the theory-with the
principle upon which those questions are to be answered.
While I am upon this point-the difference, that is to
say, between the principle and the details-let me make another distinction.  It is often said that nothing but a future
life can clear up the mysteries of the present. That is true,
with regard to details. Why some particular series of calamities is permitted;  why a paralyzing disease presses
upon the whole of this life, perhaps nothing but a future
life can tell.  But the principle lying at the basis of the
problem, I think we shall see, stands clear and manifest,
here and now.
Or, to state the same thing in a more general way:here is a world and a world system; here is man placed in
it, with a particular constitution, mental and bodily; here
is a story of human fortunes, running back into darkness
and obscurity; a story full, doubtless, of strange things, to
our human view-full, certainly, of complications hard to
unravel-full of strugglings and sorrows.   Now, why this
particuiar kind of world and system and race, should have
been chosen to occupy this particular space and time in the
boundless domain of being; why our nature should be so
weak, or why so strong, why so high or so low; or why
such and so great evils should attend our human developinent, rather than others-manifestly it is altogether beyond
us to say.  I must pray you to attend to the distinction I
am making, for I would not be thought guilty of the presiulption and folly of saying that I can answer such questions. If this is what is meant by mystery in the creation,
I admit it all, and a great deal more. And if any one
should say, on some hearsay report of the lecturer's design
this evening, "11Oh! he proposed to solve the mystery of the
3
33 
34        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
world, and the mystery of all the evil in the world!" I answer that I propose no such thing! To Pope's line,
"All partial evil, universal good,"
Voltaire mockingly and bitterly says, "A  singular notion
of universal good-composed of the stone, of the gout, of
all crimes, of all sufferings, of death, and damnation." *
To any such one-sided or passionate reasonings about evil,
I am not concerned at present to reply. Be it a mysterysomething beyond our reach to comprehend —why this particular form of the creation is chosen, and therefore, why
these special " ills that flesh is heir to," are put into the
system; still, there is a principle lying at the bottom of all,
and accounting for much, which is not mysterious, and
which I may, without presumption, I think, offer for your
consideration. Let us, then, proceed to state those inevitable laws of all being-of all being but God himself-which
lead us irresistibly to that principle.
First, the system in which evil exists is a creation. It
is not something self-existent, but something made, arranged, set in order by a Power above.
Secondly, to a created system limitation necessarily attaches. It could not be infinite, in magnitude nor in any
other attribute.   Created power cannot be omnipotent;
created intelligence cannot be omniscient. Every created
intelligence, every created moral nature, must have a beginning; and the law of its action is, and for aught that we
can see must be, development, growth, progress. At any
rate, limitation belongs of necessity to the whole system;
to men and things alike.
Thirdly, limitation implies imperfection.  Human knowledge is of necessity imperfect; the human will and conscience are of necessity imperfect; the material elements,
too, air, earth, water, are necessarily imperfect. That is to
say, they can have no absolute and infinite perfection, like
the being of God. In other words, their perfection, such as
* La Raison par Alphabet; article Tout est bien. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
it is, must be relative; a. e., they answer the best purpose
that they can, with reference to some end. Thus the air is
the best element for the lungs to breathe; the lungs the best
organ for imparting purity and vitality to the blood; the
system of circulations the best for the growth of the body;
the body the best organization for the soul; the powers of
the soul the best for high culture and happiness: but there
is no absolute best in them, no absolute perfection; there
cannot be. Throughout and at every step, there is imperfection, liability to hurts, liability to go  wrong.   Thus
again, every organ, every element is best for its specific purpose, but not for every other purpose.   Nay more; that
which Jfts it for one thing, unfits it for another. The whole
human frame is good, is perfect for its purpose. For its
purpose, it is required to be composed of delicate organs,
and to be covered with a sensitive envelopment.  It is perfect for its purpose; but it is not so good for fight; it is not
clad in mail; it is not bullet-proof.
The question is, how comes evil to be in the world?
Or, in other words, why was it not excluded from the system?
Certainly it is not desirable for its own sake; infinitely
otherwise; we feel it to be infinitely otherwise. How often
does the vision rise before our minds, of a world without
pain and without sin without one sorrow or wrong in all
its blessed dwellings; and we say, with a tone perhaps, of
something like complaint as well as heavy sighing, why
could not this world have been such?  Why, then, was it
not such a world? Arid the answer that I give is, that it
was in the nature of things impossible. This is my principle-that it was, in the nature of things, and by the iin- m
evitable conditions of the problem, impossible to exclude evil.
Before I attempt to show how and why it was impossible, let me provide, by a remark or two, against any preconceptions that may arise in your minds with regard to
my design. I do not intend then, in the first place, to take
up any questions in theology. According to the statutes of
the Lowell Institute, and equally in accordance with my
35 
36        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
own views of propriety in such a course of lectures, I am
required to avoid all polemic discussion. And indeed I do
not see, but the question which I raise in this lecture,
presses equally upon every theology.  For if any one traces
all the evil in the world to the sin of Adam, then the
question would be, why was not Adam prevented from
sinning? And my answer is, that he could not-being a free
moral and imperfect creature-that he could not be prvented. If this is true, it must be a great relief to see it;
for it must seem strange that he was not kept pure, if that
was possible. It appears to me that we are bound to think
that he and his posterity would have been kept in perfect
innocence and bliss, if, in the nature of things, it had been
possible.
Let me further say that the position which I take-viz.,
that evil could not be prevented-implies no limitation of
the Divine power or goodness. This idea of power, I conceive, is to be put out of the case altogether. Yet it has
very closely adhered both to ancient and modern reasonings
upon evil.  Lactantius, in his treatise on " The Wrath  of
God " (sec. 13), introduces the Epicureans as reasoning
thus: " Either God wills to remove evil, and cannot; or he
can, and will not; or he cannot, and will not; or hlie can,
and will. If he wills, and cannot, that is weakness. If lhe
can, and will not, that is malignity. If he will not, and
cannot, that is a defect both of power and goodness. But
if he can and will; then why is evil? "  Or, to take a modern instance of the same kind of reasoning-in Samuel
Rogers's " Table Talk," ]Mr. Rogers is quoted as saying, "The
three acutest men with whom 1 was ever acquainted, James
Mackintosh, Mialthus, and Bobus Smith, were all agreed
that the attributes of the Deity must be in some way
limited, else there would be no sin and misery." And
Leibnitz quotes Bayle to the same effect in his preface to
the "Theodicee."  Mr. Rogers and his friends thought, as
I know from more private sources, that, as the limitation
could not be of wisdom or goodness, it must be of powver, 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
. e., of power to make the world otherwise. Now I must
venture to say, that all this language, whether of Lactantius, or of sir. Bayle, or of Mr. Rogers and his friends, very
much surprises mie. For the truth is, that power has nothing
to do with the case.  There are such things as inherent, intrinsic natural inpossibilities. It is impossible, for instance,
that matter should exist without occupying space; and it is
not so proper to say that God cannot make it so, as that the
thing cannot be. It is said, I know, that God cannot make
two mountains without a valley, i. e., a depression of land
between them; but that I take to be only the strongest,
popular expression of the utter impossibility of the thing.
The idea of power, strictly speaking, or of more power
or less, has no relevancy to the case. If I take two balls
and lay them before me, and then add two more, the sum
cannot be five balls; and as to power more or less to do
that, why infinite power can no more make them five, than
an infant's power. Again, the sum of the angles of every
triangle is equal to two right angles-no more and no lessand it cannot be otherwise. And you might as well ask me
why God could not make a triangle to include four or six
right angles, as ask why He could not make an imperfect,
moral  and free nature without any liability to error or
mistake.
If this were what the ancients meant by fate, they had
meant rightly. But it is not to be represented as a power
above God. For it is only saying that irreconcilable contradictions cannot meet in the same nature. It is only saying
that a thing cannot be one thing, and a totally different
thing from what it is, at the same time.
If now I have sufficiently guarded my proposition from
mistake, let us proceed to examine it. The problem of evil,
the question why is it? —this is the subject before us.
Evil is of two kinds, natural and moral. With regard
to the latter, I think the case is very clear. But let us inquire for a moment concerning the former-i. e., natural or
physical evil.
37 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
The great and comprehensive form of natural evil is
pain. And by pain I mean now, of course, physical sutffering; or, the suffering that springs from a bodily organization.
The question is, could such an organization be made, and
made to answer its purposes to voluntary agents, without
that liability?  Or rather, here are two questions.  Could
it be made at all?  That is one question.  Was it possible
to make an organ capable of pleasure, without its being
liable to pain when hurt, broken, or torn in pieces?  Look,
for instance, at that sensitive vesture with which the
human body is clothed, the skin; or at the corresponding
membrane that lines the interior cavities of the structure,
the mucous membrane.   With  soft and  gentle touches
applied to the body, with warm and balmy airs breathing
upon it, or sweet odors inhaled, or healthful food received,
this sensitive vesture, within and without, thrills with
pleasure. Could it be-was it in the nature of things possible, that cold could freeze it, or the knife cut it, or baleful
poison could enter in, or starving and death, without giving
pain?  Could the sense of touch, alive to all impressions,
find every impression equally agreeable? In fact, would not
such a perpetual monotony of impression, have been itself
disagreeable?  But could any sensitive integument be made
to which it should be indifferent whether water bathed or
fire burned it?  Pleasure and pain seem  to us necessarily
correlative, necessarily bound together, in any organ that is
capable of either.
I may doubt then, whether it was possible, in the nature
of things, to exclude pain from the human or from any sensitive organization. But it is yet clearer, in the next place,
that pain is necessary to the purpo8ses8 which this organization was designed to answer. I suppose that it is universally conceded that there are such purposes; that the body
was made for the mind, made to train, to educate the mind.
But suppose it were made only for itself. Even then-even
for the body's preservation, pain is as necessary as pleasure.
The mind's prudence needs the salutary admonition of pain.
38 
ON TIE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
" The burnt child dreads the fire." But not the fire alone,
every element around us, would prove fatal to the ignorance, inexperience, and impetuosity of childhood, if pain
did not teach it prudence. The body itself would perish in
a thousand ways, if caution and wisdom were not learnt
from suffering. Then again looking to higher purposeswhat is it, as the primary impulse, that stirs the world
to activity, to industry?   What  is it that prevents  it
from sinking into perpetual languor and sleep? It is
the pain of hunger. Or why does man build his rude
hut, or fashion his clothing of skins, but to protect himself against the pain which the elements would inflict?
Or if we say, that sloth itself is irksome and painful,
still it comes to the same thing. "Uneasiness," of some
kind, as Mr. Locke teaches, "is the universal motive to
action." But suppose, on the other hand, that there was no
pain. Suppose that all sensation were pleasurable. How
certainly would the human race sink into the fathomless
gulf of sensualism?  If excess never brought satiety nor
suffering with it, how certain must it be, that it would never
stop; and that the whole man, the whole nature, the whole
world, would sink into utter moral perdition! Man, we say,
is to be trained; his higher nature is to be developed and cultivated. To this end, the senses minister. To effect it, they have
pleasures to offer. But they must have other means than pleasure at their disposal, or they could never fulfil their office.
Either in the nature of things, then, or in the purposes
of things, or in both, we say, that physical evil, as far as we
can see, was inevitable.
But let us now look at what is more material to the problem we are considering-at moral evil.
Was it possible to frame a nature, moral, finite and free,
and to exclude from it all liability to error, to sin? I answer that by the very terms of the statement, it was just as impossible, as to make two mountains without a valley; or, to
make the angles of a triangle to be equal to three or four right
angles. Thevery statement of the case excludes the possibility.
39 
40        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Let us look at the case. Here is a being created with
certain moral faculties.  He is capable of loving the right.
Hle is capable of loving the wrong. He is also perfectly
free to do the one or the other, at his pleasure. If he
pleases to do wrong, nothing can prevent him, that leaves
him free. lHe is imperfect moreover, and is liable, from
defect of knowledge, to go astray. He is endowed, too,
with the love of happiness; he must be so-the very
capability of happiness implies the love of it; and in his
ignorance, he is liable to suppose that the evil way will
make him  happiest; that the indulgence of his appetites
and passions, for instance, will yield him a fuller satistfaction
than the cult-lre of his higher nature. Aberration and failure, alas! are, more or less, the story of every human life.
Aberration and failure, too, are grievous sins: for this being
had power-had freedom, that is to say, to choose the better
part. The fact is so; but the question is-was it possible
to place him beyond the reach of this peril?  If it were,
then we are to find the origin of evil in the arbitrary and
mysterious will of Heaven.  But was it possible?  Was it
possible to make this being impeccable, incapable of evil,
independent of temptation 
What is the only conceivable condition on which such a
result can be secured? That man's will be bound, constrained, compelled to the right course. But theni he is not
free. Take away that perilous element, freedom, and then
lie may be safe; but then he is no longer a moral being.
So long as he is imperfect and free, he must be liable to
choose wrong. Hte need not, indeed, in a palpable case,
choose wrong. iHe need not be guilty of positive malignity,
of intentional sin-and the distinction is important-but lihe
must be exposed to sins of inadvertence, exposed to slide
into evil unawares. Nay, and in apalpable case, he nmust be
free to go wrong, if he pleases; else lie is not a moral being.
But what then is evil, in man, under this theory?-it may
be asked; and I ought to pause here a moment to answer.
Is evil a mnere mistake, a mere confusion as to what is right, 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
of a mind dazzled by worldly fascinations or clouded by
sense and appetite? Far from it. There is indeed mistake
about it, confilusion of mind, blinding temptation. Still,
when a man is drawn to evil, le commnonly knows it to be
evil.  Why, but for this, is there any struggle in his mind
about it?  How is it, but for this knowing better, that the
descent to gross vice, to falsehood, to dishonesty, is often
achieved through strife, misgiving, and agony at every step?
Nay, and it must not only be that he knowvs better, but that
hlie can do better; else hlie could not blame himself. What,
in fact, is the case presented to the tempted and falling?
There, on the one hand, is some advantage-pleasure, lucre,
distiiicetioin-ih(Tpines,8, the mind calls it. /;ere on the other
hand, is puLity, rectitude, virtue.  Between these lies the
questiou. Here is the crisis-the most tremendous that can
be, in the nature of things.  What does the man do? What
does hle choose? There is no conmpulsion.  There is no compLlsion to evil; and there is no compulsion to good. Power
Almi,ghty, that reaches to the infinite height above, and to
the infinite deep below, and sways the boundless spheres
around, touches not that solemn prerogative of choice.
What does the man do? He chooses the wrong! What is
the definition of that act? A violated conscience! It is
the most awful fac(t in the history of humanity: a violated
conscience! It is the breaking of the highest law in the
universe, and of that which the offender feels and knows to
be the highest-the manifested law of the infinite Rectitude.  The consequences, indeed,  are fearffl; the most
dreadful miseries in the world are the results of wrongdoing; but they stand in just and lawful accordance with
the deed-not in any disproportion.
But suppose the man to choose right: let us consider
that, a moment; for it will confirm our view, I think, of the
essential attributes of a free nature. What is virtue, goodness, holiness?  It is often spoken of, as if it could be created in the heart, or could be put into it, by an independent
power. But can it be so? Virtue, love is the voluntary
41 
42        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
act of the soul. It is by definition, incapable of creation.
It cannot be put into the heart. It is the heart's own voluntary putting forth. All that we can conceive of; as possible to be created, is the capacity to love. The act of loving
is the sole act of the being created. It is as much so, as
hatred is his own act. Both are alike free, voluntary, unforced; or they are not moral.
Whether we consider, therefore, the essential nature of
good or of evil in the mind, we are brought to the conclusion, that the exposure to evil is one of the inevitable conditions of the problem involved in a moral, finite, and free
nature. I have before expressed my surprise that Leibnitz,
in his great work  on theology, the Theodice, which  is
chiefly occupied with this very subject, nowhere distinctly
points to the nature and ground of this inevitableness of
evil.  He does however once quote with _ualixed approbation the following sentence from Mr. Jacquelot: " Suppose,"
says Jacquelot, " that God could not prevent the bad use of
free will, without annihilating it: it will be agreed that His
wisdom and His glory having determined Him to make creatures free, the same powerful reason must preponderate over
the unhappy consequences that would spring from this liberty."* This I regard as pointing to the true theory of the
origin of evil. Only by being annihilated, could free will
be secured from this liability to aberration and evil.
But I must now, to bring this theory fully before you,
carry it a step farther; and I mean, farther back, to the
origin of the human experiment. Every man begins his
experiment in infancy. The race began in infancy. Every
generation must begin so.   Could it begin anywhere else?
The point is material: for it is easy to see that if it were
otherwise, if the man or the race could begin where their
predecessor leaves off; if each generation had taken up all
the wisdom of the past generation, and borne it onward; if
the child had assumed all the virtues of his parent, and had
proceeded on that vantage ground, then the burden of
*Theodicbe, p. 166. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
human sil and misery would have been relieved to an incalculable extent.  Again I ask, was that, in the nature of
things, possible? Was it possible to put those results of
past experience into any newly created heart?  Was it not
inevitable that every newly created race, every newly created soul should begin in infancy, and work its own way
up to virtue and happiness? Such; we see, is the fact;
but was any other thing possible? For myself, I do not
see that any other thing was possible.
For experience, like virtue, by definition, cannot be
created. Wisdom, by definition, cannot be created. It is
what the moral being works out for himself.  It is not
God's act, but man's act. It implies choice, effort, resistance; and these are the works and acts of thle human being.
This being is created, not with certain virtues, but with
certain faculties.  Even if the body were brought into existence full-formed and in its adult state, as we may suppose
the body of the first human being was, still there must be
a time when this being puts forth his first act, and there
must be an after time, when he puts forth the second and
the third act. Can the first act have all the precision, certainty and strength of the second, the third, the lhunidreth?
If not, then here is learning, here is progress. But present
learning implies past ignorance; progress to-day, defect
yesterday. In ignorance then, in weakness, by experimenting, the human being, the human race, must advance and
grow and gain strength. In the nature of things, it cannot
be otherwise.
Still and after all, I do not doubt the question will be
asked —was there no alternative?   Pressed  by  the hard
strife of the problem, one may strangely say: " Well, but
was freedom itself any necessary part of a moral and good
nature?  Could not God have made a being pure and good
without freedom?  Or, having given himn freedom, could he
not have held it back from all aberration?  But do you not
see that these suppositions violate the very conditions of the
problem of moral agency?-that they are neither tenable,
43 
44        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
nor indeed conceivable?  Nay, if the highest and noblest
kind of existence, i. e., a moral existence, could have been
v?ade and kept pure and happy, it is inconceivable that it
should not have been.
The truth is, as I conceive, that the failure of this entire
argument, if it fails with you, arises firom my fault in stating
it, or from yours, in not adhering to the premises.  Let us
change the terms of the question-let its put this, which is
regarded as such  a confounding and insoluble problem, into
another shape-and ask, why ignorance is permitted in the
creation.  You find the most terrible and overwhelmning
calamities and miseries, springing from ignorance; from
ignorance of the laws of health-of ventilation, food, drink,
medicine; from ignorance of the laws of material nature,
and of human nature. Indeed, almost all the evils in the
world may be referred to this one source. And now you
ask-quite confident that nobody can answer-disdainfully
and solemnly shaking the head at any attempt to answerstruck blind by a perspicacity which sees that there is nothilg to be seen- yotu ask, "What is the origin of ignorance?"
What is the origin of ignorance? Whiy, it could not be helped.
That is the origin of ignorance. It could not be helped. Do
you wonder that man is not omniscient? Is that a confounding and insoluble problem to you? Why not go on, and wonder that man is not almig,hty, all-wise, and infinitely happy?
But now, I repeat, if any one goes into detail, and says"Why this?  Why that?  Why such a race as the human?
Why the Chinese or Afiicans? Why such degrtaded forms
of being?  Why creatures maimed and crippled by hereditary taint? "-I may well answer, that we do not know;
that it is quite beyond us to know, in particular, why these
special forms and conditions of being exist. Of the degree
of imperfection, best for this world or for that world, it is,
of course, quite beyond us to form any judgment. But
surely it is something for us to consider, and something profoundly entering into the problem of our existence, that it
was in the very nature of thllings impossible to remove from 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HIUMAN DESTINY.
the system of a moral creation, all evil, all ignorance, all
error, all suffering.*
Let me now detain you a few moments longer, while I
attempt to carry this argument, necessarily abstract thus far,
into some of its practical bearings upon life, and upon the
state of mind, in our reasonings, which, as a matter of inference, it requires of us.
I say, then in the first place-let it be fixed in our
minds, that the system of the moral world is a system of
spontaneous development.   It could not be other than
spontaneous ill consistency with its own nature. The agent
is fiee.  He must do, within the range of his permitted activity, what he will. You ask why things could not have
been ordered or controlled so as to bring out a happier result;
why such monsters in human shape as Tiberius, and Coesar
Borgia, or the petty tyrant in his own family or village,
should not have been hindered from their excesses or their
cruelties?  The answer is, they could not, unless by being
deprived of their natural fireedom. If they had been tiiiinals they mlight have been guarded and governed by instinct.  But they were allowed to be worse, by as much as
their range was larger; and that range could not be contracted without giving up the essential, the moral character
of the systemn.  To all such hypothetical questions, the an
* As I am anxious to relieve this conclusion fiom all unnecessary objection, I
will add, that it is not altogether heterodox.  Since I first delivered this course
of lectures, I have read Archbishop King's work "On the Origin of Evil," translated and commented upon by Edmund Law, Bishop of Carlisle-some weight of
testimony, certainly, from the Church of England-in which substantially the
same view is taken. Substantially, but I may say, not precisely. The course of
the archbishop's argument is mainly this: Take away anything that you call
an evil, and I will show you that a greater evil would conme in its place. But
the ground taken in this lecture, is that it was in the nature of things impossible to exclude it; that it is an essential contradiction in ideas to put imperfcc
tion, choice, virtue on one side, and immunity from all evil, error, suffering on
the other. There was a book published in Hartford, Conn., some years since,
espousing, I think, mainly the same solution of our problem, and I was pleased to
see a notice of it in the ASew Englander, in which this solution was commended
as worthy at least of serious consideration.
45 
46        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
swer is-given a nature moral and free: givet a world for
its sphere; and the consequences must follow.  Let the enquirer seize this idea of spontaneous development and hold
it fast. Interpositions, in certain circumstances and for certain purposes, we may and do believe in; but they are exceptions from the system, not the rule. As if, when the
Creator had made the world and placed man upon it, He
had then left, and, if I may say so, neglected it and cast it
off, to run to its own firee course-such is the general aspect
and light in which we are to study its history. If in this
study we meet, as we shall meet, with abundant evidence
that this world is not cast off, that it is controlled and guided
while it is left free, it will be our own wisdom and great
happiness to see that. If we meet with the fact of Divine
interposition, as we believe that we do, we shall receive it
with most reverent joy and thanksgiving. Bult still we must
clearly distinguish this from the general course of events.
We must distinctly see that we are mainly to study, not a
supernatural, but a natural development; and moreover,
not an animal nor angelic, but a human development. We
must firmly say-what man pleases to be, that he must
be; what human reason, conscience, affection will, that
they must do; and what human ignorance, barbarism, passion will, that they must do. It could not be helped, unless
by unmaking this nature, deranging this plan, destroying
this system of the world.
In the next place, that man's growth and action be free
and rational, the system of treatment under which he lives
must be one of general laws, and not of sudden and violent
expedients; a system of gentleness and patience, of moral
influence, and much of it, indirect influence. Our human
shortsightedness and passion are ready often, to call down
sudden and signal vengeance upon the evil-doer.  "Is there
nIot some chosen curse," we say, "some hidden thunder to
blast the wretch who violates all laws, human and divine?"
But suppose it were so. Suppose that the eternal retribution that dwells embosomed in the air around us, were to 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
burst forth in thunder upon every atrocious crime. Suppose that the Infinite Intelligence were ever devising new
penalties for guilty deeds. Or suppose that, by a genera
law, the lying lips were always smitten with an instant
blow, or that there were a whip wielded by an invisible
hand, for every villain in the world.  It might be no more
than justice; and you might say that the world would then
be strictly governed. Yes, but the government would then
be a police, and not a providence. Human nature would
break down under such a system of treatment.  Men would
be like slaves under the lash; and their virtue, mere terror
and cowardice. Therefore men are left slowly to learn the
evil of their ways, and human wickedness is suffered to run
far, that the experience of evil may be corrective, and contrition for it generous and sincere, and repentance deep and
thorough.
Yet it is not to be overlooked, in the third place, that the
system of this moral creation is one of restraint and correction. There is restraint here. There are limnits to man's
power and will and wickedness. He cannot overleap the
barriers of the world; he cannot jump off from the globe
which he inhabits. It rolls through the infinite void, a
separate sphere and school; and the pupil cannot escape
from it,-but by an act, rarely committed, and almost always to be referred to insanity. Material nature around us
too, and so far as it enters into and forms a part of our own
compound being, is full of restraint and retribution.  Heat
and cold and storm and night, and sleep and hunger and
disease and pain, hold their place amidst all the strugglings
of our will; and no man may deny or disregard their power.
There is a solemn control within us, also. I feel that
there is an awful Providence over my mind. Amidst the
thousand questionings of my spirit and the ten thousand
moral emergencies of my experience, conscience rises up
before me, ay, and agai,st8 me if I do wrong, like a lifted
finger.  There is something within me, which is above my
will, and despite my will, it proclaims a law. He who
47 
48       ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTIN Y.
made our nature free, made it not free from that glorious,
that tremendous bond. All written law, every covenant,
promise, and oath in the world-all rest upon that inner
bond. To obey that law within, is honor, peace, and fulniess
of joy. To disobey, is misery and ruin. Amnidst all that is
called ruin in the world, there is nothing like the ruin of
guilt; and of all the miseries in the world, there is nothing
like the agony of remorse.  And though the sharpness of
that agony be escaped through the dulness of conscience,
though the solemn reality be veiled over by the haze of
prosperity, yet I do not believe that any human being ever
solved the problem of evil in himself, the problem of sensuality or avarice or malignant passion, without finding and
feeling, ay, settling it in his deepest heart, that it was an unhappy course. Here, then, are restraint and retribution.
Such, in fine, and as a matter of incontrovertible fact, is
the system of the world; material, and as such, a sphere of
education; moral, and therefore free-and therefore liable
in its very nature to aberration and evil, to sin and suffering; a system by its very nature, and inevitably, one of
spontaneous development, a system necessarily, for its purposes, one of general laws; and clearly, by the intervention
of a Power above humanity, a system of stupendous moral
restraints.
Such, as I read it, is the problem of human life and history; and such, in the most general form, is its solution.
We utter that phrase —human life and history-in a breath:
but what infinitude of meaning is in it! What ages of tremendous experience does it describe! It is not a mere cold
thleme for philosophic disquisition; it is life, yours and mine,
the world's life-intense, unutterable, steeped in joys and
sorrows unutterable-wide as the spread of nations, comprehending the experience of unnumbered millions of creatures, swelling with the burden of long ages of existence.
A solemn story, of things not one of which can be indifferent to him who is a manl! History and biography have
written it, and yet, they have not written a millionth part 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
of it; fiction has illustrated it, and yet it is stranger than
fiction; poetry has embalmed it in holy inspiration and
sympathy, and yet the unwritten poetry is a thousandfold
more than the written. Ay, everywhere has life-the now
dead and vanished lifb of ages-been such. In crowded empires and among the scattered isles; in gay and gorgeous
cities, and in solitary and lowly huts; in the fishlerman's
bark upon the Northern seas, and the shepherd's Arabian
tent, and the hunter's Alpine path; by the hearth and the
fireside, or in wandering and weariness; in the dark and
dreary castles of the old Northmen, or upon the sunny slopes
of Italy, of Persia, and of India, everywhere life, this same
life, has had its lot-amidst wailings of grief and melodies
of joyous hearts, amidst the desolations of war and famine
and pestilence, and the green abodes of peace and plenty:
age with its heavy sigh and infancy with its prattlings, hlave
had part in this human lot; the joys and sorrows of parents
and children, the secret, never-uttered ruminating, upon the
mortal lot and immortal hereafter, of the private heart;
passion and strife, and glory and shame; courage and aspiration, and defeat and despair-all that is life, and all that
death is-all bound up in this tremendous bond of human
existence!
Comparatively, nothing in the world is worth studying
but that.  God's wisdom in the stupendous problem of human existence, let me understand that; or let me understand what I can of it. All other sciences do in fact converge to that-the illustration of God's wisdom in the world.
All arts-sculpture, painting, poetry, music, history, and
every form of literature-are studies and illustrations of the
great humanity.  But the philosophy of it all-n tat do I
seek above all things.
I believe that all is well. I believe that all is the best
possible.  Understand me, however.  I hold to optimism in
this sense; not that man's work is the best possible, but that
God's work is the best possible-is the utmost that it was
possible for Divine power  and wisdom to do for mlan.
4
49 
50        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
" What could I have done for my vineyard, that I have not
done for it," saith the Lord. It is an essential part of the
theory which I adopt, and one which I especially desire to
illustrate, that the free will of man, while perfectly free, is
yet surrounded by wise instructions and powerful restraints;
that the world of nature and of humanity are full of them.
I do not believe that the good Being would have created  a
moral system which in its freedom was certain to run down
to utter destruction and misery. I believe he saw that it
could, with his care and aid, travel upward, higher and
higher through ages. But I do not believe that it was possible in the nature of things, to exclude pain and weariness,
or stumbling and wandering from the path that shall conduct it to the heights, to the ever-rising heights of virtue and
happiness.
But in this theory-to say one word more-there is no
place for moral apathy.  No man may  fold his arms, and
say, " Things must be so; and in eirring, I yield but to nature." There is no fate in this world, like the fate that a
man makes for himself.  That is fate indeed-the inevitable
necessity, that every man must freely work out his own weal
or woe.  If there be any practical value in this discussion,
it is in having drawn your attention distinctly to this inevitable necessity-as the fact on which hinges the whole
moral philosophy of human life and history. It is a fact,
unalterable, fixed as adamant. Whether we build upon
that rock, or break upon that rock-one thing is certainit cannot be removed. But we may build upon it: and
therefore to point it out, and, amidst the waves, the strifes
and perils of human existence, to lift it up clearly to view,
is to send out a challenge to all the spiritual heroism in the
world, ay, and an alarm-call to all the sluggard indolence in
the world; and to summon every man that lives, to do all
that he can for himself; and to do all that he can for others,
To arm the soul to look that dread fact of inalienable moral
responsibility fairly in the face, and to arouse the soul to
discharge itself of that stupendous trust with humility and 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
resolution-these are the highest ends of all right study and
of all true wisdom.
I say in fine, and I say plainly, that for sickly complainers, for poor voluptuaries, for weak worldlings-for
ignoble creatures that had rather be innocent sheep and
be happy, than wrestling angel-natures, taking blows and
wounds in the lists of virtue-I have no doctrine to deliver.
I say deliberately and firmly, that I had rather have corn
menced my existence as I have, than in some imaginary
elysium of negative, stationary, choiceless, unprogressive innocence and enjoyment. 
Give me freedom, give me knowledge, give me breadth
of experience; I would have it all. No memory is so hallowed, no memory is so dear, as that of temptation nobly
withstood, or of suffering nobly endured. What is it that
we gather and garner up from the solemn story of the world,
like its struggles, its sorrows, its martyrdoms?  Come to
the great battle, thou wrestling, glorious, marred nature!
strong nature! weak nature!-come to the great battle,
and, in this mortal strife, strike for immortal victory! The
highest Son of God-the best beloved of Hieaven that ever
stood upon earth-was "made perfect through sufferings."
And sweeter shall be the cup of immortal joy, for that it
was once dashed with bitter drops of pain and sorrow; and
brighter shall roll the everlasting ages, for the dark shadows
that clouded this birthtime of our being.
51 
LECTURE III.
THE MATERIAL WORLD AS THE FIELD OF THE GREAI
D)ESIGN: ITS ADAPTATIONS TO THE END-HUMA[A
CULTURE.
I HAVE attempted to set forth in my first lecture, the
apparent design proposed in the creation of the worldhuman culture; and in my second, the ground principles
involved in that design-involved, that is to say, in those
material and moral agencies, that belong to the present
constitution of things. A scene there must be, a place, a
sphere for human activity; a free will in man to act his
pleasure; and from such a condition and nature I have cointended that it was impossible-as far as we can conceivethat it was shown by the very terms of the statement to be
impossible, to exclude all evil.  This principle I believe to
be incontrovertible. There are difficulties about its application; there are difficulties about the details, and to these
it is my special business in these lectures to address myself;
but there is no di_\culty about the principle.
I shall now proceed, and especially in the present lecture, to consider this material world, as the sphere of human
activity and culture.
The Rev. Thomas Burnlct-an Englisli divine of the
17th century-in a book of his, called "The Sacred Theory
of the Earth," imagines the world originally to have been
literally a perfect sphere.  " In this smooth earth," hle says,
" were the first scenes of the world, and the first generations
of mankind; it had the beauty of youth and blooming na 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tare, fresh and fruitful; and not a wrinkle, scar, or fracture
in all its body; "-(and what do you think he means by
" no wrinkle nor scar "?)-why, "no rocks nor mountains,"
he says, "no hollow caves nor gaping channels, but even and
uniform all over. And the smoothness of the earth made
the heavens so too; the air was calm and serene; none of
those tumultuary motions and conflicts of vapors, which the
mountains and the winds cause in ours; it was suited to a
golden age, and to the first innocency of nature." *
It is strange that, even to this eccentric writer, such a
world should have seemed a desirable place, or even habit
able.  But suppose the reverse of this; suppose the earth
to have been ridged'all over with lofty mountains, withouLi
intervening plain, ocean or river, and it is still more obvious that it would have been completely uninhabitable; at
least by any such race as now occupies it.
In a happy medium between the inaccessible mountain
and the unbroken plain, lies the lap of earth to receive and
nourish the children of men. They grow and multiply in
the fruitful valleys; they nestle under the covert and shadow of mountain ranges, which send down refreshing breezes
upon them;  they line the river banks and the shores
of the sea with their villages and cities, and launch forth
from them their ships for distant voyages. And in the
most obvious view, this arrangement is necessary to human
growth, intercourse, and culture; and not only so, but to
human subsistence. Without level grounds there could not
be productive agriculture; without mountains there could
not be gushing springs nor flowing streams; without
oceans and the immense evaporation from their surface,
there could not be cloud nor rain; and without refreshing
rains and irrigating rivers, there could be no vegetable
growth; and man and beast alike must perish from the
face of the earth.
But this adjustment of the earth to human subsistence,
comfort, and culture; let us consider it more nearly.
* P. 76, London ed., 1816.
53 
54        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
The earth is a globe; and so small is the deviation from
a perfect sphere caused by the highest mountains, that the
Davalagiri in Asia, 28,000 feet high, stands above the level
only as the twelfth of an inch would on an artificial globe of
ten feet in diameter.*  It does not belong to us to decide,
scarcely to inquire, whether some other form for the world
would have answered the purpose. It is evident that a
square or any irregular figure, or simply a vast and level
extension, would have been unfavorable to its revolutions
on its axis, or its free movement in space. All the other
heavenly bodies are spherical; this is the form chosen by
the Infinite Builder and Alaker. The earth then is a globe;
and it follows that some portions of it must be less favorably situated for human comfort and culture than others.
If it be asked why this inequality, this inconvenience, this
evil is permitted; why the burning zone is assigned to
some for residence, and the cold Arctic regions to others;
the answer is, that in the system of things this was inevitable. Here, in fact, and especially in the northern cold, is
the problem of evil again-the problem of evil for the
Greenlander; and he can rationally solve it in no other
way. But suppose that some other form had been chosen,
by which these particular inconveniences would have been
avoided; and while we are indulging our inmagination, let
us somewhat extend the field; let us conceive of certain
other arrangements that might have been made for human
comfort. Suppose, for instance, that the earth had been
covered over, at convenient distances, with houses, built as
a part of the world, of ever-during stone and rock; and that
near these dwellings had grown trees, for shade and for
fruit; and that around them had spread fields and farms.
And suppose too, that roads, aye, and railroads, of nature's
workmanship, had run all over the earth, just where
they were needed; or that in the ocean, there had been
vast currents, running opposite ways; one from America
to Europe, to bear our ships, and another from Europe
* Guyot's Comparative Physical Geography, p. 34. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to America, to bring them back: suppose all this. Should
we like this stereotyped order? Should we not wish to
alter the houses, the grounds, the groves, the roads, to suit
our taste or convenience?  I scarcely ever knew a man to
buy a house but he must needs alter it, to make it suit Aim.
But the same houses, the same estates, the same arrangements, for all generations, rude and civilized-it would be
intolerable. It would be a solid barrier against all improvenenit.  To; better that the world, rough, wild, shaggy, be
given to man as it is, to mould it as he will.  And I do not
doubt he will yet mould it into such a garden of plenty,
such an abode of beauty and happiness, as we cannot now
conceive of; far better than that exact plan-that world for
drones, which some might prefer. No; man is better cared
for, by not being cared for too much.  The world is given
to him, as the raw material, to work upon. That fact is the
basis of his whole earthly culture.
But passing by this general form and structure of the
earth, I wish to show how things are adjusted and adapted
to human subsistence, development and improvement; and
that, far more admirably and exquisitely, than they would
be by any such arrangement of houses, farms, roads or
ocean currents, as I have just supposed. For this purpose,
I shall consider, first, some of the general arrangements of
nature; secondly, some of the specific adaptations of the
world to man, and of man to the world; and thirdly, certain ministrations of nature to still higher ends in the sphere
of human culture.
Under the first head, I must mention certain arrangements —not, indeed, to convey any new knowledge to many
of you; but I must remind you of them; they belong to
the survey we are taking of the world as a place of human
abode; and their very familiarity may lead us to overlook
their importance.
The world is constructed to be the abode of human life,
and to nurture the means and provisions of that life. For
this purpose it must be supplied with food and drink; and
55 
56        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
it must be heated, ventilated, and refreshed with moisture.
The way in which these ends are accomplished is marked
with such design, such adjustment, restraint and modification of nature's forces-nay, such actual departure from
nature's ordinary methods, when it is necessary, that it is
worthy of most reverent heed and consideration. It shows
not only that there was care for a general material order,
but care for man.
I. Thus, for warmig the earth; is the s8un's heat sufficient? I imagine that most persons never thought of any
other as neces8sary; and yet it is certain that another is as
necessary as the sun. The world-dwelling is warmed in
part by a furnace; out of sight, and to most persons out of
mind; and yet without which it would be uninhabitable.
No doubt is now entertained, among geologists, that the
centre of the earth, if not a molten and fiery in ass, is far hotter
than the surface; and that the surface derives part of its
warmth from that source. But then, if the heat at the centre
were far greater than it is, it might make a hotbed of the
whole earth: it might produce enormous growths, like
those of the pre-Adamite earth; when the fern and the
brake grew eighty feet high-fit, indeed, to make coalbeds
(which they d.id make), but not fit for human sustenance
If the central heat were greater still, it would destroy all
vegetation. But if, on the contrary, there were no heat in
the world itself, if it were a mass penetrated throughout
with icy coldness, it may be easily seen that no heat from
the sun falling upon its firozen bosom, could make it a fruitfuil, or desirable, or habitable abode for man.
But further, the regions of the equator, over which the
sun passes and upon which he pours down his direct rays,
are liable to be too hot; and the regions of the pole, upon
which his rays fall slant and oblique, too cold.  This, I
have said, in the nature of things, was unavoidable. But
what is there to modify and temper these extremes?  On
the line of the equator the earth bulges out, so that its diameter 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
from east to west is twenty-six miles greater than from north
to south. Now it is found, from boring into the earth, and
from examining the temperature of mines at different depths,
that the heat increases on descending, at the rate of about
one degree for fifty feet; that is to say, that any swell on
the earth, or any mountain mass, would be-the internal
heat alone considered-one degree colder for every fifty feet
of height-twenty degrees for every thousand feet. Doubtless other things are to be considered; and especially the
warmth of the sun and air around the mountain sides; and
we do not know the conditions of this central heat.  Of
course the calculation cannot be applied with any exactness;
but taking into account simply the swell of the earth around
the equator-inasmuch as the surface at the equator is about
thirteen mniles farther from the centre of the internal heat
than the surface at the poles, it seems not unreasonable to
infer that the warmth from this source is less within the
tropics. That is to say, if there were no external source of
heat, no sun shining directly upon it, the now burning zone
would be the coldest part of the earth.
But above this swelling up of the earth in the equatorial
regions, rise again the highest mountains in the world.
From these heights the land regularly declines, all the way
to the pole; each mountain range lower as you proceed,
each plateau lower, from the lofty table land of Tubet in
Asia, 14,000 feet above the level of the ocean, to the steppes
of Tartary, and the great plains of Siberia in the extreme
North; or to take it in the New World, from Chimborazo,
21,000 feet high, to the table land of Mexico,  7,500 feet
hlligh, and the plateau of Inner California, 6,000, and so onward to the plains of Oregon and Ilidson's Bay.  The equatorial mountains rise to the height of from twenty to nearly
thirty thousand feet.
On ascending these mountains, at an elevation of about
fifteen thousand feet from the base, we reach the point of
perpetual congelation. Above this, rise the snowy heights
-stupendous icehouses to cool the regions below-reservoirs
57 
58       ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
of water too, to refresh them; and without which neither
plant nor animal nor man could have lived there.*  Now
if a contrary disposition had been made; if low and level
valleys had prevailed near the equator, and the highest
mountains had risen within the arctic circle, it is evident
that both would have been uninhabitable.
Let us now turn from the land to the water.  Nearly
three fourths of the earth's surface is covered with water.
The Pacific Ocean alone, it is computed, occupies more space
than all the dry land.  It may seem a strange disproportion
of waste and apparently useless water, to fruitful soil.
But let us consider it. This soil can yield nothing without
a certain amount of moisture. A certain- amount-neither
more nor less; too much would saturate and debilitate the
vegetation, too little would dry it uLp.  Now the sea is the
source of moisture, the nurse of rains. Evaporation lifts up
the watery particles into the air; whence they are borne
upon the land, to fall in showers, to distil in dew, to bathe
the mountain heights, whence they gush forth in springs,
gather into streams, and form and feed the mighty rivers;
and for all these purposes, the supply is, in the general, just
what is wanted; neither too much, nor too little. But this
evaporation from the sea; what does it give us? Pure
water; an extract from the mass, as exactly separated as if
it were distilled in an alembic. Suppose that the saline
particles were lifted into the air, to fall in rain, and flow in
the rivers; that it rained brine, and that brackish and bitter
waters flowed in all our streams and fountains! What an
element indeed-what a blessing is pure water!-the most
exquisite refreshment of thirst, the only cleanser of impurity for the human skin and for all that pertains to human
use, the only healthful solvent of vegetable food for the daily
meal. And suppose that the pure springs or the nzedicinal
waters were turned into bursting fountains of champagne
wine; it would seem as if nature, in her secret caverns, had
p)lotted for our destruction! And I confess that I am strIuck,
* I am indebted for these estimates to Guyot's Lectures. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
not only with the blessing and beauty, but with the mystery of this element.  We know nothing of the hidden connection between its particles, by which it is a flowing liquid,
instead of a mere conglomeration of atoms. If it were
poured into our cup and bowl, as disintegrated albeit golden
sands, we could neither drink it, nor wash in it. More
wonderful than any enchanted cup, is that which we daily
put to our lips; choicer than all the cosmetics of Arabia, is
that morning ablution; and well might it be, every morning, as an outpoured oblation of pure thanksgiving. And
when it falls in refreshing rain- in the fine rain upon the
mown grass-who can help sometimes thinking what it
would have been if it had come down in sheets of water;
how it would have deluged and crushed the tender herb beneath?
But why is the sea salt? Or what purpose is served by
its saltness?  Professor Maury, of the Washington Observatory, has given to this question an answer of singular interest. Hie has shown that the whole oceanic circulation depends mainly upon this quality of saltness. And upon this
circulation depends again the tempering of all climates, both
hot and cold. For if the ocean stood still, then increasing
masses of ice in the north, and increasing heat at the equator, would make both zones uninhabitable. Of this oceanic
circulation, the Gulf Stream is an example; but there are
other currents no less remarkable. The arctic voyagers,
wintering in Davis's Straits and Wellington Channel, found
themselves drifted southward by a surface current-in one
instance, a thousand miles in nine inonths-while, at the
same time, icebergs, sunk deep in the water, and taking
the effect of an undercurrent, were borne the very opposite
way-borne northward, through crashing fields of ice, at
the rate, in one instance, of four knots an hour.
But how is this effect produced? The immense equatorial evaporation-i. G. the taking up of immense quantities
of water lowers the sea level.  A surface current from the
north flows down to supply the deficiency.   This indeed
59 
60        ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
would take place if the sea were fresh.  But in salt water,
as the evaporation does not take up the salt, it leaves the
surface water salter, i. e. heavier. Consequently it sinks;
and thus, by its momentum, it prepares in the depths of the
the equatorial seas an undercurrent, which flows northward. In an ocean of fresh water, this result would be
superficial and partial.
But let us look at other ministries of the ocean.
At first sight it would seem as if this ocean barrier
would separate nations-shut them up ill solitariness and
isolation.  But what is made of this seeming obstacle?
Why, in fact, nothing is made a medium of intercourse between distant nations like the ocean; and intercourse is
the grand educator, civilizer. If Europe had been separated
from us by 3,000 miles of land, we might hardly have
reached her yet; or rather she might have hardly reached
us-hardly have discovered this quarter of the world. Or
if some wandering tribes had found their way over the interveniing, distance, there would nevertheless have been little or
no intercourse. The vast plains of Asia were traversed only
by here and there a trader or caravan, or else by invading
armies. Invasion perhaps was better for the worl(]'s culture
than sterile seclusion-than the sitting apart and alone,
each people and nation alone, amidst hereditary and unbroken ideas and customs.  But now the commerce of the
seas is peacefully doing that which war did of old. It is
bringing all nations acquainted with one another, interfusing their spirit and life blood, binding them together, and
making brethren of hostile races; and, at the same time,
opening the common fund of earth's bounties and blessings
to every clime and country. The dread barrier of the selt
has melted away into a liquid plain, best fitted to buoy up
and bear on our vessels; better for intercourse than if it
were spanned with bridges, or crossed in every direction by
causeways of stone or railroads of ever-during iron. And if
there be a few persons-and I confess myself to be one of
them-who would prefer the causeways and the railroads 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
prefer any conceivable locomotion to a sea voyage, yet
nature's plan is not to gratify the few, but to benefit the
many.  And I cannot help thinking that art will yet find
means to relieve this horrible misery, this sickness of the sea.
It was indeed a dread barrier to those who first saw it;
but what was its effect? It tempted their courage and enterprise: it called out their energy, hardihood and skill, and
has thus contributed, along with intercourse and commerce,
to make them the most prosperous and civilized people in the
world; witness the Eg3Ttians, the Phenicians, the Greeks,
the Romans, and the modern European and American communities. Everywhere the highest civilizations have found
their home upon the shores of the sea; and upon the rivers
that flowed down into it. The ship is the most significant
emblem in the scutcheon of freedom, polity, and progress.
One has termed it "that swan of the sea;" but it is like
anything but a swan, to the unpractised beholder. I remember the first time that I saw a ship part from the shore-the
solid shore as one well feels it to be at such a moment: all
was solid, firm, calm, quiet here; but there, all was alive,
and seemed rushing upon some unknown fate; the roaring
of the wind in the cordage, the swelling of the sails to the
breeze, the straining of every yard and mast, and, as it
seemed to me, of every mighty rib ili the almost living
mass, inspired me with a sort of terror. But the strong
hearts that swayed it felt no terror; every motion was easy
to them, every rope in the complicated network that bound
it was familiar; and under their charge it swept over the
deep, as free and fearless as if it were some huge seabird
seeking its own natural element.
But before leaving this element, water I must advert to
another and still more remarkable arrangement. I lhave
ventured to say, that nature, when it is necessary, departs
apparently from her own laws. Thus it is laid down as a
law in physics, that "heat expands  all bodies,"  and so
makes them lighter. Conversely, cold contracts all bodies,
and makes them heavier.  This is the law.  Suppose, now,
61 
62     ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
that the philosopher had never seen ice, or had never before
thought of this remiarklable fact, that cold, freezing, water
into ice, does not contract, but expands it, and thus makes
it lighter than water.  It certainly would seem to him like
something miraculous; but how would his astonishment increase, when hlie saw the end to be accomplished by this
deviation from law! Ice now floats upon the surface, and
protects from freezing, the water beneath. But suppose that
every drop of water frozen, became like lead, and sank to
bottom. Then would our lakes, and probably our rivers too,
become every winter solid masses of ice, which no spring
gales nor summer suns could thaw-so as to make the earth
habitable.  " It struck me with awe, when I first knew
this "-said one who mentioned this fact to me l-" nature
violating one of her own laws for human benefit!"
But to return: I have spoken of evaporation fi'oui the
sea. But evaporation would be useless, if its burden were
not borne from the sea to the land.  How is it borne?  If
there were vast curtain-like fans hung over the deep, and
wvorked by some stupendous machinery above, to waft the
ocean vapors to the shore, we should say, t/tere is a provision! But equally a provision, though noiseless and unseen,
is the power that sets in motion the boundless waves of air.
TCat is heat.  Heated air rises, and the colder air flows in
to supply its place.  Hence, as you know, the regular seabreezes upon all islands and coasts.  Hence the less regular
alternations and changes of the wind daily, varied also by
the intervention of trees, groves, hills, and mlountains.  But
the same provision has a wider sweep, in the monsoons, and
especially in the trade winds. The heated air upon and
near the equator, constantly rising, creates a constant tendency in the lower strata of the atmosphere to that quarter;
the motion of the earth on its axis gives it a turn to the
west, like the water on a grindstone: on the ocean it has
an unimpeded course, and is there a regular or trade wind;
when it has spent its force in that direction, it turns back,
* Daniel Webster. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
from reaction, from accumulation perhaps we might say,
toward the north and east-thus giving us prevailing west
winds; and thus it spreads its breezes, laden with refreshment, over all the continents. Thus by intermingled land
and water, heat and cold, the earth is fanned with healthful
airs; the extremes of every climate are tempered; the
torrid zone parts with its heat to the north; the polar cold
sweeps across continents and seas, to cool the burning line;
and not one of those " sightless couriers of the air," goes
without commission.
Kepler, the German astronomer, believed that the earth
was a huge animal, that breathes in winds and tides, and
bellows and belches out its fiury in volcanoes, and shakes
the world with throes, which are earthquakes. I once knew
a man who held the same opinion. And as hlie took me
over his plantation, it was curious, and if sometimes ludicrous, not altogether uninteresting, to see how he talked and
felt about it.  "There it wanted to be scratched "-where
the plough was needed; and "there it needed a plaster "
where the spot was barren.  It seemed a harmless thought,
and better so to animalize nature, than to drive all life out
of it. I had rather believe with Kepler or with Berkeley,
than to see the world as a stolid substance-the petrified or
fossil remains of an extinct energy. Everywhere, seen or
unseen, is action, movement, life-free, flowing, endless.
There are rivers in the ocean, like the Gulf Stream-aye,
thousands of feet deep-that flow from continent to continent, bearing warmth in their bosom, and tempering the
climates of whole countries.  The earth, too, is bursting
with vegetable life through all its pores; the flowing sap,
the breathing leaves, the waving grass, all speak of li,fe.
Light, heat, electric fires, play over its surface; the air
vibrates to perpetual sounds; the sea rolls with unceasing
tides; the forest trees are filled with music; in summer and
autumn days, it seems as if the hillsides and the thickets
and the thick grass panted with singing, chirping, joyous,
melodious life. The hum that comes up from all the earth
63 
64        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
is a living voice from its bosom. The summer breeze, that
falls in fiolic gusts and eddies upon the thicket and the
shrubbery and the tall grass, makes them leap and dance
and sway as to moods of laughter-like children turned out
to play. The serene heaven that bends over us-meteor
of beauty as it is-is not more beauteous, nor more filled
with a celestial presence, than the fair world that lies be
neath.  Matter? It is time to give up the old Manichean
ideas; even science demands it, as well as religion. It is
not obstruction, but manifestation of the Divinity. It is not
the cast-off exuvice of a dead and departed power, but the
flexible and ever-flowing garment of the Infinite Life.
II. We have surveyed now, in their most general form,
the great and palpable elements that go to make habitable
and comfortable and agreeable this earthly home for man
-land, water, and air. There is another view which I wish
to present to you, and that is, not only of the general, but
of the specific adjustment of things to human use, and of
man himself to the sphere in which he lives.
It does not seem to me irreverent to look upon the
Divine Power which is working in all things around us, as
working with infinite skill; as adjusting things with wonderffil adaptation to their purposes. I have said before that
there are natural impossibilities; as for instance, a thing
cannot be heavy and light, or opaque and transparent at
the same time; as a thing's being best fitted for a general
and permanent end, may _prel'ude its being equally fitted
for a limited and temporary emergency. But while that is
not achieved which is not possible in the nature of things,
the study of nature will delight us, by showing that all
which is possible, is achieved; that all the good is accom
plished that is possible, all the evil avoided that is possible.
Thus to take the physical adaptation of the human being
himself to the scene: when a man falls into the water, we
might for the moment wish he were light as cork, that he
might not drown; his drowning is an evil, concerning which
one may ask, why is it? or, why is it not ayoided? And 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
then again, if he were pushing against a beam that threatened to fall upon his child, one might wish, for the moment,
that he were as heavy and solid as a rock. Hie is neither
so heavy nor so light. In short, his weight is adjusted to
uore general purposes, to more permanent situations, to the
entire sphere he moves in; and to the strength of the sinews
which are to move the weight.   Now this weight, you
know, must depend on the size and density of the world in
which he is placed; i. e., upon the attraction of gravitation.
In the sun, it would be twenty-eight times as great as it is
here; in Jupiter, two-and-a-half times; in Afercury, only
half as great; in the moon, only one-sixth. With the
heavier weight, hlie could have done nothing; he could
have neither worked nor walked.   With the lighter, he
would have lost the force, the momentum necessary to his
daily taskwork, to his useful activity in every way. His
wei,ght, in short, is exactly adjusted to his sphere  and
strength.
Look again at the natural substances and products which
he is cultivating or using in agriculture, in the mnechanic
arts in every form.  If garden vines, instead of running on
the ground, had risen up into the air, they could not have
sustained the melon and cucumber. If wheat, on the contrary, had lain upon the ground, it would have lacked the
sun and air to ripen the grain. The tree-the forest tree,
that is —is to answer a different purpose; and what is that?
To furnish timber for building.   In its forest state the
growth is thick; and the consequence is, that the lower
branches die and fall off, and a long trunk is provided,
which answers the purpose.  If it had grown sparsely, it
would have been, as we 8ee it in the open field, unfit to be
hewn into beams, or to be sawed into boards. And so if it
had been much heavier or lighter, harder or softer, tougher
or more brittle, than it is, it would have less well answered
its purpose.
And what could we have done at all with it, if some
metal had not been provided which could be sharpened
5
65 
66        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
into the axe, the saw, and planing tool. Iron-from which
steel is made, and which is the only metal, I believe, capable of a similar hardening-is the most useful metallic substance in the world. I look upon its internal structure as
one of the most wonderful proofs of design and skill.  No
other metal could supply its place; not gold nor silver, because they are too ductile and flexible; nor copper, because
it is too brittle. Iron is malleable, and it can be melted, so
that it can be moulded and beaten into all possible shapes;
but its peculiarity, that which gives it its special value, is a
certain toughness, a certain power of resistance, a texture
making it fit for cutting, whilch is laid in its internal structure. We know nothing of that mysterious, interior constitution; but we see the result-that without which civilization would have been greatly impeded, if not forever held
back even from its present degree of advancement.
And, accordingly, iron is more abundant in the world
than any other metal, or all others put together. Gold is
comparatively rare, and depends upon this consideration, as
well as its freedom from liability to rust and tarnish, for its
extraordinary value. Both fit it for that most important
agency of being a circulating medium, or a current representative of all sorts of value. Nor is it likely that the
mnines of California and Australia, will yield much more
than a needful supply, for the growing wants of commerce
and civilization. This is not the first time that the world
has been dazzled with visions of boundless accumulation.
The mines of 5fexico and Peru, awakened very much the
same feeling in the sixteenth century.   And  among the
Phenicians of old, as ileeren tells us,* there was a very
similar excitement about the mines in Spain. The ships of
Tarshish, mentioned in Scripture, were Phenician vessels
sailing out of Tartessus (Tarshishli), in Spain; and it was
said in that time, that not only were the ships laden with
gold, but that their anchors were made of gold.
We might pass now, in this brief survey, from the
* Works, vol. i. p. 328-329. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
mineral to the animal kingdom. That certain quadrupeds,
birds, and fishes were destined to be food for man, is a point
not questioned, I believe, in any sound physiology.  I confess for myself to a feeling of dislike to this system of destruction. I do not like to hunt or fish for the same reason;
but I believe that the feeling is more scrupulous than wise.
It is no greater hardship for animals to die by the hand of
man than by the claw or fang of their fellows-not so
great; and sudden destruction is better than to die untended,
of lingering decay.  Indeed, if they died of disease or decay, the very carrionil of their remains would fill the world
with pestilence.   Nor is the amount of animal happiness
lessened; immediate transformation into new life takes
place; and the world is always as full of animal life as it
can bear.
But there is another use of the animal kingdom to man,
which indicates a no less striking adaptation.  Certain animals were evidently made to be domesticated-to be the
companions and helpers of man.  For this there is a fitness
in their nature, structure, size, strength, habitudes, and very
instincts. Not the lion, the tiger, the hippopotamus and
the hyena are so fitted, but the horse, the ox, the cow, the
camel, the ass and the faithful dog. And it has been well
observed that the want of most of these animals among our
own aboriginal races, was of itself enough to prevent any
great advance in civilization.
Nor are the wild tribes of creatures useless to man.
They make the scene of the world gay and beautiful. They
make nature vocal.  They supply man with food; they
clothe him with furs.  They preserve the world from putrefaction and pestilence. Offensive smells would make our
summer walks hateful, but for them. The hyena, the vulture, the very worm is a scavenger. The cleanliness of the
animal and insect tribes themselves, is most worthy of notice. The feathers of birds, the hair of quadrupeds, the
sharded wings of insects, take no soil. The most delicately
kept child is not neater, than the bug in the dunghill. And
67 
6~8     ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
thus, by structure, by instincts, by the pursuit of food, life is
caused to spring from decay and corruption; and the house
of nature is kept clean and pure, without service or drudgery or toil.
III. But I must leave these details, in order to find
space for two or three observations on the general and yet
urgent adaptation of material nature, not merely to human
support and comfort, but to the higher spiritual culture.
We shall not exhaust the theme here; for we cannot consider the human constitution, as wve propose to do in a
future lecture, without referring to the circumstances in
which it is placed, to the outward agencies by which it is
developed.  But there are two or three views of nature's
influence, which press themselves upon our attention now,
because they help to complete the general survey of it as a
material organization. For it is not enough to say that nature has provided a home for man through the combined
agencies of the earth and ocean and atmosphere, or that she
has adjusted the objects of the vegetable, mineral, and animal
creation to his use; for she has still more distinct and significant appeals to his intelligence and moral culture.
There are certain arrangements in nature, then, which are
evidently fitted to answer a double purpose to man-a lower
and a higher; to give sustenance and pleasure and practical
direction, and at the same time to imnpart higher knowledge
and guidance. The arrangements I shall instance are the
fertility, the order, and the beauty of nature.
In the first place, with regard to the fertility of the soil:
the primary object is manifest. But has it never occurred
to any one who cultivates the soil, to ask why it was not
mnade twice or ten times as fertile as it is now; or why,
when exhausted by a crop, it could not have been entirely,
as it is in part, restored and replenished by the air. By
these means labor would have been relieved to an immense extent.  We are apt unthinkingly to take the existing system as if it could not have been otherwise. But a
slight change in fertility-i. e., a soil twice as fertile, or a hu 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
man organization demanding only half as much food, would
have relieved many a heavy burden. Ay, there is a hard
strain upon human energy. It is the straining of the very
sinews to the task. Nay, all work is hard, because fieldwork is hard. For if this had been relieved, Ihuman energies might easily have achieved the rest-the building, the
manufacturing, the artisan's work in every kind.
Look, then, at this fact of moderated fertility, and see
what it means.
I say moderated fertility; for it might as easily have
been less as more. You sometimes, as you travel, pass
through a district, or by a farm, of which you rather disdainfully say, "it must be a hard scramble for life here;
you would not try it, for your part."   But suppose  the
whole world had been as barren and intractable, or worse.
What then?  Why, then had we been a race of miserable
drudges.  Then too had there been no place for society; no
place for the cultivation of the sciences and elegant arts;
no seventh day of perfect rest, no altar nor priesthood; but
all the refinements of life, all its mental culture, its graceful
arts, its religious ordinances, and all the splendor of its
cities, palaces, and temples, would have been buried under
the crushling oppression of cheerless toil.  You, my friends,
would not have been here, listening to a lecture upon this
sulbject, or any other subject; but you would all have beei
abroad upon the sterile earth, cutting away the intractable
forest, levelling the rugged hills, digging, delving, drudging
for a bare subsistence.
But turni now to the more attractive side of the picture;
and suppose a soil so prolific that the labor of an hour woul(d
suffice for the wants of a week; and what thefi would follow?  Why, then -would man have been turned out to idle
vagrancy, or suink into voluptuous slothl: and the moral
fortunes of the world would have been as certainly wrecked
and ruined by indulgence as, on the former supposition,
they would have been by hardship.
But this leads ine to notice a still more exact and careful
69 
70        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
adjustmnent of the law. The zones of the earth are as much
marked by difference of strength and of wants in the inhabitants, as by difference of heat in the climate. The men of
the torrid zone have not the physical vigor of the Northmen.  The labor, therefore, that is light and easy in the
North, to the more delicate frame and languid temperament
of the inhabitants of the torrid zone, would be an overwhelming task, crushing both to body and mind. Accordingly their wants  are fewer.   They require  less  food,
less clothing, less fuel, less expensive buildings. In the
northern regions, where man is more vigorous, more protection is needed, and stronger diet-more of animal food.
The ltindoo's dish of rice, would not suffice for the hunter
and miner on the steppes of Siberia. To the Esquimaux
and Greenlanders, a bountiful dish of whale oil is said to be
a delicacy. The northern voyagers, Parry and Franklin,
found that their crews were obliged to live almost entirely
on animal food; they lost vigor and cheerfulness without
it-a fact worthy of some account with our extreme dietetic systems.
And then, observe, in fine, by what means, by what
agents this general adjustment of fertility is effected-the
air, the wind, the rain, the mouldering forest leaves and
disintegrated particles from the surface of mountain rocks,
the fire in the woods, the volcano in the abyss. Wild elenients, undefined instruments seemingly they are; and yet
they all conspire to produce a certain degree of fertility.
Any considerable swaying either way, and that balance
would have been disturbed in which the moral destinies of
the world are weighed.  Truly, " the winds are Hiis angels,
a,nd the flaming fires Hiis ministers." Truly, " He weighleth
the mountains in scales and the hills in a balance."
Again, in the order of nature, we see a double purposethle one referring to practical convenience, to the guidance
of daily action and industry; the other, to the cultivation
of the mnind-lying, indeed, at the foundation of all science.
Without the first we could do nothing; without the last
we could learn nothing. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
The first purpose is answered by many obvious arrangements. If the sun did not daily rise and set; if day and
night did not duly succeed each other; if the year did not
bring about its circuit, and the seasons did not revolve in
fixed cycles; if summer and winter, seedtime and harvest,
did not know their place; if all the elements did not obey
certain laws; if the fire did not burn, nor water fall, nor
food nourish, nor the seed produce the plant, nor the plant
yield seed, with invariable sequence, we could do nothing
upon any regular plan; the whole action and industry of life
would be brought to a stand. Throw all this into confusion, and man would stand aghast, and would soon sink and
perish, the victim of that boundless disorder. He cannot
take a step but by lines, which nature has drawn all around
him for his guidance.
But now let it be observed that the order of nature is
n6t limited to the purpose of furnishing this palpable guidance. Because the order of nature embraces a thousand
things which the common eye cannot see; with which common prudence has nothing to do. The law, for instance, of
definite proportions in chemistry-that is, that so many
parts of hydrogen mix with so many parts of oxygen to form
water, and so in all the chemical compounds, and that they
will mix in no other than certain definite proportions-this
has nothing to do with the common uses of water or iron,
of lead or tin, in their common forms.   So the laws of
crystallization in minerals, by which gold takes one form
and quartz another; the wonderful system of genera and
species in plants and animals-the resemblances and differences so marked; and the geometric laws that reign over
the heavenly bodies-these have no palpable, practical uses.
Then again to go into the animal creation-though the
horse, the ass, and the ox had not stood before us as distinct
species; though their forlms and qualities had been blended
and mixed in such utter confusion that it had been impossible to classify them, still they could have drawn loads and
borne burdens. Whereto then serves this order in nature;
71
k 
72     ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
which partitions it out into realms and ranks; which pene.
trates the most secret cells of animal or vegetable life or
mineral structure, and stretches its sceptre over the bound less spheres of heaven, and binds the universe in sublime
harmony. The answer is-to teach man.  I need not deny
that it was chosen for its own sake; but I say it has this
further advantage  and purpose-to  teach  man.   Only
through this order is science made possible. If it were not
for this order, and the scientific classification founded upon
it, the human mind would sink helpless amidst boundless
diversity and detail.   Only through this classification is
any available language possible.  The words animal, mnineral, vegetable-beast, bird, fish-stand now for distinct
classes of objects, bound together by definite affinities.
Break that bond; make every object to differ essentially
firom every other; and then every object, to be pointed out,
must have a different name; and the human mind would
sink as helpless beneath the burden of words as beneath
the burden of thoughts. There are objects enough on your
farm or in your warehouse to occupy a life in learning to
designate them; the catalogue of your farm or warehouse
would be as large as a dictionary; and every other would
require the same; and the metes and bounds of knowledge
would be as narrow as the metes and bounds of your estate.
Now nature spreads itself before us as a volume, with its
books and chapters and sections: but let its order be broken
up, and it would be as a volume in which the words were
printed hap-hazard, without connection or consequence,
without statement or conclusion; and we should learn conimparatively nothing.
This is that sublime order, so attractive and beautiful
that philosophers, both ancient and modern, have endeavored to resolve it into some one primordial principle-Pythagoras and Plato  into number  or form; the Germans,
SchLelling and Hegel into some subjective, metaphysie law.
Auguste Comnte imagined at least, that it may be reduced to
some principle in nature like gravitation. Some such all 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
comprehending unity is the dream of many minds still.
But fanciful or wise as the search may be, certain it is that,
without this sublimne order, the universe would not be a
temple of knowledge and worship, but a Babel of utter
confusion and frustration to all study and inquiry.
Finally, beauty in nature has a double function, though
somewhat less distinctly marked.
The colors, green and blue, and the neutral tints, scarcely
less common, are naturally agreeable to the eye; and if red
and yellow were the pervading hues, the organ of sight
would be dazzled and blinded by them.  Then again variety, both in color and form, is naturally grateful; and if all
the objects in nature were of one shape and of one hlue, no
prison could be so dreadful. To our constitution, therefore,
nature's garniture is almost as necessary as her substantial
supplies of food.
But the beauty of her works ministers to purposes far
beyond convenience, far beyond utility. It is connected
with higher laws in us; it touches a finer sense than of
good, than of advantage. Beauty, to all who truly know it,
is a thing divine. Its treasures are poured with lavish abundance through the world, its banners are spread upon the
boundless air and sky, to entrance the eye and soul with
visions of more than earthly loveliness.
The whole influence of nature's beauty, and of all that is
akin to its beauty —how manifestly is it divine! It holds
no compact with anything base or low.  Stan may mar and
desecrate its fairest scenes; but he can never say to the
majesty or loveliness of nature, " Thou hast telpted me!"
Wicked and hateful passions may break out-jarring upon
her sublimie symphonies, disturbing her holy quiet; but nattre has no part with them.  Did ever the grandeur of the
midnight heaven, or the thunder in the sky, or the answering thunder of the ocean beach, make any man proud? Did
the murmurings of the everlasting sea, or the solemn dirge
of the winter's wind, or the voice of birds in spring, or the
73 
74        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
flashing light of summer streams, or the mountain's awful
brow, or the vales
"Stretching in pensive quietness between,"
did ever these make any man rude or ungentle?  Did ever
the fulness and loveliness of the creation, weighing upon the
human sense and soul almost with an oppression of joy,
make any man selfish and grasping? No; the true lovers
of nature are never ignoble nor mean.  She would unnerve
the oppressor's hand, or melt the miser's ice, or cool the vo
luptuary's fever, this hour, if he would open his heart to her
transforming companionship.
lNor are the treasures of her beauty yet half explored.
A finer culture of the senses and soul will unfold new wonders.  "W1That powers," says Herder, "are there in each
one of our senses, which only necessity, sickness, accident,
or the failure of the other senses, brings to light!  The
blind man's acuteness of hearing and touch seems at times
almost miraculous.  May it not be a hint of what is possible to -all the senses-of powers yet undeveloped in us?
Bishop Berkeley observes," he continues, " that light is the
language of God, of which the most perfect of our senses
can yet spell but a few elements." * Looking at that grand
kaleidoscope made on the back of the pianoforte, and which
doubtless many of you have seen, I was led to think of these
undeveloped powers of sense, and what visions of supernal
glory may yet be opened to the eye. What unfolding wonders s8hctll yet burst upon us; what pictures shall be unrolled to the vision of purer natures; what seals shall be
taken from the great deeps of beauty-it may not be for us
to know in this world.  Our sense is dim, our power feeble; the present revelation, I suppose, is all that we can
bear. But the time may come, whein there shall visit us
melodies, such as were never drank in by the ravished ear,
sights, such as never entranced mortal eye; when perpetual
raptures may be felt without exhaustion; when lofty states
* The Philosophy of Humanity. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
of mind, such as noble genius and heroism inspire, may beconme the habit of the soul, and ecstasy may crowd on ecstasy
forever.
Full of moral influence, full of prophecy, full of religion,
is the true sense of beauty. When I sit down in a summer's'day, with the shade of trees around me, and the wind
rustling in their leaves; when I look upon a fair landscape
-upon meadows and streams, stealing away through and
behind the clustering groves; when the sun goes down behind the dark mountains or beyond the glorious sea, and
fills and flushes the deeps of the western sky with purple
and gold; when, through the gates of parting day, other
worlds, other heavens come to view-spheres so distant that
it takes the light thousands of years to reach us: then only
one word is great enough to embrace all the wonder-GOD!
Beautifully says a great poet, and no less justly:
"He lookedOcean and earth, the solid frame of earth,
And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay,
In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touch'd,
And in their silent faces did he read
Unutterable love. Sound needed none,
Nor any voice of joy: his spirit drank
The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form,
All melted into him; they swallowed up
His animal being; in them did he live,
And by them did he live; they were his life.
In such access of mind, in such high hour
Of visitation from the living God,
Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired.
No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request;
Rapt into still communion, that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power
That made him."
75 
LECTURE IV.
THE BODY A.ND THE SOUL, OR MIAN'S PHYSICAL CONSTITU
TION: THE J~INISTR Y OF THE SENSES AND APPETITES.
THE body and the soul-the relation of the body to the
soul-the ministry of the body to the soul-this is the subject of the lecture before us: and I say at once, that it is
my wish and purpose to vindicate mnan's physical organization from the charge that it is naturally low and debasing,
or was ever meant to be so; that it is my wish and purpose,
in approaching this heaven-built sanctuary of the soul, to
offer, not scorn and desecration, but reverence and worship.
There are two kinds of houses that a man lives in.
There is the house that the carpenter built. And there is
this house, that God hath built for the spirit's dwelling.
The former is built for an end: for the use, for the accommodation, and, justly considered, for the moral cultivation of
its inhabitant.  Can we suppose less of the latter?  The
body is an organic structure, with a thousandfold more
contrivance in it than a house, or a whole city of houses.
But organization is a means to an end. Now this relation
is what I understand by the term philosophy: and I might
have said, that my lecture this evening is on the philosophy
of the human organization, senses, and appetites.
Let me pause upon this point a moment: for I must try
to keep distinctly before your minds the object of these
lectures, and to make it constantly appear how legitimate,
practical, and important that object is; nay, of what interest it is to all thoughtful persons. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Organization, I say, is a means to an end; and the perception of this relation, is philosophy. The philosophy of a
thing is the knowledge of the end to be answered by that
thing, and of the means embraced in it to accomplish that
end.
I confess that I am somewhat tired of hearing this word,
philosophy. It was formerly a mystery; then, afterward,
it was a terror to religion and faith; and now, perhaps, it
has become a weariness. We have philosophies of everything.  N'evertheless, this constant repetition of the word,
this fixed direction of thought, I hold to be a very remarkable sign, ay, and a very good sign of the time.
That which is indicated by it, is immeasurably the highest kind of knowledge. Observe that the two elements must
go together. The knowledge of the means by itself, or of
the end by itself, is not philosophy, but a very inferior
thing. Thus, for example, a man may understand the end
or use of a machine, engine, or implenment, without understanding the organization or adjustment of its parts; and
then he is not a philosopher, but a mere handicraftsman.
Or he may consider the parts alone; he may pore over the
details of an instrument, the mere isolated facts-and so of
the great system of nature and life-and go no further,
think nothing of an ultimate aim, nothing of order, plan, or
purpose; and then he is not a philosopher, but a mere
matter-of-fact man.  Ile who comprehends both the means
and the end-sees the parts with their relations, and the
result-is in that regard a philosopher. Hle may never have
thought of calling himself such; he is perhaps a humble
laborer in the field of life; but he is, in relation to one thing,
and may be to many more, a philosopher. Suppose-to illustrate still further the superiority of this kind of knowledgethat a small] section from the great field of nature were offered
for inspection, and that it were a quarry of granite. The
examiner enters it, and ascertains what may be called the
facts presented; that is to say, he discovers and distinguishes
the three elements-quartz, feldspar, and mica.  But if he
77 
78        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
knows nothing further, if all his knowledge and thought
are shut up in the heart of this quarry, of what interest can
it be to him? Hle might as well know anything else, or
know nothing. But now suppose that he goes out into the
world of adaptations and uses; that he sees the bedded
rock as a material for building; and further, that he marks
upon its upper surface how its particles are crumbling away
into a soil; and then traces that soil through vegetable,
through animal, through human life, to all the majestic
purposes for which man and nature are made; what then
does he say?  "Philosophy!"-might he not exclaim"well art tlhouL called divine; for thou dost unbar the gates
of wisdom, and pour light and beauty through the world."
So regarded, the action of life would become thought,
and its experience, wisdom. Some tendency of this kind, I
believe, is to be observed, at this day. The world is entering upon that state of early manhood whose natural impulse
it is to ask the reasons of things; and I cannot but think
that this word, phitosophy, so often repeated, so often
printed, heading and lettering so many books, is like a
blazoned banner, going before and leading on a nobler progress than the world has yet seen.
To proceed now with the subject of this lecture: I have
already explained to you, that my theme is not Natural
Theology, not a discussion or illustration of the Divine Perfections, as manifested in nature and life. We do indeed
teach all this indirectly; it is the grandest interest of this
subject, as it is of every subject of high philosophy; but
our specific object is to show how things in nature and life,
and so in the human organization, senses, and appetites, are
framed to answer a certain purpose-to minister to the
highest of all purposes, the culture of the human soul.
Now the human frame has much in common with the
animal organism. All this, though it abundantly mnanifests
the wisdom and goodness of the Creator, and would demand
attention in a system of Natural Theology, I shall leave out
of the account; save and in so far as it serves especially to 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
elicit and train the human faculties.  With the benefit of
this exception we may fairly say, that the eye and the ear,
though common to man and animal, have for man a peculiar, that is to say, a mental and moral instrumentality.
In considering the ministry of the body to the soul, I shall
keep in mind this distinction between the human and
animal organization, because it touches the very point in
hand.  The animal organism ministers to instinct merely;
the human, to intellect and moral culture. Take, for instance, the sense of touch; whichi animals possess indeed,
but in a degree so inferior that, comparatively, they may
be said not to possess it at all. If, instead of this sensitive
vesture of feeling, man had been clothed with hide and hair
and hoof, the human soul had been imprisoned in obstruction and stupor. It is the mother's caress that first wakes
the infant soul to life. The fond embrace is the earliest
nurture of affection and seal of friendship. In all the animal world there is no kiss.  The grasp of the hand-all
over the world the sign of comity and kindness-is a significant token of the human destiny; it is the sign manual
upon the great charter of human brotherhood.  Shaking
hands-it may be a very wearisome thing to a popular
favorite in a long suinmer's day; it may seem to many a
very unmeaning ceremony; but it links and binds the race
in the bonds of moral firaternity. But the whole frame,
too, is thus sensitive. The air that falls upon it, in softer
than veils of down, breathes exquisite pleasure through
every pore. The sense of touch, the eldest born and earliest
teacher of all the rest, imparts in fact a character to all the
other senses, and to the whole nature; so that I am tempted
to say that the delicacy or torpor of this organization is, for
any child, one of the clearest prognostics of his future development; and I doubt whether a man, who can let a fly
walk all over his face without knowing it, though deep
powers and passions may dwell within, is ever a man of
fine, quick, and sympathic sensibility.
Next, the faculty of speech is peculiar to man. This is
i
79 
80        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
given for expression; but mark that it is given for the ex.
pression and culture of higher things than are found in animal natures.  1VIuch may be revealed, it is true, in dumb
show, in pantomime, or by inarticulate cries; and animals
do this: and man's most ordinary wants could be so expressed; and those who maintain that speech was an immnediate, Divine gift to man from his Creator, because it was
an immediate necessity, seem to me to overlook this fact;
besides that a miracle is not to be supposed where a miracle
is unnecessary; and I have known two children playing by
themselves for a single summer, to form a language of their
own.  Neither dumb show, however, nor childish prattle,
suffices for the higher wants of humanity. For the finer discriminations of thought and feeling, for the opening and culture of the human understanding, cultivated speech is necessary; and such, we cannot doubt, is its special office.
I cannot altogether pass over the wonder of this thing in
our humanity, though I must not dwell upon it. Language,
the breath of all human thought, the living tissue of all
human communication, the telegraphic line that stretches
through thousands of years, the texture into which are
woven the character and history of nations and ages-all
other devices, all othier arts sink in comparison with this
grand instrument, at once of Divine intelligence and human
ingenuity-the common speech of men.  To describe the
organs of speech, their structure, relations, and action; and
then the corresponding organ that receives it, the ear; and
then the medium of speech, the subtile and elastic air, would
require ample treatises.  And yet the act of an instant calls
all these agencies into play. A man utters a word, but one
word; and a volume could not describe all that has been
concentrated in that utterance. Nor to one ear alone does
the utterance pass, but to many. A man utters a word;
and instantly it breaks, as it were, into a thousand particles,
which pass like sunbeams through the air, and, in one moment of time, print an intelligible thought upon the minds
of thousands. And the might of speech, the power given 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to a word, the living strength that girds a man when his
whole nature speaks out-there is no force in the world that
is felt like that. Justly therefore is the power of God represented by a word.  "By the word of the Lord were the
heavens made, and all the host of them by the breath of His
mouth."
There is another peculiarity in man, of a totally opposite,
and yet perhaps of a no less significant character; and that
is laughter.  Some men question muchl about recreation;
whether they will have it or have it not; whether they will
admit it into their plan. But Heaven has sent it into their
plan; and they must have it, whether they will or not.
Nay, they laugh about not/ing, too-which makes it yet more
sig,nificant in this view. But laughter has a still further
and higher significance. It is the expression of the mnind's
freest enjoyment. It is like the clapping of hands in an
assembly-the riotous outbreak in us of pleasure, delight,
sympathy. It is healthful too, I might say, by the by.
It helps more to digest a dinner than old wine, or anything
else fancied to help it. But its highest office is in the delicacy of apprehension which it indicates. There are twenty
kinds of laughter, with as many meanings. Laughter is the
relish of wit, the mockery of folly, the utterance of joy, the
murmur of approbation, the shout of welcome. It expresses
what words cannot. It is the flower that bursts from the
hard, logical stem of talk. Sad were the life in which
there was no laughter; sad and bad, I should fear. Men
do not laugh when they are meditating wicked deeds; the
guilty face is serious enough-stern or livid with its seriousness. Sad were the life to which nothing ludicrous ever
presented itself; it were scarcely human. Iin fact, laughter
is perhaps the most distinctive visible mark of our humanity. If an anomalous or masked being were presented before us, concerning which we doubted whether it was a man
-that which would most immediately decide the point in
his favor, would be a burst of laughter. There are sighs
6
81 
82      ON THE PROBLEM, OF HUMAN DESTINY.
and screams, and there is singing in the animal world, but
not laughter.
There are othler peculiarities in the human organization
to be noticed.
One is the countenance. You can conceive, though perhaps with difficulty, that on striking an ox or a dog with
a cruel blow, the animal might turn around upon you, with
a distinctly human expression of indignation or reproach;
as much as to say, " I have my thou,ghts, and this is cruel."
If no other feature could express that, the eye might. It
does not; that power is not given to the animal face; if it
were, it would be such a metamorphosis as would fill us
with terror, and would penetrate with horror every reckless or savage abuser of the uncomplaining, dumb creatures
that God has given for his service. But man is made to
stand erect, and the crowning glory of his person is a countenance, every lineament of which is clothed with moral
expression.   The lowering brow of defiance, the cheek
blanched with indignation, the eye challenging truth, or killing with accusation, or veiled and shaded with softening
pity, the winning sweetness of smiles, the whole manifold
mirror of radiant goodness and honor-all is moral ministration. And indeed, speaking of smiles, I think I never saw
a smile that was not beautifiul. Hardly less remarkable,
perhaps, is the circumstance of every man's face being his
own, clearly distinguishable from all others. We see the
inconvenience, and sometimes fatal inconvenience, of not
being able to distinguish one man from another, in the very
few and rare cases of remarkable resemblance. If this were
common, it would hardly be too much to say that the intercourse, the business, the very civilization of the world must
stop.  Not to know certainly whom we talked with, whom
we traded with, who had told us or promised us this or
that, whom we had married or who our children were; the
world would be thrown into utter confusion; and all good
relations would become impossible. To prevent this, there
is achieved in the humani countenance, what seems to me 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
scarcely short of a miracle.  Here it is-a little patch of
white ground, nine inches long and six wide, with the parts
the same, the configuration the same, and the hues generally
the same; and yet, if all the hundreds of millions of the
human race were brought together, every man could pick
out from them all, his friend, with a certainty equal to that
of his own identity.
Finally, the human hand is to be mentioned. It serves
indeed one of the purposes of the animal claw or forefooti. e., to obtain food. Taking into account the forearm, the
arm, and shoulder, it is worthy of note, that a similar formation prevails throughout the entire animal economy, as
if nothing more perfect could be devised. That is to say,
there are the scapulae or shoulder blades, the clavicles or
collar bones to keep them from pressing upon the chlest, the
arm, the forearm, and the hand, claw, or hoof, as the case
may be.  The same general construction is found in the
fins of the fish, the wings of the bird, and the foreleg of the
quadruped. But in man, this organ, I do not say, comes to
its perfection-for all is perfection, every animal has that
which is best for itself-but this organ comes in man to
answer purposes peculiar to himself; and most of these are
mental and moral.  " The indefeasible cunning' that lies
in the right hand, has more to do than to procure food.
For instance, it has to fashion clothing, without which
there could not be comfort in all climates, nor civilization
in any. No animal could cut cloth, or sew it, or thread the
needle. Then again, all the practical arts depend upon the
hand-building, the use of tools, all skill in making fabrics,
which is called mnanufacturing.   Then, all the fine arts
require the hand-painting, sculpture, music. Then, once
more, all writing is handwriting.  All human comtmunication, beyond that which is oral, all literature, all books, all
works of genius, all the grandest agencies in the world depend upon the hand. Yes, in the human hand lies the
whole moral fortune, the whole civilization, the whole progress of humanity. The right arm is a lever that moves
the world.
83 
84        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
I have thus spoken of certain parts of the human organism as superior to the animal, and as evidently intended to
answer a higher  purpose-touchl,  speech, laughter, the
human face and hand. Let us now consider, in the next
place, the general ministry of the senses, appetites, and passions.
Some of you, I have no doubt, will feel, when you hear
these words, appetites and passions, as if I named things that
are not friends, but enemies to human culture.  You have
associated with them perhaps only ideas of temptation.
But in the good order of Providence, I am persuaded it will
always be found that temptation and ministration go together, and that ministration is the end, and temptation
only the incident.   Temptation is but another word for
strong attraction to a thing; that attraction is necessary,
and was never meant to be injurious, but useful. I do not
say, therefore, with some, that powerful passions and appetites were placed in man on purpose to try his virtue, but
that they were placed there for other ends; that they are,
in fact, a necessary part of the human economy; and that
the trial is purely incidental, and in fact unavoidable. Just
as fire was not meant to burn the house, nor, as the main
intent, to make the keepers vigilant, but simply to warm it,
though it could not warm, without being liable to burn it.
I shall solicit attention particularly to this part of the
human economy, to these fires of appetite and passion in
the house of life; because here arises the only moral question about our sensitive constitution; and I am persuaded
the question can be met. But I ask the inquirer to see, in
general, what his simple senses teach him. I ask him to
consider his own physical frame, fearfully and wonderfiully
made, as the very shrine of wise and good teaching, and to
listen to the oracle that comes from within. Ay, to the
oracle; but remember, it is when nature's flame burns upon
the altar, and not the strange fire of idolatrous passion. I
appeal to nature against sensualism; and am willing to risk
the cause of virtue on that issue. I will show you-I think, 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
at least, I can show, that simple, natural appetite it is not,
that leads to vicious and ruinous excess, but something else.
I concede the liberty in our physical constitution-provided
it be truly understood-to follow nature.
"Fatal concession!" I hear it said. "Fatal concession!"
exclaim both ancient philosophy and modern religion.
"What can the body teach, but evil, error, excess, vice? "
Let us see. You find yourself possessed with a nature
other than your spiritual nature; different from it, inferior
to it; and you hastily conclude that because its qualities
are lower, its uses must be lower, and its tendencies all
downward.   You  say, or think, perhaps, that if your
being were a purely spiritual essence, you would be free
from all swayings to evil. But how do you know that.?
Nay, keener than the temptations of sense itself, are the
spiritual passions-ambition, envy, revenge, and malignant
hate. You imagine that if your present frame were exchanged for some ethereal body, you would have passed out
of the sphere of evil and peril.  That again, you do not
know.  Come then to the simple fact, and let it stand uiprejudiced by any theory, or any fancy, or any comparison.
God has given to us, in the present stage of our being, this
body-this wonderful frame. Sinews and ligaments bind it
together, such as no human skill could ever have devised.
Telegraphic nerves run all over and through this microcosm,
this little world, and bear mysterious messages, vital as
thought and swift as sunbeams. Now I say that these are
all moral bonds, good ministries, channels meant to inform
and replenish the soul, and not to clog or corrupt it.
I hardly need say this, in the first place, of the five distinct senses-touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing. They are
the mind's instruments to comnmunicate with the outward
world; instruments so varied as to convey every kind of
information; servants that need not to be sent to and fro
on errands, but that stand as perpetual ministrants-before
the gates of morning, and amidst the melody of groves, and
by the bowers of fragrance, and at the feast of nature, and
85 
86        ON THE PROBLEMI OF HUMAN DESTINY.
wherever the pressure of breathing life and beauty comes
to ask admission to the soul. The body is a grand harmonicon, a panharmonicon, strung with chords for all the
music of nature. Serving all needful purposes also-to
walk, to run, to move from place to place; to work, to
achieve more than all animal organisms together can do; it
is, at the same time, an organon scientiarum, an organ of
all knowledge.  It is more than a walking library, it is a
walking perception —of things that no library can teach; it
is a walking vision-of things that no language can describe: like the wheels that appeared to the rapt Ezekiel,
full of eyes within and without.
All this, then, it will not be denied, is good and useful
ministration to the mind.   One  might  as well inveigh
against a telescope or an ear trumpet as against the eye
or ear.
But now to this system belong certain distinct susceptibilities; which are not classed under the head of senses:
these are called appetites. Such, for instance, is hunger; or,
in other words, the general relish for food and drink, which,
when denied for a certain time, becomes hunger or thirst.
I have before alluded to the uses of this particular appetite,
but I wish to say a word further and more distinctly of it
in this connection.
You can easily conceive that a being might have been
made without this appetite-made to move, to act, to live;
but not to eat. Or you can conceive that he might have
had the relish for agreeable food and drink, without the intolerable pain he feels when they are long denied. Why,
then, this pain?  I look upon it as a distinct provision, designedly, and, if I may say so, gratuitously put into the system, to arouse man from indolence, to arouse him to activity. I look upon it just as if nature had provided a whip;
just as if there were an organ attached to the human body
as the arm is, and fashioned like a scourge, and, when the
nian is sinking to ruinous indolence, lifting itself up and
striking him with a blow, to stir him to action. It is a sting, 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMA.iN DESTINY.
and answers that purpose. And moreover, it is a stimulus
exactly adjusted to the strength of the agent, and also to
the means of gratification. If hunger returned every hour,
instead of two or three times a day, human sinews could not
bear it, nor provide for it, nor the world-supply of food suffice it.
And is it a point too low for philosophy to observe, fur:'!hermore, that hunger, with the peculiar needs of that ap;petite in man, promotes social intercourse?  I say, with the
peculiar needs of that appetite in man; for his food must
be cooked. He cannot pursue his prey or pull up his root,
like the wild animal, and eat it on the spot, alone.  He
must bring it home, he must have arrangements for cookery; and the convenience of this process makes it almost
necessary that families should assemble at certain times of
the day and eat together. I am persuaded that we little
suspect the immense social and civilizing effect of these daily
gatherings around the social board.
But admitting that the appetites have their uses-which
is the first position I take-it is said, nevertheless, that they
have bad tendencies, tendencies to excess, to vice, to ruin.
On this point, there is, in the second place, a most important distinction to be made; and that is, between appetite
in its simple, natural state, anid appetite in its artificial and
unnatural state; a state brought on by voluntary habit and
corrupting imagination and mental destitution; for which
man's will is responsible, and not his constitution. Look
then at simple, unsophisticated, unperverted appetite. Is
the draught of intemperance, or the surfeit of gluttony, naturally agreeable?  Far otherwise.   Aforeover, all those
stimulant and narcotic substances and those rich condiments, of which excess makes its principal use, are naturally
distasteful and disgusting in the highest degree. I do not
say that even they were created in vain, or must necessarily
be injurious; for everything is good in its place and degreeeven poison is so; but I say that there is no natural demand
for these strong stimulants. On the contrary, fever in the
87 
88       ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
veins, poison in the blood, sickness, nausea, are remonstrances of simple appetite, remonstrances of nature against them.
And show ime what diseased and vicious passion you will,
and I will show you that it is the mind's guilt, and not the
body's defect; that it is not the passion let alone, still less
duly controlled by the higher nature.  It is not nature,
but bad example or companionship, that leads to evil. It
is imagination that nurses passion into criminal desire.
There is a natural nodesty which unhallowed license always
has to overcome.  Let no man lay that flattering unction to
his soul, that God has made him  to love evil-made vice
and baseness to be naturally agreeable to him; for it is not
true!
But these appetites, besides their general uses, and besides their natural innocence, seem to me, in the third place,
to bear a specific relation to the mind. They are urgent
teachers.
They teach, first, moderation.  They teach the necessity
of self-restraint, of self-denial. I have no doubt that a being
not clothed with flesh, a pure spiritual essence, would feel
the necessity of self-restraint. But if any physical organization, belonging to an intellectual nature, could be made
to enforce this law, it appears to me it would be that of our
human senses and appetites. Because it is manifest that
their unrestrained indulgence works the direst ruin to the
whole nature.  What! does this our sensitive frame teach
lessons of evil, lessons of vice?  God and nature forbid!
Open, patent, everlasting fact teaches the very contrary.
The woes of intemperance, gluttony, licentiousness, excess,
are the very horrors and calamities of the world in every
age. They are so horrible that we dare not describe them.
Ilere, then, is "elder Scripture writ by God's own hand"
written before ever voice was heard on Sinai or by the shores
of Galilee, written all over the human frame, and within
every folded leaf of that wonderful system. Yes, upon the
ghastly form it is written, and upon the burning cheek, and
deep in the branching arteries, and along the secret and in 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
visible nerves is it written.  And sometimes you may read
the writing by the literal, alcoholic fires, kindled in the
veins; which, with visible flame, burn up the man; and
sometimes by such haggard lines of deformity as nothing
but the worst license of vice ever drew upon the human
frame. I once saw in Palris a collection of wax figures
taken from life, and designed to present such an illustration.
I do not wish to speak of it, nor of the vice illustrated, nor
of the nightmare horror felt by the beholder for hours after
it is seeli. But it seemed to nme that no preaching on earth,
was ever like that silent gallery.
You must have patience with me, my friends, for I must
overthrow  entirely, and utterly demolish this plea of the
seinses for vice.  Aly argument for the ministry of the senses
and appetites, cannot stand at all, unless I do that. The
truth is, the senses, fittest for virtue, happiest in innocence,
are only capable of vice-that is all, but no conceivable
organization could be surrounded with more tremendous
remonstrauces against evil.  So the nmind is capable of evil,
and so is the mind, too, guarded. And it might as well be
said that the mind seduces to ill, as that the body does-nay,
I think, better —with far more reason. But because sensual
aberration is more apparent, and the effects are more visible,
therefore the world, with little insight as yet into the truth
of things, has agreed to charge this fact of temptation especially upon the body. It would be coming nearer to the
truth to say, that the mind is the real culprit.
What are the comparatively poor, puny, and innocent
senses, but servants of the mind-compelled to do its bidding? I know it is a doctrine of old time, that the body
does all the mischief; that the body is the enemy of the
mind, a clog, an encumbrance, a corrupter. The philosopher, Plotinus, affected to have forgotten his birthplace and
parentage, because, says Porphyry, " he was ashamed that
his soul was in a body." IHe imagined that the mind had
good cause to complain of the body. But I believe it would
not be difficult, and scarcely fanciful, to set forth a-counter
89 
90        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
plea.   "I have wamdered'"-might the substance of the
body say to the mind-" I have wandered through all the
regions of existence, and never was abused, till I calne in
contact with you.  I h]ave made a part of animal natures,
that were innocent; I have lived in the beautiful forms of
vegetable life; I have flowed in the streams and sported in
the air, all purity and freshness and freedom; and never
till I was subjected to your influence, was I breathed upon
by any bad spirit; never till then, was I tainted by the diseases of vice, or made a loathsome mass of sin-wrought corription; never till then, was my nature perverted from its
uses, and made the instrument of evil."
But to speak most seriously: What a wonderful, moral
structure is our physical frame! If a command to be pure
were written, imprinted in visible letters, upon every limb
and muscle, it could not be a clearer mandate, and by no
means so powerful. It was said to the mad and rebellious
Saul, " It is hard for thee to kick against the thorns." Such
a message comes indeed from no open vision, but from his
inmost frame, to every raging voluptuary. Thorns and tortures does it shoot out against him from every part.  If,
every time hlie indulged in any excess, he were covered with
nettles and stings, the intimation would not be a whlit more
monitory than it is now.
How different is it with the animal!  You may feed
him to repletion; you may fatten him into a monster; and
there is no disease, no suffering; there is only enjoyment;
and so far as he is destined for food, he is the more fitted
for his purpose. But if yout do this to man, disease arind
pain enter in at every pore.
The ancient philosophers, in their theories, desecrated
matter; the moderns, and especially the sensual school in
France, have deified it.  They boldly proclaimed-I speak
of the French infidel philosophers of the latter part of the
eighteenth century-they boldly proclaimed matter to be the
true divinity; the human frame, its altar; and the appetites, its priesthood.  Selfishness with them was the only 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
motive; sensation, the only good; and life a bowing down
in worship to the appropriate divinity.  But whoever tries
that theory, will find that matter s indeed a god, too powerful for him; the fleshly altar will be burned up and destroyed by the strange fire that is laid upon it; and the
priests, the appetites, will perish in that profane mninistration.
The Government builds prisons for culprits, and protects
the honest house.  All men pronounce that to be a moral
administration.  But what if, when wrong was perpetrated
in the honest house, and it had become the habitation of the
base and vile, it should, by some wonder-working intervention of the Government, grow dark and desolate, and should
gradually turn into a prison-the windows narrowing year
by year, and grated bars growing over them; the rooms,
the ceilings, slowly darkening; the aspects of cheerful and
comfortable abode gradually disappearing, and gloom and
filth coming instead, and silence, broken only by the sobs
and moans of prisoners, or the sadder sound of cursing or
revelling? Such, mark it well! becomes the body, the more
immediate house of life, to every abandoned transgressor!
Not alone the mount that burned with file, utters the commandment of God; not alone the tabernacle of Moses,
covered with cloud and shaken with thunder; but this
cloud-tabernacle of life, which God has erected for the spirit's
dwelling, and the electric nerves that dart sensation like
lightning through it-all its wonders, all its mysteries, all
its veiled secrets, all its familiar recesses, are full of urgent
and momentous teaching.
But there is something further to be observed conceerning this teaching; there is one respect in which it is yet
more urgent. For it demands not only moderation and
self-denial, but activity: it forbids not only excess, but indolence.  It demands of those who do not labor, daily, out-ofdoor exercise-not a lounge in a carriage only, but a walk,
or some bracing exercise in the open air-demands that, or
says, "pay for your neglect."  Some inuring, some hard
91 
92        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ness-hardship, if they please to call it-nature exacts even
of the' gentlest of its children. The world was not built to
be a hothouse, but a gymnasium rather.  Voluptuous repose,  luxurious protection, enervating food and modes of
life, are not the good condition, not the permitted resort, for
our physical nature.  Half of the physician's task with
many, is to fight off the effects of such abuses. The laws
of the human constitution are moral laws; they address the
conscience, the moral nature; they exact penalties for negleet. And doubtless the penalties are severe. That is not
nature's fault, but nature's excellence. Doubtless the penalties are severe. I am persuaded, indeed, that if they could
be enumerated; if all the languid and heavy pulses could
be numbered; if all the miseries of nervous and diseased
sensation could be defined; if all that could be described
which surrounds us with wasted forms, or sequesters them
in silent chambers, an aggregate of ills could be found
which would match the statistics of pauperism, or of intemperance itself. I believe there is less suffering among the
idler and more luxurious classes, from violent disorders,
than from those chronic and nervous ailments, which do not
always inflict acute pain, which do not alarm us for the
patient-well if they did!-but which enfeeble the energies,
destroy the elasticity of the frame, undermine the very constitution of the body; which depress the spirits too, wear
out the patience, sour the temper, cloud the vision of
nature, disrobe society of its beauty and despoil it of its
gladness, and send their victim to the grave at last, from a
life which has been one long sighl.  And  all might have
been prevented by one brisk daily walk in the open air.
This subject-and I mean now this whole subject of the
right training and care of the body-is one, I conceive, of
unappreciated importance. Our physical nature is more
than the theatre, more than the stage, it is the very costume,
the very drapery in which the mind acts its part; and if it
hangs loosely or awkwardly upon the actor, if it weighs him
down as a burden, or entangles his step at every turn, the 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
action, the great action of life must be lame and deficient.
What that burden, that entanglement is now; and what is
the genuine vigor and health of a man; what is the true,
spiritual ministry of the body to the soul, I am persuaded,
we do not yet know.
I confess that I sometimes think that this subject-what
old Lewis Corniaro denominated in his book " the advantagenot the duty only-but the advantage of a temperate life,"
is one that goes behind all the preaching. Thle physical
system, though not the temple, is the very scaffolding without which the temple cannot be built.  We call from the
pulpit for lofty resolution, cheering courage, spiritual aspiration, divine serenity. Alas! how shall a body clogged
with excess, or searched through every pore with nervous
debility; how shall a body, at once irritable, pained, and
paralyzed, yield these virtues in their full strength and perfection?  We  ask that the soul be guarded, nurtured,
trained to vigor and beauty, in its mortal tenement
that the flame in that shrine, the body, be kept bright
and steady.   Alas! the shrine is shattered; and rains
and windflaws beat in at every rent; and all that the
guardian-conscience-can do oftentimes, is to hold up a
temporary screen, first on one side, and then on another;
and often the flickering light of virtue goes out, and all in
that shrine is dark and cold and solitary; it has become a
tomb!
I am endeavoring, in this part of my lecture, to defend
man's physical constitution in general from the charge that
it naturally develops evil, vice, intemperance, excess every
way. I before showed that the specific organs and attributes of the physical structure-the sense of touch, speech,
laughter, the human face and hand-are fine ministries to
the intellectual nature. I came then to what is thought the
more questionable tendency of the senses and appetites;
and I have shown, first, that they are useful-as hunger, for
instance, impelling to industry; secondly, that they are
naturally innocent, i. e. that they do not like, but naturally
93 
94        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
dislike excess; and thirdly, that they powerfully teach and
enforce wholesome moderation and healthfull activity.
I deny, therefore, that the bodily constitution naturally
ministers to evil, to vice. A similar organization shows no
such tendency in animals.  It is the mind, then, that is in
fault. But now I wish further to show, before I leave the
subject, that vicious excess is a complete inversion of the
natural relations of the mind and body; that instead of
being according to nature, it turns everything upside down
in our nature.
Certainly, in the natural order of our powers, the mind
was made to be master; the body was made to be servant.
Naturally the body does not say to the mind, "Go hither
and thither; do this and that;" but the mind says this to
the body. The mind too has boundless wants that range
through earth  and heaven, through infinitude, through
eternity;  and it must have boundless resources.   Can it
find them in the body?-in that for which "two paces of
the vilest earth" will soon be "room enough."  Our physical fi'ame is only the medium; as it were, an apparatus of
tubes, reflectors, Eolian harpstrings, to convey the mysterious life and beauty of the universe to the soul.  So far as
it loses this ministerial character, and becomes in itself an
end on which the mind fastens, on whose enjoyments the
mind gloats, all is wrong, and is fast running to mischief,
misery, and ruin.
For suppose this dreadful inversion to be effected; suppose that the all-grasping mind resorts to the body alone
for satisfaction-forsakes the wide ranges of knowledge, of
science, of religious contemplation, the realm of earth and
stars, and resorts to the body alone, and has, alas! for it,
no other resource.  WhVat will the mind do then?  It willI had almost said, it must, with its boundless craving, push
every appetite to excess. It must levy unlawful contributions upon the whole physical nature.  It must distrain
every physical power to the utmost. Ah! it has so small
a space from which to draw its supplies, its pleasures, its 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
joys. It must exact of every sense, not what it may innocently and easily give, but all that it can give.  What ere
long will be the result of this devotion to the body and to
bodily pleasures?  There comes afearful revolution in th/e
man! The sensual passions obtain unlawful ascendencybecome masters-become tyrants; and no tyranny in the
world was ever so horrible.  None had ever such agents as
those nerves and senses-seductive senses, call you them!say rather those ministers of retribution, those mutes in the
awful court of nature, that stand ready, silent and remorseless, to do their work. The soul which has used, abused,
and desecrated the sensitive powers, now finds in them its
keepers.  Imprisoned, chained down, famishing, in its own
abode, it knocks at the door of every sense; no longer, alas!
for pleasure, but for relief.  It sends out its impatient
thoughts, those quick and eager messengers, in every direction for supply. It makes a pander of the imagination, a
purveyor for indiscriminate sensuality of the ingenious
fancy, a prey of its very affections; for it will sacrifice
everything to be satisfied.
Could it succeed-could it, like the martyr, win the
victory through these fiery agonies-but no; God in our
nature forbids.  Sin never wins.  Ruin falls upon soul and
body together.  For now, at length, the worn-out and abused
senses begin to give way: they can no longer do the work
that is exacted of them. The eye grows din; the touch is
palsied; the limbs tremble;  the pillars of that once fair
dwelling are shattered, and shaken to their foundation; the
vlwhole head is sick, and the whole heart faiint; the elements
iithout become enemies to that poor, sick frame; the fires
of passion are burning within; and the mind, like the lord
of a beleaguered castle, sinks amidst the ruins of its mortal
tenement, in silent and sullen despair, or with muttered
oaths and curses and blasphemies.
1Oh, let the mind but have had its own great satisfactions,
its high thoughts and blessed affections, and then it could say
to these poor proffers of sense, "I want you not; I am happy
95 
96        ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
already; I want you not; I want no tumult nor revel; I
want no cup of excess; I want no secret nor stolen indulgence; and as for pleasure-I would as soon sell my body
to the fire for pleasure, as I would sell my soul to you for
pleasutre."
Such is the true and natural relation of the mind and
body; such is the law of their common culture.  Under
this law the body would be fashioned into a palace of delights, hardly yet dreamed of. We want a higher ideal of
what the body was made and mneant to be to the soul.
Sensualism has taught to the world its terrible lessons. Is
not a higher Aesthetic law coming, to teach in a better manner?  Sensualism is but the lowest and poorest form of
sensitive enjoyment. One said to nme, many years ago, " I
have been obliged, from delicacy of health, to abstain from
the grosser pleasures of sense; neither feast nor wine have
been for me: perhaps I have learned the more to enjoy the
beauty of nature-the pleasures of vision and the melodies
of sound." The distinction here taken, shows that the very
senses might teach us better than they do. For I say, was
that witness a loser, or a gainer? Vision and melody; shall
grosser touch and taste carry off the palm from them?  Vision, that makes me possessor of the earth and stars! —the
eye, in whose mysterious depths is pictured the beauty of the
whole creation!-and what comprehensive wonders in that
bright orb of vision! Think of grosser touch and taste; and
think, for one moment, what sight and hearing are.  It is
proved by experiments, that, naturally and by mere visual
impression, the eye sees all things as equidistant and near
-close to us-a pictured wall. By comparisons of apparent size and hue, we have learned to refer all objects to their
real distance.  Sky and clouds, mountain-sides and peaks
and rocks, river, plain and grove, every tree and swell of
ground, all are fixed in their place in an instant of time.
Hundreds of comparisons-hundreds of acts of mind, are
flung into that regal glance of the eye!  But more than the
telescopic eye, is the telegraphic ear. More, to my thought, 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
lies in the hidden chambers of viewless sound; in that more
spiritual organ, which indeed expresses nothing, but receives the largest and finest import of things without; in
that mysterious, echoing gallery, through which pass the
instructive, majestic, and winning tones of human speech;
through which floats the glorious tide of song, to fill the
soul with light and melody. Instruments of godlike skill,
types and teachers of things divine, harbingers of greater
revelations to come, are these. Not for temptation, not for
debasement, was this wondrous frame built up, let ancient
philosophers or modern voluptuaries say what they will;
but to be a vehicle of all nobleness, a seer of all beauty, a
shrine of worship, a temple of the all-pervading and indwelling Life.
97
7 
LECTURE V.
OF J1AiV'S SPIR-ITUAL CONSTITUTION-MINISTRY OF THE
MENTAL ANI) MJORAL FACULTIES.
FROM the statement ef the problem of human destiny, to
the ground principles of it, as laid in the finite and free nature
of man; from the general structure of the material world as
the place of human abode and culture, to manal's physical
organization, and the ministry of his senses and appetitesthis has been the order of discourse in our previous lectures.
Let us now proceed to the mind itself; to that presiding
power which dwells within the bodily organization, and yet
is as distinct from it in its nature and essence, as if it were
ensphered in heavenly splendor; to that life within, that
cannot be wanting to the purpose which all life around it
subserves.
On any theory of human nature, this field of inquiry is
fairly open to us. For though the theory about the soul be
this that it is by nature spiritually dead, and can wake to
life only by a regenerating power; though the soul were
regarded as a dry and dead mechanism, helpless and incapable of moving itself, yet when the stream of influence is
pouredl upon it, that stream, it will not be denied, finds and
sets in motion a machinery fitted to answer high purposes.
It is into this grand mechanism that we are now to look.
In its nature, I say, it stands completely apart from the
physical mechanism. Thought, feeling, conscience, is one
thing; bone, sinew, brain, is another thing.  Because they
are intimately associated, because thought, feeling, con 
OX, TE', O  H  [ I_9
ON THE  PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.          99
science operate t/rough bone, sinew, and brain, therefore to
say, as the materialist does, that they are of the same nature,
is as if he should say, that because light, to be perceived,
passes through the eye, therefore light and the eye are of
the same nature; or because life dwells in the plant, therefore the material structure of the plant, is the same thing as
the mysterious life that animates it. Or ifli he says that thought
is the result of a bodily organization, he says that which can
be no matter of perception or knowledge to him-which is
nothing, in fact, but the merest imagination. IHIe may
imiagine, if he pleases, and hlie might as well, that thought is
an exhalation firom the earth, that it comes up through the
soles of the feet, that it passes, like raw material, through
the mechanism of the human system, till it issues ifrom the
brain the finished product.   To  all such dreaming, we
may say-if mind is not one thing, and matter is not
another thing; if mechanic organization is not one thing,
and the conscious and living will is not another; if these
substances or modes of being do not, in fact, lie at the
opposite poles of thought; then there is no such thing as
difference in the universe.
And let me say also, that the mind, the inner being, is
not, as an object of thought, enveloped in that peculiar obscurity commonly ascribed to it. Aletaphysics may be abstruse, and far away from the ordinary paths of thought,
but the mind is not. It is imagined to be far more inys.
terious and inaccessible than matter. But, strictly speaking,
in the nature of things, the very contrary is the truth.
Things without me, are matters of observation; things
within, of consciousness. The things within are nearer and
more certain to me. I know myself, as I know nothing else.
I know my thought better than I know any object without
me. When I compare thought with thought, and draw a
conclusion, that process is far more intelligible to me, than
when I put heat to fuel, and produce combustion. The
outward world is phenomenal and shadowy, compared with
the inward.  Some philosophers have doubted..hether it
* *. * **. 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
exists at all; but none have doubted their own existence.
I can easily believe, that if we could get back to our original experience, we should find that, at first, the bodily
organs themselves seemed as external and foreign to us, as
the material world-the foot no more a part of ourself than
the ground it trod upon; but no such mistake could be
made with regard to our thought, our feeling, our consciousness: that is ourself.
Into this innermost home of our humanity, then, let us
enter; and see what is created there, to minister to the
great end of our being.
In the mind then, considered as distinct from bodily
sensation, there are three great faculties, or classes of faculties.
First, there are the intellectual powers. And what is
their ministry? Plainly to discover truth. This is the one
object, the destined result of their entire action. There is
the intuition of truth, which embraces mathematical axioms
and the original moral conceptions; which embraces ideas
of truth as superior to error, of right as higher than wrong,
of cause and effeet, of time and space, both finite and infinite; ideas native to the mind, created, embedded in it;
ideas which are the foundation of all reasoning. Then there
is perception of facts around us, and consciousness of facts
within us; and judgment, which compares these facts and
draws conclusions; and imagination, which ranges through
the creation, and gathers new and analogous facts and principles; and memory, the storehouse of knowledge-without
which there could be no comparison, no process of thought.
All these faculties obviously have one design, the discovery
of truth.
Secondly, there are the Aesthetic faculties, whose office is
the perception of beauty. Certain forms, proportions, colors,
and sounds are naturally agreeable to us; others are disagreeable. I am not aiming at any full or detailed analysis
of the mind. I only wish, in the general, to direct your
attention to its cardinal principles. And certainly there is
!.t-.! i......~~
100 
ON THE PROBLEM. OF HUMAN DESTINY.
such a part of our imental constitution as I now indicate;
which has no direct regard either to truth or rig-ht, though
it is in imany wvays connected with both.  There is nothling,
strictlv intellectual nor moral in the agreeableness of certain
forms and colors, in the sense of proportion and harmony
and melody.  These belong to the,esthletie part of our
nature.
Thirdly, there is the moral faculty-that is, conscience —
and its nature and office cannot be mistaken.   ITThat it As,
there can be no doubt; though the questions, how it arises
in the mind, and how  it acts, have admitted of various
explanations.  They are very familiar-those of Hartley,
Adam Smith, Paley, and of the later and better philosophlers, German, French, and English, whlo hold that conscience is a distinct and original faculty. But it is unnecessary to consider them in detail; because they all admit that
there is such a thing as conscience; that it is a discrimination of the right from the wrong; that it is an approval of
the right, and a condemnation of the wrong.  Neither does
a misguided conscience, of which the world has seen enougll,
and of which flippant sceptics have made so much, any
more prove that there is no such thing as conscience, than
a misguided reason proves that there is no such thling as
reason.  Beneath the rubbish of all human errors lies the
indestructible basis. Nay more; within, wrapped up within
every moral qit.Atake that ever was committed, lies the gucleus-conviction that something is right.  Conscience, however imperfect, unenlightened, erring, has ever held that
there was something right in the very wrong which it sanctioned.  It has sanctioned cruelty, oppression, wvar.  Why?
Because it belicved them  to be rig/t.  The very persecutor,
like Paul, thought he was doing Gocl service.  That inborn
element was never worlked out of the moral judgments of
men.  That great and solemn word, ~ight, was never erased
firom the tablet of humanity, howsoever worn and defaced,
and never will be.
Let us now consider how this spiritual constitution of
101 
ON TIHE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
our humanity, intellectual, esthetic, and moral, conduces to
the end for which we say that it was made; howv, indeed, it
is a kingdom built up within us, with laws and ordinances
and powers all conspiring to that end.  In doing this, we
must take care to distinguish, in human nature, the permanent from the casual, the necessary from the contingent, the
fundamental from the superiincumbent, God's work in the
mind from mnan's overlaying.  In works of human art, if
the critic or student should neglect to make this distinction,
if he should confound fragments and defacements and ruins
with the original structure and design of statue or temple,
hlie would stumble at the first step. And the original, the
Divine work in the soul, is to be distinguished from all that
mars it, or there will be no proper ground for any study of
it. Ground there is, however; and this consideration of the
matter-the distinction, that is, which I here make-is most
pertinent and practical to the present state of men's minds.
For the aberrations of our humanity, by many, are mistaken
for its laws and principles. Because men have fallen into
deep and sad erring, they seem to suppose that nothing bet
ter than erring is to be expected of them. Depravity as a
doctrine, is made an apology for depravity as a life.  Aid
man, "made but a little lower than the angels," made for
angelic aspiration, suffers himself to be low and vile almost
without shame, certainly without any keen and converting
self-reproach.
The error is as old as the most ancient philosophy, and
as new as almost the latest. The Persian sages, the Greek
philosophers, Plato himself, the Gnostics generally, and
even some of the Christian fathers, held that the world and
its inhlabitants were so ill made that they would not ascribe
the work to the Supreme God, but charged it upon some
inferior being-Derniurge or Satan. Even the learned Cudworth, so late as two centuries ago, maintained, and his
opinion is countenanced by the acute and liberal-minded
Le Clerc, that all things here below are arranged and or
102 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
dered by a certain power, which he calls " Plastic Nature,"
a power, he says, "incorporeal, but low and imperfect."
Assuredly we have learned better things than these, and
can vindicate a better philosophy. Hlumanity ill made?
Indeed the best argument for that theory would be the
blindness that could see no better.  Ill made?  It is made,
first of all, to recognize the sovereignty of truth. Errors
and deviations and controversies there have been, and
enough of them, in the world; but the one challenge of all
dispute, firom the first hour that ever a man debated anything with his neighbor, has been this-" I have the truth;
and you have it not." All intellectual erring, at least in
the regions of abstract inquiry, has been involuntary, and
has evermore been a seeking for the truth. If it had
founde nothling, then, indeed, would a case be made out
against us, of stupendous abortion.  But what do the words
-science, philosophy, literature, art, poetry, common sense
-mean, if the search has been in vain? And if there stood
upon the earth, now and here before us, one who had discovered all the truths, the secret and mysterious truths of
nature and life and humanity, that being would draw from
the whole world a homage such as was never paid at the
throne of monarch or pontiff.  So is man made; so to bow
down before the truth, before the simple, naked, invisible
truth, as hlie bows before no outward shlrine. The eternal
reason speaks in him; and its word is an oracle. Above
all earthly power and grandeur, sits sage wisdom. The
monarchs of the world are such as Plato, Homer, Milton,
Shakspeare.
iHomage to such is natural. Truth leads not downward,
but upward. There is something ennobling in the bare pursuit of it, in the most abstract forms. One cannot listen to
a clear and lofty discoursing, without feeling his very frame
to expand with swelling thoughts. There are books, and
even those of the abstrusest philosophy, like Dugald Stew art's, which I cannot hear read without feeling as if I
wanted to rise up and stride through the room, and were a
103 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
head taller. I am reminded, in this connection, of the
beautiful eulogium which Sir James Mackintosh passes on
Diugald Stewart.  " How many," he says, " are still alive,
in different countries, and in every rank to which education
reaches, who, if they accurately examined their own minds
and lives, would not ascribe much of whatever goodness and
happiness they possess, to the early impressions of his gentle
and persuasive eloquence! " *
Turn now to the department of Science. It does not fall
within my present design to speak at length of its vastness of the grand fabric of scientific knowledge which man has
built up in the world; to show how he has stretched the
compass of his investigation from the earth to the skies;
how hle has analyzed every known substance, and studied
the laws of invisible agencies, and penetrated into the beds
and layers of the old creation, and deciphered its history;
how he has descried millions of living creatures sporting in
a globule of water, and then risen to follow the millioned
globes of heaven in their courses; how he has traced out
astonishing analogies of structure between the flower of the
field and the system of heavenly spheres-between the arrangement and development of the solar system, and the
branchings of our forest tiees-showing them all to be of
one type, one order, one creative idea.  But whither can all
this stupendous knowledge lead, but to God? Where can
man bow down his awe-struck reason but before the throne
of the invisible Mighlt? Science is the natural ally and minister of religion.  And this, notwithstanding the assumptions of some philosophers, whom not science, but irreverence, has made Atheists, has now come to be regarded as
the established truth.
"Still "-I hear it said-" the mass of mankind is buried
in ignorlance." It is curious to observe how constantly we
use the word ignorance, as if there were no knowledge but
that of books and theories. The active classes, I think,
* View of the Progress of Ethical Philosophy in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, p. 213.
104 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
have some right to complain of.this book4-learned assumption.  What are we to say of that vast accumulation of
knowledge, called common sense; the light of daily life;
the light of guidance that shines upon all the paths of human pursuit? All the philosophy in the world, could not
supply the place of that; all the philosophy in the world, in
utility, is perhaps inferior to it. It has been reserved for
some of the French philosophers, Jouffroy, and others, to
raise this truth to its proper place. M. Jouffroy has raised
it, perhaps, something above its place; for this is his view of
the matter.  "Seeing and observing," he says, "are different things. Seeing is universal; observing is the philosopher's province. Observing is the seizing and examining
of particular aspects of things; and although keener than
the common and general seeing, and having its own im
miense importance, it is apt to be narrow and one-sided.
Hence the varying and conflicting systems of philosophy.
But seeing is broader, though less clear; sight is the mirror
that holds all things. The common man sees all things, in
nature and humanity, as truly as the philosopher, and having
no bias, no theory to support, is likely to see them more
justly, though far less deeply." Common sense therefore
corrects the aberrations of philosophy.  Thus he says, "The
history of philosophy presents a singular spectacle; a certain number of problems are reproduced at every epoch;
each of these problems suggests a certain number of solutions, always the same; philosophers are divided; discussion is set on foot; every opinion is attacked and defended
with equal appearance of truth. Humanity listens in silence, adopts the opinion of neither, but preserves its own;
which is what is called common sense." *
But it is more especially to my purpose to say that coinmon sense has come to distinctly moral conclusions. These
are embodied in a mass of maxims, proverbs, apothegmins,
the hived-up wisdom of all ages, which, if I had space to
repeat them, you would see to possess only less truth and
* See the Essay translated in Ripley's Specimens, Vol. I.
105 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
authority than Holy Writ itself.   Such are the maxims
that " honesty is the best policy; all is not gold that glitters; handsome is, that handsome does; time and tide wait
for no man; forewarned, forearmed; right wrongs no man;
every door may be shut but death's door; man's extremity
is God's opportunity; man proposes, God disposes; no cross,
no crown; better the child weep than the father; " and a
multitude of others. Common sense, though leaning much
to prudence and worldly wisdom, is nevertheless a moral
censor, and sometimes a profound teacher of the highest
things. It is always the corrective of fanaticism, the satirist
of folly, the condemner of vice, the reprover of injustice,
the patron of truth, integrity and well-doing.
In the next place, the esthetic part of our nature, the
sense of beauty and melody, though not in philosophical
strictness of speech either intellectual or moral, is most immediately associated with our noblest faculties, and ministers to their growth and perfection.
I have before spoken of the beauty of nature, and of the
power of music. I have spoken of the eye and ear. Let us
now penetrate beyond them-beyond the sphere of sights
and sounds, beyond those organs of seeing and hlearing, to
the sense, thefeeding of beauty and melody, in our aesthetic
and spiritualized nature. The animal has eye and ear, and
outward world, but, properly speaking, no feeling of beauty
or of music. Who ever saw one gazing upon a landscape,
or upon the silver orb of night unless it were to " bay the
moon? "  Who ever saw one testify delight in music, save
as it was assoeiated with his master's presence, or with his
going forth to hunt or to fight?  These higher things are
reserved for higher natures.
Again, this sense of beauty is innate; as much so as
reason or conscience. Outward sights and sounds do but
wake it up-do but nurture and cultivate the inward power
-do but answer to it. A fair landscape does not create the
sense of beauty. That already existed within; made ready
by the hand of its Creator, to receive the outward impres
106 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
sion. The soul dem)iands beauty and harmony, just as it demands truth and right, to satisfy it. It can no more admire
deformitv and discord, than it can admire falsehood and injustice. It is not education that creates these finer instincts.
If a human being were brought up amidst ugly forms and
jarring dissonances, the moment that lovely sights and
sweet melodies broke upon his eye and ear, he would turn
to them delighted.
Nay more, this inner sense is never satisfied. All that
fills the eye and ear, does but awaken the desire of things
more beautiful, of sounds more melodious. The realm of
cultivated taste and imagination is forever widening, and
forever leading the soul onward and upward.
I say distinctly, upwacrd; from things seen to things unseen; from things earthly to things heavenly. It is possible
indeed, but it is not natural, to behold all the glory and
goodliness of the creation, without being led to the Infinite
Glory. It is not natural. It is as if one should look upon
a lovely countenance, and never think of the loveliness
which it enshrines.
No, the grandeur and loveliness of nature-sunsets and
stars, and the almost literally uplifting deeps of the blue
sky, as we gaze upon them-and earth with its beauty, soft,
wild, entrancing-with its glorious verdure, its autumn
splendor, its sprinkled wilderness of charming hues and
forms; and ocean, bathing its summer shores, and bearing
like many-colored gems upon its bosom the green and
flowery islands-these things are not only beautiful, but
they are images and revelations of a glory and a goodliness,
unseen and ineffable. They steep the soul in reveries and
dreams of enchantment, unearthly and immortal. How has
the radiant vision kindled the poet's eye and lighted the
torch of genius, and come down as fire from heaven upon
the altars of piety, in all ages! A bed or a bouquet of flowers
-who can read anything upon their soft and shining petals
and delicate hues, but sweetness, purity, and goodness; and
how many silent thanksgivings from those who bend over
107 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
them, have ascended to Heaven, on the breath of their fra.
grant incense! And music-lwhat chord in all its wondrous
harmonies ever touched any evil passion? I have heard of
volUpt'uo?ts music; but I never heard it, and cannot con ceive of it.  Words may be voluptuous, or wrathful, or re vengeful; but not melodies.  Hotbeds of musical culture
there may be, that corrupt the heart; but it is not music
that does it. I should as soon think of a sunbeam's soiling
the atmosphere it passes through.  No, there is no possible
concord of sweet sounds, there is no combination of tones
within the range of harmony, but it weaves garments of
light and purity for the soul. All melody naturally bears
the thoughts into realms of holy imagining, sentiment, and
worship.  I would cultivate music in a family, with the
same intent as I would build an altar. Away with the un worthy notion of it, as a mere fashionable accomplishment!
It is a high ministration. And the highest musical culture,
so far from being time and means thrown away, is really as
a priesthood in the household.
In the third place to be considered, with reference to our
argument, is the moral part of our nature-conscience.
And there are three elements in conscience, to which I wish
to draw your attention; its directive, its authoritative, and
its executive power.
We are saying in this lecture, that the whole interior
constitution of man was made to guide him to truth, to virtue, to the supreme good and Goodness.  The most powerfil aid to this end is, doubtless, the conscience.
It is directive. Do you say that you know men witlh
very queer consciences; and that nations and ages differ
about what is right; and so infer that there is no direction?
A  nmoment's reflection must convince you that these differences do not touch the principle of conscience, but only the
applications of the principle. To plead these differences in
denial of the principle, would be as if one said that because
there are errors, there is no such thing as truth; because
there is a great deal of darkness, there is no such thing as
108 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
light; or because there are variations of the needle, there
are no magnetic poles. Nay, but how knew you of variations, if there were no direction? How knew you of darkness, if there be no light? And what is error, but distorted
truth? And so the very aberrations of conscience, prove
that there is a conscience.
Nay, but it is directivre. It approves of justice, truth,
integrity-gratitude, generosity, disinterestedness-gentleness, pity, kindliness.  It says, "This is the way;" nobody
can doubt it. And now suppose that across the field of
life there fell from heaven, before every man's eye, a bright
track of light, such as you have seen the moon cast athwart
the troubled waters; or suppose that on your hand were a
compass and a needle, pointing ever to the right way; what
guidance, you would say, is here!
But more than sunbeam or needle points the way.  An
awful sceptre is stretched over us. Conscience is more than
guidance; it is authority.  When a man says, "I OUGHT  -
may I beg of you to pause a moment upon that expression,
and to consider what it means? When a man says, "I
OUGHT," he has  an indescribable sense of allegiance-to
something. iHe knows not wAhat-it may be; no visible
power commands him: he does not think what it is; but
that word, "ought," binds him-to an unseen Lawgiver.  I
know, gentlemen, that the lecture room is not the place for
preaching or for rhetoric; but I do feel that here is a fact
of awful significance-too little considered. This silent
reign of right in our humanity-this magnet in the soul,
ever drawn by an invisible influence, to the right-what is
it? What does it mean?  What does it proclaim?  I answer-there must be a God!-for God only could have iinmpressed that mysterious law upon our humanity. Ah! poor,
human trembler beneath that awful mandate!-great witness, shall I not rather say, to that sublime authority!-does
he think to escape from it?  Go to the deepest and darkest
cavern of the earth; go where thou art alone and no eye
sees thee-where no power of the Church shall coerce, on
109 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DES RINY.
enactment of law bind, no hand of government compelwhere there shall be nothing save thine unutterable consciousness with thee; but when thou sayest, "I ought "altar and throne sink to the dust; they are but symbols of
that eternal authority that speaks within you-an authority
that binds altar and throne, and empire, and the world
together.
Does any man think to evade it? Nay, by Heaven and
the eternal law! that shall he not.  Conscience is executive
too. No infirm aid does it offer to the right; no inefficient
hindrance to the wrong. It announces no idle requisition.
It has rewards for the good, sweet as the most precious happiness; and penalties for the- badcl, dire as the most dreadful
misery. No human government was ever so urgent and
imperative as this power of conscience. It goes down to the
depths of the heart; it touches the secretest nerve; it penetrates where no human tribunal can go. The human law
may be evaded; but let a man carry down into his heart
the thought that he has done wrong; and that thought is
misery-is misery amidst all the blandishments of pleasure
and the splendors of fortune. And let a man bear, in a
bosom lacerated with every wound, the blessed consciousness that he has done right-hAas done right; and no floods
of disaster nor fires of martyrdom can deprive him of the
sweetness of that conviction.
No man, I repeat, shall evade this law. Retribution is
more than a doctrine, it is a fact. No violation of conscience
is so hidden or so slight, but it pays the penalty. There is
one great error on this subject, old as the world, and new as
the delusion of to-day, but it is an error still-and that is,
that concealmnent is escape, that punishment comes only
with disclosure or catastrophe. But suppose the concealment to be effected-the theft, the fraud, the lie, the bad
base deed to escape detectiondoes the man escape?  The
man!  Why, he kniows it.  If all the world knew it, and
{e knew it not, then, in a sense, might he be said to escape;
he wouldl escape from his own reproach.  But even tihen he
110 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
would not escape the worst-the very and essential curse of
evil in himself. " Maxima peccati pcena, estpeccasse," says
Seneca; "the greatest penalty of sin, is to have sinned! "
Are men punished only by and( by, or when they grow old?
Nay, says Plutarch, "they are not punished when they
grow old, but they are grown old in punishments. Can we
say," he continues, " that a man is not punished when he is in
prison, or hath his fetters upon him, till his execution comes?
We may as well say that a fish, which hath swallowed the
hook, is not taken, because it is not fried or cut in pieces?
So it is with every wicked man; he hath swallowed the
liook, when he committed the evil action." * Lysimachus,
Alexander's general, is said to have given away a kingdom
to the Getse, for a draught to quench his extreme thirst: when
he had taken his draught, he exclaimed, "What a wretchli
was I, to lose a kingdom for so short a pleasure!"  This
may be fable; but how many a man, to quench the thirst
of some raging passion, gives away the kingdom of all inward tranquillity and fortune. It has been well said that
our English salutation-" Hlow are you? "-touches the heart
of all welfare.  Ay, how are you?-that is the question.
Again, the taint that is in a man, however concealed and
however slight, is breathed out into the very air around
him, steals through the very pores of his life, infects his conversation. Hiis family, his children, society around him,
those dearest to him, all suffer for it. If it be selfishness,
avarice, vanity, though he himself be but half conscious of
it, it lowers the whole tone of his character, conversation,
and influence. If it be an act of gross fraud or vice, he cannot heartily speak at all for the right, for virtue, for what is
noblest in the world. What a retribution is that?-to be
dumb where good men talk-to flee from the converse of
virtue!  Concealmient only increases the evil.  If it were
known, the whole power of society might be united to crush
and stamp it out of existence; but now, like a poison or a
gangrene, it spreads its secret blight through all the rela                * Origines Sacre, B. III. c. iii. p. 116.
ill 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tions of family, friendship, and society.  All this too react
upon the offender in many ways. And in palpable cases it
is often a saving reaction.  How many have forborne the
inebriating cup, lest it should ruin their children! And if
the parent forbears not, and they are ruined, what can in flict a deeper pang! And if he is brutalized to that extent
that he cares not, that, I repeat, is the deepest retribution
of all.
The adjustment of this law of retribution to our human ity, the mningled severity, forbearance, and discrimination,
with which it is exercised, are worthy of further attention.
It makes, for instance, a significant distinction between
palpable vice and that more indefinite erring, of which the
world is full. Palpable vice brings a swifter judgment, be cause it is a more manifest wrong. I do not deny that some
forbearance is shown even here. Providence waits a little
with the youthful voluptuary, that he may see the evil and
reform. It does not take many experiments with vice however-withl the inebriating cup, for instance-to show him
the evil; and it very soon appears that nothing will do but
blasting disease and smiting shame. But with ordinary and
decent selfishness, with the world's covetousness, pride, and
vanity, the case is different; it takes more time to solve the
problem; and more is given. But by and by, with every
thoughtful man, the problem is solved-solved, if not sooner,
amidst the shadows of declining years. Then life begins to
spread itself around the selfish man, cold and barren and
cheerless; over one green spot and another, the waste
stretches; there are none truly to love him, who never truly
loved anybody but himself; there are none to care for him,
unless it be with a care purchased, or paid to the sense of
duty; the man may be rich, but wealth does not make him
happy; feasting, wine, faring sumptuously every day, do
not make him happy; splendor, equipage, a crowd of attendants do not make himn happy; and the poor, starved
nature within, which the wealth and garniture of a thousand
worlds could not suffice, sighs for some better thing.
112 
ON T.HE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Or turn to a different scene; where evil goes to that
extent, that it seems to be only misery and exasperation;
where amidst want and woe, amidst oaths and blows, life
goes on like a wild and wrathful battle with calamity. If
there is anything that fills me with horror and despair, beyond all things else, it is some vile and abandoned city
quarter, where wild uproar and mad revellings go on amidst
filth and raggedness and wretchedness unspeakable; with
fiery draughts poured out at all corners; with pale and haggard brows leaning against the posts and gates of the streets;
and in the chambers, horrible diseases, untended, shrieking
in agony. Is this Stygian pool, this midnight of the world,
this blackness of darkness-is it Hiell? No, misery is merciful, even here; nature is not devilish; sighings and tears
mingle with these horrors-ay, and prayers for deliverance;
and it may be God will hear; and man may help. Poor,
forsaken wretches!-outcasts from the world-exiles from
the light of many homes-could they see that God hathli
stricken them in mercy, that a paternal Providence knocks
at all their gates-could human entreaties mingle with their
mad blasphemies-they might return and find a Father in
heaven-though there be none below-perhaps they have
killed him!-none on earth to receive them.
Sad and heart-sinking spectacle!-but is there no counterpart to that picture?  Can retribution find its way only
through broken gateways and "looped and windowed raggedness?" Nay, through castle walls and plating gold, as
well. On pillows of down and beneath planks of cedar,
there are agonies as bitter as those which men are wont to
pity so deeply.  Vice desolates all where it comes-nmakes
the full house empty, and the great house mean. There is
a certain destitution in evil, even when there is no remorse.
As cold is but the absence of heat, so a vice, like avarice,
may be but the absence of virtue; but it is very cold and
deathlike. And even where, in other forms, it kindles a fire
in the veins, it leaves the heart cold and dead. To the soul,
it is all poor and paltry. Search the records of its miost
8
113 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
prosperous career, and there is nothing but dust and desola
tion in the path. Thus the gayest and the most fortunate
in the evil way, have always become the greatest complainers. The poor man's complaints and scorns and rages
against the world, are nothing to those of the broken and
worn-out man of pleasure.  So it has been with them all,
fronm the Imperial Tiberius to the Aspasia of modern French
gayety, Ninon de l'Enclos, who said, that if she could have
foreseen what her life was to be, she would rather have died
upon the threshold, than to have lived that gay and guilty
life.
Or turn to the Emperor Tiberius. What bad man could
be happy, if he could not? Iie had an empire, when that
empire was the world, to use for his ambition-to farm for
his pleasures.  But what was his life? Read a letter of his
to the Roman Senate.  " What I shall write to you, conscript fathlers, he says-or what I shall not write, or why I
shall write at all-may the gods plague me, more than I
dailv feel that they are doing, if I can tell! "  Than I daily
feel that they are doing,." This spreads the confession over
a portion of his life. It was a miserable life; and every
bad man's life is a miserable one.
Such, then, as it presents itself to me, is the picture of
our inward nature. Its original faculties are all instruments
constructed, pointed, sharpened for the work of aiding virtue and resisting vice. And thus, in fine, do I state the case,
and in the form of a comparison.  If you were to examine
a machinery which you knew was designed to produce a
certain result; if you saw, in the first place, a general preparation and tendency of all its parts to that end; if you
saw, in the next place, certain sharp instruments exactly
folmed and fashioned to cut and shape out the very thing to
be made, your mind would rest with satisfaction upon it, as
a well-adjusted piece of work. But what would be your
astonishment, if, when you saw things going wrong in that
mechanism, you observed a secret spring suddenly lift it.
self up, to resist and correct the wrong tendency. Such
114 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
admiration and wonder, I believe, justly belong to the constitution of our humanity.
But now, on the whole, it may be asked, " What  has
this humanity done?  You say, it was made for culture.
Where is it?  You say it was made to produce certain results?  Where are those results?  Bring your theory to the
test of facts. This fine nature, intellectual, aesthetic, moralwhat has it done? Culture, do you say, is the end of Providence!  Is it not production rather?  Multiplication of
the species, seems to be the end; with little care for its
development and growth. Transplantation to another clime
may be the ultimate object; and would seem to be-so
thick and stunted is the growth of men here."
There is one singular and emphatic refutation of all such
reasoning, in the fact that the children of a single pair are
not fifty, but commonly five or six.  This fact shows that
care is to be taken of them; that culture is the object, and
not mere multiplication.
But let us look at this objection, for a few moments, in
two views.
In the first place, with regard to the mass of men, the
least cultivated-Hindoos, Hottentots, what you will-I say
that the objection overlooks the actual amount and value of
their cultivation.  If all human beings died in the earliest
infancy, the objection might seem to be valid; but even
then I should doubt it: we know not what valuable impressions even infancy may, in a single year, acquire. But follow this being through twenty, thirty, fifty, seventy years,
and how much has he learned; ay, without school or institute; without book or Bible-on the Ganges or the Niger!
He has looked upon nature, seen and classified thousands of
objects, and understood the uses of many.   Ie has ]earned
to labor-to provide for a family; and by skill in tillage, or
hunting, or the care of flocks, he has become lord of the suirrounding scene.   He has learned to distinguish between
right and wrong; and though hlie has abused, he has cultivated the moral sense. And within his range have come
115 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
still higher things. Tradition has poured into his ears its
mystic love. Hle has lifted his eyes to the heavens, and his
thoughts above the heavens to the Infinite Being. Is this
passage firom blank infancy to the crowded page of human
experience; from the conception of nothing to the conception
of Infinitude-is this, I say, no progress, no culture? Measure these few mortal years, and mark the steps passed over;
then measure the years of eternity; and whither shall they
not bear a being who has begun thus?
But in the next place; I say, it is unfair to the argument,
to take the lowest examples of human culture.  If there
were a hundred similar mnachines submitted to your examination, and one of them in its working far surpassed all the
rest-the rest halting or breaking down through the bungling of artisans-you would take that one, as the proper
illustration of the design and wisdom of the original inventor. Not the ignorant, the low and base, then, but the
sages, philanthropists, heroes, the noblest men ill the worldthese proclaim the end for which human nature was made,
and for which its original powers are fitted.
I will not dwell upon this human nobleness; I have not
space left, nor power to do it justice; but I will for myself
simply profess what I think of it; let the cynic or the satirist, or the desponding skeptic or complainer say what lihe
will.  I look around upon the universe, and I see Zany
bright points; a dome of brightness above; and stars that
are set in the brow of night; and mountain tops that kindle
their altar fires with the beams of morning.   But in all this
universe, there is nothing, save the majesty of God most
High, that draws forth my reverence, my enthusiasm, my
delight, like a noble and good man. Of all things known
to me, this is the brightest spot. There may be angels;
there may be seraphim-supernal natures above the reach
of my sympathy.  I know them not; I never saw such al
one; I never saw book of his writing, nor action of his performiing, nor life that hlie lived, nor death that he died;
but I have seen men, through struggle and weariness, and
116 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
pain and death, soaring to knowledge, to virtue, to heaven;
through lonely studies, through the trampled fires of passion, through mortal infirmity, through baits and snares of
evil, thick strown upon all their path and trodden under
foot, mounting to the heights of the world. They are seated
on the thrones of the world, compared with which the
C,esars held the dominion of a day.  They are indeed "the
representative men" of the earth; the representative men
of our humanity.
117 
LECTURE VI.
THE COMPLEX NATURE OF MAN, PERIODS OF LIFE,
SOCIETY, HOMIE, BALANCE OF THE PHYSICAL AND
MJENTAL POWERS.
I HAVE spoken in my last two lectures of the physical
and spiritual constitution of man. There is a union of both,
a complex nature of man, which requires to be considered
with reference to its end.
Under this head are to be mentioned, in the first place,
the different periods of life. These steps of life all have
their place, and give their aid in the process of human
development.  The physical adaptation in these periods of
life, images and helps a moral adaptation. Look at the supple and flexible limbs of a child, at the strengthening bone
of manhood, and at the relaxing fibre of age. How necessary are these; the one to the safe training of life, the next
to its stable vigor, and the last to that loosening of the hold
upon life's labors and cares, which is necessary to the quietude, the meditativeness, the ripened wisdonl  that befit the
closing period of our earthly existence. This remark is
familiar in physiology, but it is equally applicable to the
moral economy of the human constitution.
Childhood is the world's great experimenter. It is the
season, not of the deepest, but of the most rapid learning.
It wants, therefore, a peculiar susceptibility to feel, a freedom to choose, and a flexibility to change. It must try this
and try that, and not fix too strong a grasp upon anything.
It must be full of hope and buoyancy and facility. Lay 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the wveight of prejudice or custom, or matured vice, upon
childhood, and it would be crushed entirely.   We  are
alarmed when we see in a child a disposition to prevaricate;
but we should be shocked beyond measure if that practice
were clothing itself with the strength of fixed habit. We
are vexed when we see a boy taking on airs of superiority
to his mates, on account of the homage paid to his parent's
wealth or fame; but, thank Heaven! the great enslaving
law of opinion yet bears lightly on his ignorance and innocence.  But what should we think, if we saw the full-grown
vices of sensuality or worldly ambition developing themselves in the body or mind of a child?  We should give him
up in despair.
You will be more sensible of this guardianship thrown
around the earliest period of life, if you observe the barrier
that separates childhood from manhood.  In youth, and in
its passage to maturity, there is a very singular crisis; the
form, the face, the voice, the temperament, the sentiments,
the passions, pass through a remarkable change. The previous time of life seems to have been a dispensation by
itself; marked by a certain indifference, by a certain mingled
levity and apathy with regard to the wider interests of life.
The child has a safeguard in his profound ignorance of much
that is around him.  lIe lives in the midst of the world;
but a firiendly veil is thrown around him, that tempers its
bright and deceitful glare. Hie lives in an enclosure protected from temptations that would be as wild beasts to his
gentle innocence. His ambition does not wander beyond
the school and the play ground. The impulses of sense and
passion yet slumber in his bosom.  His loves are school-day
friendships and family regards. His life is comparative joyance and repose. But now at length, the time comes when
the great veil that hides the world begins to rise; when the
first battle with the stronger powers that sleep in the human
breast, is to be fought; and the previously secure and calm
house of life becomes, as it were, a forge, an arsenal, a citadel. There are flashings out of new and unwonted fires;
119 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
there is solemn and even sad brooding over the enterprises
and destinies of existence; there are trumpet calls in the
courtyard of the guarded house; there is the disturbance
and disorder, the dust and confusion, the thronging thoughts
and energies, that betoken the entrance upon a new and
momentous scene.  Forces like these would have split and
shattered in pieces the frail and delicate tenement of childhood; but now, to virtuous resolution and youth's first struggling prayer to Heaven, strength is given to meet them.
The next stage is manhood. Vow something is to be
decided on, and something is to be done. Before, there was
activity; now there is to be work. There is to be plan,
pursuit, profession-some end to be chosen; and there is to
be a concentration of energies to gain it. The field is wider.
Before, the word was,-" Learn these lessons and continue to
learn them, and you shall be at the head." Now, many
things are to be learned and many things done, to get to
the head, or to get along at all. The head is, not a certificate, a diploma, a valedictory oration, but the leading-staff
of empire, of authorship, of art, of business, of social or professional distinction. The world is full of varied interests,
full of exigencies, full of competitors. The business of life
is complicated, urgent, exhausting.  Think of a child, a boy
of fifteen, charged with all this care, this responsibility. It
would confound and crush his faculties. Especially would
it crush down all joyance and free growth. But all this, to
right-hearted manhood, is a noble culture.  Mlanhlood has
powers for the task.  It has strength of muscle  to work,
strength of mind to act, strength of heart to endure.  And
the innocence of childhood is well exchanged for manhood's
strength, for its courage, its manliness, its high integrity;
for that grand equipoise of the faculties in which it holds
itself erect and firm, and stands before the world with foot
and hand, and heart and mind ready for its work; ready
to do business, to cope with difficulties, to subdue obstacles,
to speak and act in the affairs of men and nations.
But the toil and strife at length are over; the bustle
120 
ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
and turmoil of life have passed away; age lays its chasten
ing hand upon the vigorous frame and the fevered passions;
sager and more sacred thoughts take possession of the mind;
the race is run, the battle is fought, the world is changed;
and when that winter day of life is come, and the blossoms
of hope and the fruits of ripened friendship are all scattered
in the dust, the man says: "Let me depart, it is good for
me to die."
And age too, like every other period of life, is not with out its own special fitness and personal vocation. How
else-says the poet              "How else couldst thou retire apart,
With the hoarded memories of thy heart,
And gather all, to the very least,
Of the fragments of life's earlier feast               Let fall, through eagerness to find
The coming dainties yet behind?
How ponder on the entire past,
Laid together thus at last;
When the twilight helps to fuse
The first fresh, with the faded hues;
And the outline of the whole
Grandly fronts, for once, thy soul."
And now I say, that all this is naturally a progress in
virtue. In one respect the visible is not an emblem of the
spiritual life.  Age, that declines in vigor, naturally grows
in virtue. Its affections, I think, are usually as vigorous as
those of youth; its wisdom is, of course, far greater. I do
not forget that it is, in some respects, peculiarly tried. It is
hard to give up some things to which it has been accustomed
-the activity, the control of affairs, the indulgence perhaps
of appetite. This last point I have sometimes seen to be
one of especial difficulty. These however, are but flaws
upon the deep and quiet stream.
Still, age is naturally the maturity of virtue, of piety, of
all that is noblest in the mind.  Not till approaching the
grand climacteric, perhaps, does the character usually arrive at its highest perfection. Great intellectual power, no
doubt, is attained earlier; the culminating point of talent,
121 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
authorship, statesmanship, military skill, is reached sooner;
but not till a later day does humanity, even when thus distinguished, arrive at its highest wisdom, self-control, and
sanctity; not till then, perhaps, are the great problems of
the inmost life solved; the conflicting tendencies of the
nature brought into harmony; and the utmost aims of
human existence achieved. To me the grandest form of
humanity is the aged form. I had almost said the most
attractive beauty, taking into account the manners, bearing,
and expressions of countenance. Youth, I know, carries off
the palm, with most persons-the fair complexion, the glossy
hair, the smooth brow and painted cheek. It is a sort of barbaric taste, I am tempted to say; but it is so prevalent, that
I am quite sure a good-natured indulgence will be extended
to an opposite opinion; it has so very little chance of prevailing.  " Ay,"-it will be said-" criticize as much as you
please, the claims of youth to all beauty and outward
charms; they can bear it." But, in truth, the form that
stands erect after the storms of seventy or eighty years have
beat upon it; the face that bears on it the markls of all
human triumph, of the last triumph, that over itself; the
calin dignity and gentle courtesy and forbearance, in man
or woman, that come from long reflection and patient culture; the holy serenity and assured trust, caught from the
heaven that is near, and shining through the parting shadows of life; why, nature, I say, is not false to herself; there
is the nobleness of humanity, and there are some of its
noblest expressions. That aged form-how often, in fact,
does it draw a thoughtful man in a gay company, from the
charms of youth, and all the importunity of their attractions,
to the side of its venerableness, wisdom, and beauty! The
contrary tendency in this country or any other country, the
tendency in society to separate the aged and the young, is
one that is to be looked upon with the greatest reprehension.
This pushing forward of the young to take all the places in
society, to be the whole of society, ought to be repressed by
their elders, with dignity and authority. Depend upon it,
122 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
that all such breaking away from the great bonds of nature,
from the venerable sanctities of life, is essentially degrading
even to the taste of a people; and you may be sure that it
is a vulgar tendency of society that leads the young to wish,
in their chosen happy hours, to separate themselves front
their aged friends.  I am not wandering from my proper
theme. The point which I have ventured thus plainly to
touch, concerns not only good manners, but good culture.
It was meant, I believe, that youth and age should exert
upon each other a mutual influence; that the aged should
not want the cheering presence and attention of the youniig,
nor the young, the wise and tranquillizing influeInce of the
aged; that aged life should not lack entertainment, just
when perhaps most needing it, and that young life should
not rush into it, without the restraints of filial tenderness
and respect.
3fontaigne says, quoting, perhaps unconscious]y, almost
the very words of Cicero, "I had rather be old not so long,
than to be old before the time."  But we, in this country,
think ourselves old before we are so, and actually grow old
before we need.  Society forces it upon us.  " I have done
with the world," says one; "I am getting to be an old
man." And so he sits in his solitary room, perhaps; afraid
that he shall be a burden upon the young company in an
adjoining apartment. And suppose hlie is an old man-and
not fifty, which is old for our pushing society-suppose he
is indeed an old man; does it follow that hlie has done with
the world?   Nay, if wisdom and experience and perfected
character mean anything, he has now to exert a finer, nobler,
and more beautiful influence upon the world, than ever.
From the progress of life, let us now turn to the general
structure of society, as another sphere in which the double
nature of man plays its part.
The world, it is said, is a corrupter. Sature has wholesome influences, but the world none. A comnparatively safe
abode man has, amidst the hills and waters and the free
air; but the moment he comes into the presence of moral
123 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
natures all is peril and evil. ilence convents, hermitages,
the anchorite's cell. Hience, the non-intercourse with what
is called worldly society and its worldly ways, enjoined by
many chuLrchles upon their members.
But can that be altogether so? A sacred watch indeed
for all young minds, nay, for all minds, over the influence
that others exert uponl them-lthis is well. But can it be
that society, the bosom of universal nurture, bears upon it
nothing but peril, but pollution? Can it be that the hunan
generations are brought forward in succession, only to be
trained by selfishness, treachery, injustice, pride, and sensuality?  Is this the school of humanity?
No, no; we do not, and cannot think so.  Let us see
what we do think, and ought to think.
Society then, like man, is liable to err; so and no otherwvise. Society is but collective humanity, the aggregate of
individual character; and whatever there is in the physical
and moral constitution of man, to urge him to the right and
to restrain him fromn the wrong, must be found inii that same
world which we dread and condemn. Found there; but
markl one difference-found sometimes, it' greater, in collective strength. For after all, the world sometimes is even a
stronger reprover  than the individual conscience; and a
man is all the more in dangier for being alone for not feeling the pressure of social opinion. Some dark iniquity is
perpetrated in secret, and the light within fails to shine
upon it and show what it is; and its hideousness is not seen,
till it is revealed-till it is reJcotecl, in the mirror of all-surrounding conscience. But let us look at the great social
ministry, and see whether it is for good or for evil; for there
are serious questions about it. Selfish interests-inequalities-competitions-solidarity-and the general social influence; these are the points to be studied.
We say the world is selfish.  Let it be ever so true-I
shall soon have occasion to qualify the admission-but let it
be ever so true; yet can youL pass over thle remarkable fact
that the very selfishness of society is engaged on the side of
124 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
honesty, self-restraint, visible virtue? Individual selfishness
may not be; it may choose to steal, defraud, indulge itself
in evil ways, in any way, it cares not what, nor how much
to the hurt of others; but the common selfishness resists all
that. What does every man want of his fellow, in conver
sation or in business; what is it the interest of all to de mand, but truth, honesty, honor, virtue?  A man may not
choose to practise them himself; but he wants them to be
practised toward him. SIark it well, then; in all ages,
among all nations, amidst all other fluctuations and convulsionrs of opinion, stand fraud, intemperance, licentiousness,
branded and blackened with universal opprobrium.  Selfish
interest, mere selfish interest writes on the table of the world,
the laws of virtue.  Why?  Because God has ordained them
to be the laws of the common welfare.  There they stand!
There they stand, deep and high. The mountains on their
everlasting bases, stand not so firm as these foundation laws
of right, in the common, the great Humanity.
But, it may be said, selfishness, though it protects the
right, is a bad thing still. Yes, it is a bad thing; but is all
selfish that we call so?  Let us not mistake here.  Let us
not champion general virtue, to the hurt of our own-like a
man crying "famine!" and starving to death to prove it.
Jy pursuing my own interest, cultivating my own farm,
conducting my own business, is not selfishness. I may till
my field, and be heartily and none the less glad that my
neighbor's is yielding him a good crop; and that surely is
not selfishness.  I must attend to my own affairs; I have
no business to meddle with his.  This may be called the
isolated principle, or the selfish principle, or by whatever
hard names men please; but busybodies in other men's affairs-men that were often going to their neighbor's fence,
and saying how glad they felt at his prosperity, and offering
excellent advice perchance, would  be very troublesome
people, at any rate. There is doubtless enough selfishness
in the world, and it is odious enough; the basely ambitious,
the miserly, the inebriate, and the debauched live in the
125 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
world; but there is a great deal of generosity in it also
there is a great deal of sympathy and feeling for one another
and the common indignation that darkens the very air in
horror, around vice and crime, has a far deeper source
than selfish and politic resistance to a common foe.
Let us pass to another point. One of the most annoying
forms of selfishness is competition for the goods or honors of
the world. This, it may be said, is not simply a pursuing
of one's own interest, but an infringement upon others'
interests, or a wish at least to surpass them-to get what
they are seeking.
Now I" am not obliged to defend anything beyond the
degree in which it actually exists; and I am not obliged to
defend anything which Providence has not appointed; and
finally, I am not obliged to defend anything which, fronom
the very nature of the case, could not be prevented. I say
then, in the first place, that in the general industry of life,
there is little or no actual competition. The bounties of
nature are not so stinted, that I must starve, or my neighbor. There is enough for us all. And men, generally, cultivate land, build houses, make ploughs and scythes, with
little thought that their neighbor's successfully doing the
same things, is any disadvantage to them. Competition is
usually seen in trade, in the professions; and then only or
chiefly in the crowded centres of society. But I say, in the
next place, that there is very commonly committed an
egregious blunder here; for which Providence is not responsible. And that is the blunder of supposing that there is
a competition of interests to the extent commonly imagined;
that another's success is proportionably an injury to us. Individual success adds to the general wealth and prosperity;
it builds houses, employs laborers, rears ships, makes beautifuil gardens and grounds; and is a common benefit. Successfutl manufacture increases demand. The fame of a lawyer, physician, or clergyman adds to the dignity and honor
of his profession. But suppose, in the third place, that we
do unavoidably come to the sharp edge of competition; two
126 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ef us want, and cannot help wanting, the same thing-the
same office, honor, emolument.  Then, I say, as one of the
inevitable trials of virtue, must we meet it. Then must
that sharp edge carve out a nobleness for us, above all that
the ordinary contacts of life can do. In no relation, perhaps, can men be so noble to each other, as in that of rivals;
and though prejudice, jealousy, and envy too often make the
contest odious and the ~nen odious, yet candor, kindliness,
and generosity might, and sometimes do, clothe them with
brighter honors than any they seek for.
The third feature in the social condition, presenting difficulty to most men's thoughts, is inequality of lot. There is
nothing, perhaps, about which so many minds are sore and
vexed, as this. Reformers have considered much how they
could remove it.  Radicals have demanded that it be swept
away entirely.  "That all men are born equal" is taken
literally by some, and held to be a good ground for keeping
them so. Nothing in the world is inveighed against with
such bitterness as wealth and rank.
Now hereditary rank, supported by entailed estates, I
adminit to be a great social injustice. But passing by these
human arrangements, and coming down to the general fact,
to the providential order, I should like to have some one
tell me, how it is possible to prevent inequality, ay, and
great inequality of lot, without breaking down entirely the
free will, the free energy by which the world is a world,
and not a mere systemn of machinery. Make all men
equal to-day; give them equal property, equal means,
equal comforts. Difference, ay, the hated distinction,
begins  to-morrow, as surely  as  they are  left  to  act
freely.
Let us accept, then, this fact of inequality as inevitable,
and see whether it is at war with social justice or improvement.  Is it at war with social justice?  Certainly the very
opposite is the truth. Perfect and perpetual equality of lot
would be the most manifest injustice. It would not be rewarding men according to their deeds, but the very con
127 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
trary. Sluggards and knaves might like it, but nobody else
could.
And then with regard to improvement-if all men stood
upon an exact level, how much of the necessary and palpa ble stimulus to exertion would be taken away! If I saw
no man above me in any respect, I should be apt to be con tent with what I am; I should fail perhaps to be reminded
that there is anything higher for me to attain. The child,
for instance, stands to his parent in the relation of inequal ity; but suppose he did not; suppose hlie saw, or thought,
his parent to be no wiser nor stronger than he; he would
be in a deplorable condition for his improvement. Indeed
this whole strife for visible preeminence overrates the prize
altogether-undervalues the inward strength and nobleness,
of which it is-properly nothing but the symbol; and ought
to drive men upon that inward sufficiency as the only relief
fioni envy, jealousy and base ambition.
But it may be said, there is something more trying in
the problem of society, than competition, and that is, this
terrible solidarity-the suffering caused us by others-suffering of the innocent for the guilty; suffering, proceeding
from individuals, but spreading far and wide; running
through all the fibres of social existence.  The answer is
could there be society without this exposure? Manifestly
not. Without sympathy, there could be no society; with
it, there must be pain for others' afflictions; ay, and suffering, loss, trouble, from others' errings.
And this necessity, like every other in the system, is
turned into a beneficent law. The care for one anotherthat most anxious and watchful care, that others, our children, our relatives, our friends, should do well; the feeling
on the part of the tempted man, that a thousand eyes are
turned toward him-eyes that will kindle with joy at his
well-doing, and that would weep bitterly over his fall; all
this is a conservative force, to preserve the virtue of men,
and to prevent aberration-a force lent by the union of all
the bonds of human interest, and all the ties of human
128 
ON TIIE PROBLEM OF IIHUMAN DESTINY.
sympathy; and without which, it is manifest, society could
not stand.   As  in the system of nature, it is said that
every particle of matter, though it be upon a dunghill, colntributes to the universal order; so in the system of society,
the poorest creature in the world, one that lies upon that
dunghill, has relations to the welfare of all; all power and
wealth and well-being are worse off for him. It is true; it
is inevitable; it is well; and well were it, if we more thoughtfully laid it to heart.
Having thus attempted to meet the leading questions
that arise with regard to the great social discipline of ILunmanity, let us now turn to its direct and unquestionable instrumentality.
Society is the great educator. Afore than universities,
more than schools, more than books, society educates.  Nature is the schoolhouse, and many lessons are written upon
its walls; but man is the effective teacher. Parents, relatives, friends, associates; social manners, maxims, morals,
worships, the daily example, the fireside conversation, the
casual interview, the spirit that breathes through the whole
atmosphere of life —these are the powers and influences that
train the mass of mankind. Even books, which are daily
assuming a larger place in human training, are but the influenee of man on man.
It is evident that one of the leading and ordained means by
which men are raised in the scale of knowledge and virtue,
is the conversation, example, influence of men superior
to themselves.  It seems, if one may say so, to be the purpose, the intent, the efort of nature-of  Providence, to
bring men together, and to bring them together, for the most
part, in relations of discipleship and teaching. The social
nature, first, draws them to intercourse.  Perpetual solitariness is intolerable.  But then, much of their intercourse is
on terms of inequality.  Equals in age, people in society,
seldom meet, but one is able to teach or tell something, and
the other is desirous to learn it.  The lower are strongly
drawn to the higher. Children are not content to be always
9
129 
ON THE PROBLEM OF IHUMAN DESTINY.
by themselves; curiosity, reverence, filial affection draw
them to their superiors. In the whole business of life   tillage, mechanism, manufacture, merchandise- a younger
generation is connected with an elder, to be taught by it.
Barbarous tribes go on forever in their barbarism, till they
are brought into the presence of superior culture. The Chi   nese exclusion has kept that people stationary, though civil  ization has been knocking at their gates for more than three
centuries.* And it is better-I speak of mere results, not
principles-that the way for light should be opened into
that country by English cannon balls, or the rending asun  der of the empire, than never to be opened.  But suchl  a
fixed barrier to civilization is a solitary phenomenon in his  tory. Nations, the barbarous and civilized, by some means
or other, in the everlasting ferment of human interests and
passions, are thrown into communication and interfusion
-if by no better means, by war, by subjugation, by capture;
for Providence, if one may say so, will have them come to  gether. Human injustice and cruelty are not to be abetted in
this matter.  There are better ways, which Christian civiliza  tion ought to learn-travel, trade, missions of light and mer  cy; but, some way, the nations must mingle together, or the
ignorant will never be enlightened, the savag,e never civilized.
Where are tilhe ruder peasantry of Europe now resorting,
for work and for subsistence?  To the heart of England and
America. Many an enlightened man, building a railroad,
or improving his estate, many a refined woman in her house-hold, is made their teacher-little suspecting the office, per haps. It were fortunate, I think, for both parties, if they
did; it might make the relation more kindly and holy; but
any way, the work will be done.
How fine and delicate and penetrating is this power of
man to influence his kind! A word, a tone, a lock-nothing
goes to the depths of the soul like that. The dexterous hands,
and the embracing arms, the commanding eye and the per suasive lips and the stately presence are fitted for nothing
* Williams's "Middle Kingdom," chap. xxi.
130 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
more remarkably than to teach. Travelling on a railroad,
one day, I saw a little child in the company of some half a
dozen affectionate relatives. From hand to hand it passed
to be amused, to be soothed, to be taught something from
moment to moment-to receive many lessons, and more
caresses, all the day long. " Here," I thought with myself,
"is a company of unpaid, loving, willing, unwearied teachers. Such governesses could scarce be hired on any terms."
Well, it was not a nobleman's child; it was not a rich man's
child, that I know; every man's child has such training.
The same thing, substantially, is passing in every house
where childhood lives, every day.
How sharp, too, and jealous, is the guardianship of society over the virtue of its members!  How preventive and
corrective are its sorrow and indignation at their failures! A
parent's grief is such a warning and retribution as prisons
and dungeons could not bring upon his erring child. And
then it is to be observed that the grosser and more ruinous
vices are such as soon betray themselves, and cannot be long
concealed. The police of society is very likely to find them
out. And selfishness, covetousness, vanity, do not escape.
The repulsive atmosphere of common feeling about the selfish mall, the cold shadow in which the miser walks, the
stinging criticisms upon the vain man, proclaim that society
is not an idle censor. What does public opinion brand,
what does literature satirize, all over the world, but the faults
and foibles of men? Society has thrones for thie good and
noble, and purple and gold are but rags and dust in the comparison. Society has prisons and penitentiaries for the base
and bad, and stone walls and silent cells are not so cold and
death-like.
Let us now proceed to a third subject presented by the
complex nature of manl, and that is, the relation of sex, and
the consequent order of the family.
This great bond of many interwoven relations-home-is
deserving, at the present day, of some special attention and
study.  The facility and extent of modern intercourse tend
131 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to create a kind of cosmospolite feeling in the world. Col onization, too, weakens the family ties.  Increasing luxury,
the expensiveness of living-one of the worst effects of our
artificial civilization-is unfriendly to marriage. Engrossing
business, especially in cities, is drawing away the attention
of many from home and home culture. Withal, some of
the social reforms are directly proposing to substitute jointstock corporations for separate and independent households.
Amidst these tendencies, let us see if we can find what is the
order of nature, and why it is established.
What, then, makes the family?  What is it that carries
man beyond community, neighborhood, society, friendship,
to this inner circle of life?  What makes the family?  It is
an institution so established and universal that few, perhaps,
have ever asked themselves the question; and yet it involves,
as I conceive, some of the profoundest views of the wisdom
of Providence.
In the human relation of sex, then, is laid the foundation
for home. In this, that is to say, is laid the foundation for
a peculiar and permanent attachment, which leads the subjects of it to wish to dwell together, and apart from others.
Thus the great Master says, that God m~acde them  imale and
female, that they two should become one; that they should
be united in an interest that separates them from others.
On this purpose and intent of IHeaven, He founded the
sanctity of marriage. Suppose the distinction of sex not to
exist, and that there were no such attachment as is now
founded upon it, and no such relation of two persons to certain other persons who are their children, as is now established; and then it is evident that although there might be
social ties and temporary unions of friendship, and even a
common residence, there could be no family.  Meui might
be gregarious, but they could not be domestic. They might
live together, but they could not be one, in that almost mnysterious tie of affinity and kindred.
Next, to strengthen the family bond, another provision
is made. Why does not the infant child, like the young of
132 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
animals, alTive in a few days or weeks at its maturity, and
the abilitv to take care of itself? I know of no ultimate
reason for this, but the purpose of Heaven to " set the solitary in families."   Children might have been formed as
well to come to maturity-certainly to physical maturityin twenty weeks, as in twenty years. A twenty years' care
of their offspring is assigned to parents, in order to establish
a school of natural and moral influence.  The school-houses
of a nation, indicate its pulpose to give its children a certain
technical education.   The domestic abodes of the world
manifest a purpose of the overruling Providence, no less clear
and explicit. Youthful love and parental affection, which
are of God's creating and not ours, lay every corner-stone
in them, and raise every protecting wall. In idle unconsciousness may that love between the sexes grow up; the
theme of jesting comment may it be, to those around; but
such is its great mission; such is the solemn bond which it
lays upon the world.  The problemn of parental love and
filial subjection,'nay be wrought out withl weariness and
sorrow, or with thoughhtless, or with reflecting and holy gladness; but such is the momentous solution of that problem.
We have said that society is the great educator. The
family is the primary school of that education.  The pupils
are children-delicate in frame, docile in spirit, susceptible
of influence.   Nor is it easy, if indeed it is possible, to conceive how the object could have been effected without that
relation. I have said in a former lecture, that the only conceivable beginning of existence for a rational being, is infancy-a state, that is to say, of ignorance and destitution; in
which impressions, knowledge, virtue, holiness are to be
acquired; since those things are by definition matters of
experience and volition, and incapable of creation. Had
man been full formed at once thein-i. e., not in knowledge
and virtue, but in mere strength of body and mind, whicih is
conceivable-had there been thus far a state of physical and
mental equality, the rigid fibre would have found its fellow
in the obstinate will, and neither would, nor could perhaps,
133 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
have yielded to the voice of instruction, nor to the sway of
discipline. But a child's docility, a child's meeknesscould we understand it —is something heaven-sent, something, I had almost said, fearful to contemplate. The mingled veneration and love, with which it looks up to a good
parent; the mingled wonder and fear, with which it looks
up to a bad parent, who has lost in vice or rage the government of himself; what contrast on earth could be more
touching! Alas! in how many dwellings stands that poor
stricken child, gazing with awe and terror upon the frenzy
of inebriety or the fury of anger, and parting not with its
meekness and submissiveness, amidst all its agonies and
wrongs.  It is God's child, not man's; and might well be
the minister of God to the evil man-nay, and is so.
Scarcely less remarkable is the influence of the family
state upon its elder members.  Marriage recalls man from
what would be otherwise his wild roving through the world,
and assigns to him a home.  That home becomes the natural centre of his affections, cares and labors. But for this
bond, life would be nomadic, and its ties transient as the
traveller's footstep.   This gives a sphere, a locality to
human pursuit, makes of it a regular, concentrated industry, makes frugality, foresight, care, self-restraint necessary,
calls sympathy to the bedside of sickness and suffering, and
turns man's dwelling into a sanctuary of sorrow, a memorial of death, and threshold of eternity. But I need not dwell
longer upon so familiar a theme as the good influence of
home.
I only wish you distinctly to see what is the origin of
this institution. It is divine; and because it is divine, it is
universal. Amidst the wide wandering of men upon earth,
diversified by all the varieties of condition and culture, there
is one tie, drawing evermore to one spot-one heart-drawing
evermore to one magnetic centre; and if I were to put the
question to the whole human race-what is that?-the answer would be, it is Jome. Before government, before society, city, community existed, there was a home. It is no
134 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
t
human, no civil, no factitious institution. God made it. It
was rooted in the foundations of the world. From the
brooding darkness of primeval time, the first objects that
emerge to sight are homes-not nations, but families.  It
was a home that floated upon the waters of the great Deluge. The first altar built on Ararat was the home-altar.
It was the home-altar that lighted the steps of men and generations in their wide dispersion over the earth. It was
"the pillar of cloud and fire; " and if that light had gone
out, the human race would have become extinct.
The first brand of misery upon the human brow, and the
darkest to-day, is excision from home. God pity such an outcast! But how few such are there! Outcast from every other
tie a man may be;-but find the veriest wretch that roams
the earth or the sea; and one spot there is to which he clings
with a saving confidence, if there be any saving for him: lhe
knows-he knows that there is one place on earth where the
memory and care of him linger, and live, and can never
die.
I have spoken now of the one grand object of the distinction of the sexes. I say nothing of the direct, personal
relation considered by itself. It is difficult to speak of it-a
difficulty lying in the very delicacy and depth of the relation. There is, perhaps, a mystery in this marriage of
hearts, which we cannot understand. It is a union beyond
worldly interest, beyond selfish attachment, beyond friendship; it is the union of natures, counterpart to one another,
of which the two make one, in a sense pertaining to no other
human relation. Certainly if the world were occupied by
men or by women alone, it would be but half a world. The
grace and charm of life would be gone; and each would
roam through the earth, in comparatively sad and solitary
isolation. And whoever would blend the sexes, blot out the
distinction, make their pursuits and callings the same, their
very dress the same, would be guilty of treason, not to man
or woman only, but to the majesty of Providence itself.
Finally, there is, in the complex nature of man, a bond
135 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
and a balance of its powers and tendencies, most worthy to
be observed.
The union of the mind and body commonly called a
mystery, is more than that; it is a wonder.  The rushing
tide that pours through the heart, swollen and discharged
sixty or seventy times a minute, for eighty years, without
wearing away its channel-this is a commonly cited instance. But more miraculous still, perhaps, is the human
head. That the mind should be linked with a substance so
firail and fragile as the brain, seated in a mesh like gossamer,
not on a marble throne; tl) at its fiery thoughts should not tear
it in pieces; that its swelling emotions should not burst the
delicate integument; that it should keep sane and strong
when one thread diseased deranges all; that it should so
long keep touch and time, when thrilling nerves and throbbing ganglions are its ministers-this is the wondrous bond
and balance of soul and body.
Look at this balance of the faculties, miental, moral, and
physical, in a larger view. See how all those tendencies
and impulses, which left to themselves would go to destruction, are restrained by one another, and by the union of all.
By the constitution of our nature, the raging appetites, the
wayward passions themselves are bonds. Anger isexhausted
by its own violence, and sinks to pity at the wound it inflicts. lN,atural affection in its rudest state, is yet to tie to
something. Passion, I say, is itself restraint. Bonds are
woven out of the free and wild affections. Man must love.
Then something must he love —wife, children, home, fiiend.
Hle must sustain relations-to cherished childhood, or to
beseeching weakness  and tenderness.   All his passions,
then, his loves, hates, hopes, fears, unite to put and press
and drive him into some controlling and protecting order.
The leading, visible form of that order is Governnment.
That great bond that holds a nation together, is spun and
woven out of the texture and strife of all human passions
and interests.  Government is not a thing of chance or of
will, but of necessity, of God.
136 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Nor only so; not only is there a bond, but there is, as I
was saying, a balance among the human powers that tends
to control and keep them right-to keep them, at any rate,
from the uttermost wrong. Man is a kingdom; and no
political balance of powers was ever so exquisite and admirable as the equilibrium of forces in him.  There are the
citizen affections; there is the populace of the passions:
and their interests are opposite, their control mutual. There
is the mob of reckless and raging desires; but sobriety,
thoughtfulness, order come to meet it.  Or ambition arises,
and would sweep to its end, over a kingdom in ruins, but
private regards come to check it; those human hearts that
it would tread and crush beneath its feet, put forth tendrils
and snares that entangle and fetter its reck]ess strides. And
everywhere, sobering fact, sobering labor, tame down the
impulses of imagination and appetite-of wild dreaming or
wild craving of fortunes, honors, splendors, gratifications.
Everywhere the ruishing tides of passion are met by cross
currents, and are met too by the rugged shores of circumstance and necessity. Ay, necessity, like an iron fate, stands
in the way; weakness, sickness, pain, death, stand in the
way; and heat and cold and storm, and ocean waves, and
rocky heights, and the cold bare mountains of limitation
and difficulty, stand as barriers against the wide-flowing
desolations of passion and vice and violence.
Thus it is in all nature and life; for humanity, in this
balance of its powers, is both influenced and imaged by the
universe around it. Any one of the agencies within us or
around us, left to operate alone, would destroy alike the
order of nature and humanity. This atmosphere, you know,
in which we move so easily and lightly, sustains us, as it
were, with millions of elastic and invisible cords; so that if
a vacuum were suddenly produced beneath us or by our
side, we should be instantly crushed to the earth, as by the
weight of a mountain. So it is with the balance of our intellectuial powers; let one faculty be struck away, and
everythiing falls into ruins.
137 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Thus man stands, amidst universal nature and life, in the
very equilibrium of contending forces; where attraction
balances attraction, and power checks power; where heat
and cold, winds and waters, swell up to the point that is
necessary to sustain him; and his sport and his play is
amidst waves of infinite motion and heavings of boundless
might-on the very verge of precipices from which he never
falls, and amidst the vibrations of vast elements which hold
and rock him as a child in their protecting arms. Thus the
powers of nature, both material and moral, like reined
coursers, are held beneath some mighty hand; and man is
borne onward in the car of life, amidst all but bursting
thunder and whelming earthquake; borne gently and
smoothly; his repose the product of infinite conflict; and
the very music of his joys the harmony of that which, unrestrained, would be boundless discordance and destruction.
138 
LECTURE VII.
ON THE SPECIAL INFLUENCE UPON HUJIAN CULTURE OF
THE DISCIPLINE OF NA TURE, OF THE OCCUPATIONS OF
LIFE, AND OF THE ARTS OF EXPRESSION; OR, THE
JIENVTAL AND MORAL ACTIVITY ELICITED BY MJANS
CONNECTION WITH VNATURE AND LIFE.
THUs far in these lectures, we have done, or attempted
to do, two things.  First, we have laid down the foundation
principles, the basis in theory, of the problem of human
destiny: and that we found, in the necessary character of a
creation, whether material or moral; and especially in the
natural impossibility of conferring unmixed and unconditioned good upon rational beings. Next, we have shown
the actual basis of the problem; the basis of it, so to speak,
as a working problem; and this we found in the firame of
the world; in the arrangements of material and animal
nature, in the physical organization of man, in his mental
and moral constitution, and in his complex nature.
Now, out of this basis spring certain forms of human
activity. These are to be considered in this lecture; and
the conditions of that activity, the helps and the hindrances, in the next.
I am about to lead you, my friends, into actual life, into
the bosom of human experience. But because it is the actual, common, daily scene that will be before our eyes, I
must pray you not to overlook the stupendous moral, the
sublime end, to which it points. I do not propose to teach
yo a transcendental philosophy, but a philosophy that 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMIAN DESTINY.
mixes itself up with the very life that we live, and the very
being that we are.
We are then to consider, at present, certain forms of
human activity that are developed from nature and life.
With this view we shall consider man in two points of light
-first, as nature takes him in hand; and next, as Provi dence apprentices him to certain liife-taskls.  I say he is ap prenticed to them; and that, by an indenture of older than
feudal or Romllan date.  In all that is circumstantial, man
is less free than he is apt to think. Thus, he does not sow
nor reap, does not fabricate things, nor trade in them-does
not write deeds nor prescriptions, nor sermons nior poemsdoes not paint nor sing, nor make statues nor buildings nor
books, simply because he fancied to do so, but because there
was an irresistible necessity or impulse to do these things.
The activity, art, occupation of life, could not have taken
other forms, at mnan's pleasure; hlie was obliged to adopt
these. He walks in the leading strings of a Wisdom higher
than his own; and one of the objects of this lecture, is to
show how they are fitted to influence him, and to affecet the
general order of the world.
But, in the first place, we are to consider how it is that
nature takles him in hand-to move, to influence, to instruct
him.
I have already spoken of nature's influence.  I have
spoken of its fertility, order, and beauty, as ministering both
to human convenience and human culture.  But I wish to
press the consideration to another point-to that development and specific direction of the human faculties, to which
it drives and compels us. It is necessary to return to this
subject of nature's influence again and again, in order to
meet the objections that arise from this quarter.  Objections, I say; for it is a problem that I am dealing with;
and it is natural that my discourse should often be colored
by this aspect of the matter in hand.
There has always been a theory in the world, that matter is essentially antagonistic, hostile to mind. And a very
140 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
strange theory it is certainly; that the very sphere for man,
the very house of life, should be regarded, not as built for
his convenience, comfort and growth, but as thrown down
ill his path, to be an obstruction and hindrance to him. But
such has been a very prevalent way of thinking. There is
much ancient philosophy and much modern poetry, to this
purpose, whose effect needs to be examined. One of the old
MIanichbean writers-and they professed to be Christians too,
some of them-speaks of the " bad principle " in the world,
as self-existent; and hostile not only to man, but to God.
Sometimes he calls this bad principle nature; sometimes
matter; sometimes Satan, and devil.* Plato, wisest of the
heathen, makes Socrates say, in the Phoedo:' There  is
another pure earth, above the pure hleavens, where the stars
arc, which is commonly called ether.  The earth we inhabit
is properly nothing else than the sediment of the'other:
upon which we are scattered, like so many ants dwelling in
holes, or like frogs that live in some marsh near the sea.
We are immersed in these cells, he says-mewed up within
some hole of the earth;" and he maintains that it is the
great business of a wise man to prepare to die, and to escape
firom a, world full of fetters, clogs, and obstructions.
Let uLs see if with better lights we cannot better understand this constitution of things-i. e., of nature and of
humanity as placed in the midst of it.  Nature, it is true,
does not spread for man a soft couch to lull him to repose;
nor does she set around that couch abundant supplies,
which it requires only the stretching out of his hand to obtain. For the animal races she does so provide. Sheprepares food and clothing for therm, with little care of theirs.
She spreads their table, for which no cookery is needed; slhe
weaves and fits their garments withlout loomn or needle; and
her trees and caves and rocks are their habitations.  Yet
man is said to be her favorite, and so he is; but thus does
she deal with her favorite: she turns him out, naked, cold
and shivering upon the earth; with needs that admit of no
* Lardner's Works, vol. ii. p. 189.
141 
ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
compromise; with a delicate frame that cannot lie upon the
bare ground an hour, but must must have immediate proteetion; with a hunger that cannot procrastinate the needed
supply, but must be fed to-day and every day; and now,
why is all this?  I suppose, if man could have made of the
earth a bed; and if an apple or a chestnut a day could
have sufficed him for food; he would have got his barrel of
apples or his bushel of chestnuts, and lain down upon the
earth and done nothing-till the stock was gone.   But
nature will not permit this.  I say, will not permit it.  For
hers is no voluntary system. She has taken a bond of man
for the fulfilment of one of her primary objects-his activity; because, if he were left to indolence, all were lost.
That bond is as strong as her own ribbed rocks, and close
pressing upon man, as the very flesh in which it is folded
and sealed.  So is this solid and insensible world filled with
meaning to him; the blind and voiceless elements seem to
look upon him and speak to him; and the darkl clothing of
flesh and sense which is wrapped around him, becomes a
network of moral tissues; and everything says, " Arouse thyself! up and be doing! for nature-the system of things,
will not have thee here, on any other terms."
But what, again, does nature demand of this activity.
The answer is, discretion.  Immediately and inevitably a
principle of intelligence is infused into this activity.  Inmmediately the agent becomes a pupil. Nature all around,
says even to infancy-what all human speech says to it —
"take care! "  It is, all over the world, the first phrase of
the parent's teaching, the first of the child's learning" take care! " And this phrase but interprets what nature
says to all her children. Not as an all-indulgent mother
does she receives them to her lap, but with a certain matronlly sobriety, ay, and " the graver countenance of love"
-saying, " take care-smooth paths are not around thee,
but stones and stubs, thorns and briers; soft elements alone
do not embosom thee, but drenching rains will visit thee,
and chilling dews, and winter's blast, and summer's heat;
142 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
harmless things are not these around thee, but, see! here is
fire that may burn, and water that may drown; here are
unseen damps and secret poisons, the rough bark of trees
and sharp points of contact. Thou must learn, or thou must
suffer."
Ay, suffer! What human school has a discipline like
nature's? In these schools, we are apt to think, that punishments are cruel and degrading.  But nature has wuihps and
stripes for the negligent.  Her discipline strikes deep; it
stamps itself upon the human frame- and upon what a
frame! All softness, all delicacy; not clothed with the
mail of leviathan, nor endowed with interior organs like
those of the ostrich or the whale, and yet a frame strong
with care, while weakest of all things without it. What a
wonderful organ, in this view, is the human stomach! the
main source of energy to the system, strong enough to digest iron and steel, working like some powerful machine,
and yet, do you let it be overworked or otherwise injured,
and it is the most delicate and susceptible of all thingstrembling like an aspen leaf at every agitation, and sinking
and fainting under a feather's weight of food or drink.
What a system, in this view, is that of the nerves! insensible as leathern thongs in their health-tremnibling cords of
agony in their disease!
I would not dwell upon these matters as abstract facts.
I would have my discourse teach, as nature teachlies. Do you
not see the wonder whilch nature and humanity thus present
to us? Do you not see man as a frail and delicate child, cast
into the bosom of universal teaching? Ay, that teaching
comes out to him in tongues of flame, and it penetrates his
hand in the little, seemingly useless, thorn, and it assails his
foot with stones of stumbling; and it flashes into his eyes
with the light of day; and it broods over his path with the
darkness of night; and it sweeps around his head with the
wings of the tempest; and it startles him to awe and fear
with the crash of thunder. The universe is not more filled
with light and air and solid matter, than it is filled and
crowded with wisdom and instruction.
143 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUEMAN DESTINY.
Bult more, far more th'an this does nature teach; not
activity or self-care alone, but a larger wisdom. To show
this fully, we should be obliged to enter the vast domain of
modern science.  What can we possibly say, in the few
words for which we have space here, upon a theme so im mense and magnificenlt?
But ill what I shall say, let me still speak of mian as nature's pupil.  It is common, I know, in this connection, to
celebrate the achievements of man; to say " how much has
he discovered and learned." But the true philosopher is disposed rather to say, how much does nature teach, and how
much have I yet to learn! The dying words of the great
La Place, when he withdrew his eyes fromn those depths of
heaven which he had so profoundly studied —his last words
were: "That which I know is limited; that which I do not
know is infinite."  What noble devotees indeed have been
found at the shrine of nature! Anaxagoras and Aristotle, and
Copernicus and Kepler, and Galileo, and Newton, and the
Hersehels, and Boyle, and Davy, and Cuvier, and Ehrenberg,
and Blumenbach, and Berzelius, and many who bear up the
honors of those great names at the present day, besides a
multitude of a kindred spirit, though of less fame, who mnorning and evening, at noonday and at midnight, are watching
by all the avenues and at all the gates of this sublime temple.
Secrets unimaginable are yet to be detected, wonders upon
wonders are yet to be unfolded; and that the wise well
know.
But let us glance a moment at sonic of its actual revela
tions.
Light passes at the rate of twelve millions of miles in a
minute.* Sir William Herschel was of opinion that by the
aid of his 40-feet reflector his eye descried nebule (now
mostly resolved into stars,) from which it would take the
* It is not material to the statement whether light is regarded as a substance,
or whether, according to the later theory, the effect of light is produced by the
vibrations of some substance-some infinitely diffused ether. In this case the
vibrations pass with equal rapidity-a fact, more wonderful still.
144 
ON THlE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
light nearly two millions of years to reach us.* Professor
Nichol says that Lord Rosse's telescope certainly penetrates
a depth from which the light would require 60,000 years to
come to us. Struck with these statements, and feeling as if
there must be some extravagance or vagueness about them,
I turned to Sir John Herschel's Elementary Treatise on Astronomy, and there I find it stated that the period cannot be
less than a thousand years; how much more is unklnown.
Subsequent calculations have proved, I believe, that it cannot be less than ten thousand.
Let it be observed that I am now speaking of our own
system; not, indeed, the solar system, but that vast bed of
stars called the Galaxy, which, in the line of its extension,
gathers so many stars to the sight as to present that whitish
appearance which we call the Milky Way. And yet this is
now discovered to be but one of many universes.  Rosse's
telescope has dissolved into systems of countless stars, the
nebul,,e that had been descried in the far-lying regions of
space. And of these systems-these universes —vast perhaps as our own, more than 2,000 have been seen and nurmbered.
Well may ours be called a universe-whether we consider its vastness or its order. We have said that from some
of its bodies a ray of light takes 10,000, and it may be 50,000,
years to reach us. It scarcely matters, to any conception
we can form, which estimate we adopt. But think of it!
Before the time of Sesostris, before the carliest date of recorded time, it may be, that ray of light left its home, and
through distances awful and inconceivable it has come, traversinig twelve millions of miles in a minute, and reporting
of unnumbered millions of resplendent suns, scattered like
star-dust through that illimitable infinitude of space.
But again, all these millions of spheres which compose our
universe are revolving around one central point-the star
Alcyone, in the constellation Pleiades-at the rate of about
* Philosophical Transactions for 1802, p. 498.  See note in Humboldt's Cos
mos, vol. 1, p. 154, Am. Ed.
10
145 
ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
400,000 miles each day. And all these universes, it may be,
are revolving around another centre-the throne of the Infinite Mlight.
And yet, when we turn to the opposite extreme, scarce
less a wonder meets us. Millions of creatures, organized,
active, sportive, live in a drop of water. The galionella, an
extinct species of animalcule, was an organized being, and
had a kind of integument like a shell. And Ehrenberg tells
us that in a single cubic inch of the polishing slate of Bilin
are forty thousand millions of the silicious frames of the
galionella.*
In this awful universe;, we need not say, is stupendous
power. It is in the roll and sweep of infinite systems; but
it is also, and long was unsuspected, in the very bosom of
the air around us.  Take four cubic feet of the vapor that
softly steals from the river's bosom; and it is seemingly
nothing; you wave your hand in it as if it were nothing;
and yet in the expansion and contraction of those four cubic
feet of vapor, is power enough to move long trains of heavyladen cars through our fields, as swiftly almost as the bird
flies. For myself, I must confess that I can never cease to
look with wondler at this marvel that is daily before my
eyes. And for the swiftness of nature's messengers-what
are these that are darting on telegraphic lines over our
heads, and bearing living thoughlits, hundreds of miles in an
instant!  The time may soon come, when a man shall send
his fireside talk in a moment, from the tropic to the pole,
and tell of marriage or birth, of sickness or death, even
while it is passing, to his friend, half across the globe. The
time may come when the earth shall be a vast whisperinggallery, and thoughts shall circulate around it, as freely as
sunbeams.
Why do we not tremble with fear, amidst the swiftness
and power of these tremendous agents in nature? It is, because we believe in an infinite Order-an infinite Goodness.
It is a marvellous confidence.  It is a solemn thing to live
* See Humboldt's Cosmos, vol. 1, p. 150, Am. ed.
146 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
as we do-to live thus as children of faith. We recline
upon the bosom of this tremendous Nature, where there is
power enough within the wave of our hand, to tear us ten
thousand times in pieces, as confidingly as in the lap of a
parent.  Our knowledge of things around us is small; but
our faith boundless. To the little child, nature is a stranger, and has some rough points about her; but how soon
does he come to look upon her as a mother! See him basking in the sunshine, bathing in the water, running in the
fields, with his bright locks floating in the wind: everywhere he feels as if kind arms were around him. iHe confides in the uniform beneficence of nature. If he had studied
her millions of years, he could not be more sure. How
knoweth he this so surely? It is because not you nor I, but
God, hath taught that weak and innocent child.  "And
thus," says Chalmners, with equal justness and beauty, " a
truth, the uniformity of nature, which would seem to require Omniscience for its grasp, as co-extensive with all
nature and all history, is deposited by the hand of God, in
the little cell of a nurseling's cogitations." @
From this survey of nature, not merely as the theatre of
human training, whose general structure is fitted for that
end-which  was the subject of a former lecture-but of
nature as effectually enforcing and impressively teaching
certain things-activity, self-care and a wider and diviner
intelligence, let us now turn to the specific tasks that are set
for man in the field of life.  These are the occupations of
life; embracing in their range, all its laborious pursuits, its
practical arts, and learned professions. And I wish to make
it appear, as I have already said, that these are all a part of
the system of thAins, in which we are placed. Some of
these occupations are looked upon as degrading; some as
hard and almost cruel. In some-and this is sometimes
particularly felt in the learned professions-many persons
so little distinguish themselves, that there is nothing to gratify their ambition, and they become discouraged and dis
* Chalmer's Bridgewater Treatise, p. 203, Am. Ed.
147 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
heartened in their callings. Now in all these pursuits and
professions, it ought to be felt that there is a duty imposed
by the Great Taskmaster; which it is well and right and
honorable to discharge. I have been struck with observing
how much, in the popular literature of England, in the bal]ads and songs for instance, this sense of duty is urged,
and especially npon one particular class. I mean military
men. In the songs of Dibdin for instance, this is very striking. The common sailor is taught to feel that he is to stand
in his lot, however humble, because it is his duty. And
equally true is it that this is to be every man's strength and
stay in his daily tasks-duty. We cannot get along without it.
Let us, in the first place, cast a glance at these tasks, to
see how they spring firom the necessity of things, and are
the ordained vocations of men.
The feudal system, and its predecessor, the slave system,
never wrought a greater or more pernicious falsehood into
the history of human life, than this-that labor is degrading, a thing to be deprecated and shunned; and that idleness-doing nothing —is the honored and happy condition.
The great visible fact of the world, is work, and first of all,
work upon the world itself; that is to say, tilling the soil.
The entire human race draws sublsistence from the earth
upon this condition-work, as truly as all plants and trees
derive their life through the roots that connect them with
the ground.  Instead of roots, human hands are stretched
out to draw supplies from the earth and from the sea.  iNot
that every man is a farmer or a fisherman; but every man
-artisan, merchant, or professional man-does something
that connects him with that supply.  Next, manufacturethe cooking of food, the weaving of wool and cotton into
clothing, the fashioning of stone and wood and the metals
into houses and furniture, and a thousand conveniiences-it
is an ordinance. Then again, trade-the mnerchant's vocation-the exchange of the productions of different countries
and climates; it is a) ordinance. How idle to say, by way of
148 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
objection, that it produces nothing! Exchange is as neces
sary to human comfort and civilization, as production. Are
the learned professions any less ordinances-functions ordained in the very nature and necessity of things? All men
cannot study the laws of the human constitution, the symptoms of disease and the methods of cure; therefore there
iiiust be physicians.  Men generally cannot devote themselves to the education of their children; therefore there
must be teachers of reading, writing, numbers-of sciences,
languages, music, painting, etc. Numerous relations necessarily spring up between persons, estates, lands, chattels.
The rights of men to property and personal security; the
ascertaining and defining of those rights bv able treatises
and carefully-drawn statutes; the necessity, to prevent infinrite confusion and injustice, of general principles, and of instruments, covenants, testaments drawn in accordance with
them-all this is the subject of a complicated and profound
science. There must be men to understand it; there must
be lawyers. Worship is a duty, religious instruction a need
of humanity; therefore there must be pastors, preachers,
divines. Some persons do not see the need of t/is profession, and propose to abolish it; but the world has judged
otherwise. There must be somebody, at least, to preside
over the rites of public worship. Finally, statesmanship, the
guidance of the affairs of nations, is an indispensable vocation in the order of all civilized society. And all these
vocations, I still say, are natural ordinances of life, necessary results of the human nature and condition, bound up
with the constitution of the world; without which the world
cannot exist, civilized society cannot exist.
Let us now look at these pursuits and employments of
men, in the next place, as the means of development and
culture.
The world, we say, is a school; the object is culture.
Let us look at it in this light. Do we imagine that something better than the present plan might have been devised
to answer the end?  Let us see.  Suppose that to learn and
149 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to teac(/ had been the sole and immediate business of human
life. Suppose that the generations of men, housed, fed,
clothed, provided for without any care of their own, had
been placed, as it were, on school forms, rank behind rank;
and that a few, the aged and the wise, had stood before
them to give instruction. Would that seem to us better
than this incessant, varied, voluntary activity? That is to
say, instead of finding his education in this activity, would
lie have found a more abstract system better?
I would not make any unfair representation, or draw a
picture that does injustice to the supposition in question.
Suppose that in any way-in families, or under the most
attractive circumstances-direct teaching and learning were
the sole business of life. And I say again, does it seem to
us that this would be better?  Assuming that development,
culture is the end of life, does it seem to us that having
nothing to do but to study the works of God would have
been the better plan?  Does it seem to us a great waste of
time, to dig and delve, to plough and sow and reap, to manufacture and buy and sell; or to cook and wash and keep
the house? Should we account it a blessed fortune, if we
had nothing to do but to read and study and meditate?
Abstractly, perhaps, it may appear to be so, and ill some
other state of being this: may be the method of culture.
But we have now to look at this state; and we have alarge
range of considerations to take into the account.- There
may be individuals far advanced on the path of improvement, to whomr  a life of study may be better suited than to
others; and yet the scholastic life, compared with the active, is questionable.  But we have to consider the race, and
the race as beginning in infancy, and as travelling up slowly on the path of progress, and little qualified even now, in
the mnass, for a life of study.  Men in general would find it
very dull to spend their time in the contemplation of facts
or theories. They must obtain their development in some
other way. Nature can hardly be a laboratory to them yet;
still less a library: it must be a workshop. The life of
150 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
every child before us is a picture of the general life. We
do not begin with giving it books or lessons. For four or
five years it is left very much to its own activity-a period
during which, nevertheless, it has been said by a celebrated
statesman,* that we probably acquire more ideas-not mere
knowledge, which comes partly fromn reasoning on ideasbut more ideas, more of the elements of reasoning than we
acquire during our whole life after.
But let us look next at the whole course of life and of
generations, at the discipline for all men. Would study, as
the sole business, be better than action?
It must be a very strong being that can afford to think
all the time, and do nothing but think.  Colleges would become madhliouses, were it not for vacations. Schools of abstract speculation have often proved themselves to be wild
enough, even when composed of the most learned men.
The extravagances of the old school-men is proof enough of
this.
Perpetual thinking, at any rate, is more than anybody
can bear. We should be cast, and flung helpless down in
the toils of thought, if the line were never broken; and it is
well that event, action, circumstance, comes to break it. The
question, indeed, is not between thought and action, but
whether it is best that they should be blended; and of this
I have no doubt.
For it is further to be considered that this mingling of
action with thought introduces into life an element of individual experience, of untaught, self-taught knowledge, of
personal experimenting, which is of immense importance
to the character. It brings truth to the test of fact, and
makes it more vital.  It makes every attainment more
thorough, and fixes it more deeply in the mind.  Other
things being equal, he will best understand the law who
practises it; or the physical constitution of man, who studies
it with a view to healing; or theology, who puts in order his
thoughts to state them to others; i. e., to preach them.
* Lord Broughanm.
151 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
And finally, I do not see how he can be said to under stand virtue at all who does not put it in practice. All the
moral, i. e., the highest ends of life, seemn absolutely to re quire action in order to their accomnplishment.  The mere
contemplation of virtue or of truth, however divine, is apt
to degenerate into sickly sentiment. It is liable to become
dreamy, inefficient and superficial.   And there  are too
many examples to prove that in the upper surface of the
character many noble, ay, and religious thoughts may have
their place, while in the layers and depths beneath all may
be bad and wrong. It requires action to develop the true
moral energy. It requires that the very deeps of character
and life be stirred up. It requires contact and conflict with
toil, trial, difficulty, with sickness, sorrow and pain, with all
that makes the moral discipline of life.
On the whole, then, I am persuaded that this discipline,
which is found in the ordained occupations of life, is a good
training-is the best conceivable. I do not accept as at all
reasonable the common complaint that these occupations are
mere drudgery to the spirit, mere waste time to the soul,
mere toiling and moiling, mere buying and selling, mere
writing deeds or prescriptions-with no end but to get bread.
They do a great deal for man beyond this, in his own despite; and they would do a great deal mnore if he saw what
they were meant to do-if he but had the reflection and wisdom distinctly to say with himself, " There was no need in
the nature of things that I should be a worker; God could
have provided for me without that, as hlie has for the birds
of the air; but I am n;ade a worker for the development of
energies, for the culture of virtues. I am made a worker
that I may be something higher, stronger, nobler, than a
mere enjoyer, or a mere idler, or a mere learner."
But observe now the actual process. See a man who cultivates his farm.  Ile must work.  But that is not all he has
to do.  He has to think, and to think a good deal, in order
to do the work well. There are various soils on his farm,
suited to various uses; there are different products to be
152 
ON THE PROBLEM. OF HUMAN DESTINY.
reared; there are successive seasons, demanding attention
and foresight; there must be a general plan, and the details
must be wrought out with care and judgment.   So much is
indispensable, and much more mnight be easily added-a
knowledge of agricultural chemistry, a scientific cultivation
of the land. And with this connects itself the whole circle
of family duties and affections; the honc stands in the
mnidst; the visible guardian and presiding genius of the
scene; the holy altar, the sacred hearthstone that shed light
and warmth like the sun upon all around. Such the centre
and such the circumference of rural life-the best bond to
virtue, and sphere of healthiest activity; the great page of
nature spread around and within, some thoughtful inquiry
and some reading to understand it-what better school,
what holier sanctuary could there be for man than this!
Go now to the inanufactory and the workshop.  Hiere
the materials which nature provides are to be wrought into
a thousand forms, for human convenience and comfort. Intellect, invention, skill, dexterity, are here brought into
the most adroit and brilliant activity; revolving wheels, the
swift-flying shuttle, the sharpened instrument, best image
the mechanic intellect of a people. No man can pass
through our workshops and factories without being astonished at what is there achieved. This is not a dull school.
When Heaven ordained that man should be an artisan, a
manufacturer, it did not appoint the task to benumb his
faculties, but to quicken and sharpen them to the keenest
exercise.
And again, I ask with regard to the merchbant's callingdoes Heaven frown upon that?-as some of the satirists
and reformers do?  Beneficent exchanger of the products
of all climes and countries, bringer of comforts to all firesides throughout the world, promoter of peaceful intercourse, civilizer of the nations; whose sails whiten every
sea; in the bright track of whose empires, are Phoenicia and
Carthage, and old Spain and Greece, and Holland, and England, and America-is this to be rated as a barren and un
153 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
productive calling? Is it the misfortune of the world that
it must have this instrumentality?  "But it corrupts the
individtal "-will some one say?  Only as everything corrupts him who will. Some of the noblest virtues-some of
the noblest men in the world, are reared in this field.
Turn, in fine, to the learned professions. These too take
their place in the order of Providence. Let us see what
place: and whatfunction  they may be for those who discharge them.
In this distrustful, this all-doubting age, it has fallen to
the lot of the medical profession, I think, to be brought into
question more than any other. The reason is, that the field
of its investigation lies in the dark; so that the processes of
cure, and the principles of evidence, are more obscure; and
the generality of men are more incompetent to judge here,
than anywhere else.  Dr. Abercrombie, in his "Intellectual
Philosophy," mentions the case of a physician, who retired
ill disgust from his profession, saying, that "The practice of
medicine was like a man striking with a club inl the dark;
if he hit the disease he killed the disease; if he hit the
patient, he killed the patient."   Now I think that this man
was himself striking in the dark, when he said that; and
not only so, but leaving all the rest of the world in the dark.
The darker the matter is, the more need to seek for light.
The science of healing, however imperfect, the study of constant cause and effect for thousands of years, must have some
value; it is a good study; and for the practice of what is
thus learned, I know not what can call out finer sympathies
than this ministration of relief to sickness and pain, nor any
that wins for itself a more enviable place in the confidence
and affection of society.
The legal profession, again, has no small amount of prejudice to contend with. It cannot be denied that it is
necessary; somebody must understand and administer the
laws; and to do this requires a life devoted to it. But still
-this enlistment in the cause of bad passions, this espousal
and defence of the wrong side, is thought by many to be
154 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
unprincipled. I have long wGndered that some member of
this profession, does not take up and thoroughly discuss the
moral questions which thus press upon it. It really very
much concerns, not only the honor of the profession, but the
healthiness of the public conscience, that this should be
donie. In brief, the principles are these: In every legal
question, there are two parties; in the minds of judge and
jury, there are two sides, which have a claim to be considered and weilghed; counsel represent these parties, espouse
these sides. The original party has a right to state his case;
then surely another, better qualified, may do it for him.
And in all ordinary cases the lawyer does not and cannot
know which side is wrong, till the evidence is all given in
and the case fully argued. This is the theoretic ground for
legal practice; and certainly there is nothing in it that is at
war with the great ends of Providence-nothing that forbids
a high moral culture; everything on the contrary that requires it.  It is, rightly viewed, a high and noble vocation.
It is the sphere of justice, the forum of eloquence, the school
of statesmanship.
Of the clerical profession, in the present connection, I
need say nothing but this: it is the ultimate and culminating ministration to the highest life of the world; and of the
teachers of youth-that fourth profession-that they must
learn before they teach; that the very condition of their
function is intelligence, and its end, instruction; that they,
more than any other distinct class of men, lay the very foundations of all human culture.
Let us now come to consider, in fine, as forms of human
activity, the arts of expression. Nature teaches and enforces
many things for human development and instruction; the
ordinary occupations of life assist the same design; but this
is not all. Men are possessed of great and divine ideas and
sentiments; and to paint them, sculpture them, build them
in architecture, sing them in music, utter them in eloquent
speech, write them in books, in essays, sermons, poems,
dramas, fictions, philosophies, histories-this is an irresistible propensity of human nature.
155 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Art, inspiration, power, in these forms, naturally places
itself at the head of the human influences by which the
world is cultivated and carried forward. The greatest thing
in the world doubtless is a sacred life; the greatest power,
a pure example; but this is the end of all, and we do not
here contemplate it as a means. As means, art is greatest.
A beautiful thought, a great idea, made to quicken the intellect, to touch the heart, to penetrate the life-this is the
grandest office that can be committed to human hands.
Every faithful artist of every grade, belongs to this magnificent Institute for the instruction of the world.
Criticism in literature, within the last forty years, has
passed through a very remarkable change. Any one may
trace it in the leading journals, of that standing; as for instance, in the EdinbumgAh Review.  Formerly literary criticism was very much occupied with form and details in art,
and had very little reference to the true design.  Now it
has come to be received as an unquestioned canon of criticism, that there can be no high art without moral elements; that irreverence and atheism would kill all high
artistic excellence, as surely as they would kill all high
moral excellence; that the most sublime and beautiful
things, whether in nature or humanity, are imprints and
signatures of tle Divine hand; and that to express these
things, the soul of art must commune with what is divine
must be breathed upon by the sanctity of religion. It is
not as it was in the days of Voltaire and HIelvetius and
D'Holback, and Ilume and Gibbon; now it is understood
that no man can be a great writer, a great poet, novelist, or
philosopher, who does not recognize and feel what is greatest
in man-the spirit of humanity and the sense of what is
above it. I hardly know of any more significant mark upon
the world, indicative of the world's progress, than this.
There is one grand mistake often made in the appreciation of art, arising from the honor and fame that attend
it. I suspect that it is quite a common notion that men
study, write, speak, paint, build, forfame.  Totally and in.
156 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
finitely otherwise is the fact with all true men. They live
for an idea-live to develop, embody, express it; and all
extraneous considerations only hinder and hurt their work.
But this is often misunderstood.  I have, many times, had
observations made to myself, implying that the stimulants
to nmy own professional effort must be small in retired
country places, and came to their culminating point only
in the great centres of society. The implication always
pains, and if I must say the truth, somewhat angers me. It
is a total misconception, to say the least. A true man will
preach as well in the Isle of Shoals as in Boston or New
York; nay better, I am inclined to think; for he will not
have there the miserable envelopment of city criticism or
eclat to disturb him. This is the reason why men seldom
speak so well on extraordinary occasions, as when left undisturbed, to the free and natural force of their minds and
flow of their feelings, in their ordinary professional wallk.
If I were to offer an artist a million of dollars to paint me
a picture, unless his were one of the greatest and deepest
minds, which nothing could divert fiom its idea, I should
not expect as good a picture firom him as I should if he
painted it for nothing.
No, believe me, the effluence of genius can no more be
bought or sold, than the light that streams from the fouintain of day.  It is the light of the world; and it is not man's
purchase, but God's gift; it is God's light shining through
the soul. Raphael or Michael Angelo may be employed
by Pope Julius or Pope Sixtus-patronized by them, as the
phrase is; Shakspeare may be honored by Queen Elizabeth,
or Dante protected by the Lord of Ravenna; but all that
pontiff; monarch, or lord can do for genius is, to let it alone,
simply to give it an opportunity to workl; all their largesses
can do no more than that. No, the light shines from a
higher sphere than this world. It shines into the artist's
studio and philosopher's laboratory; it falls upon the still
places of deep meditation; the pen that writes immortal
song, immortal thought in any form, is a rod that conveys
15'i 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the lightning from heaven to earth; and the breath of eloquent speech is an afflatus that comes from far above windy
currents of human applause.
It concerns my purpose in this lecture, to insist on this
mission of all true intellectual labor, and to remind every
worker in this field, however high or however humble, of
his real vocation.  " I am not distinguished,'. one may say;
" the world, Europe, England, does not know me-will never
know me."  What then?  Do what  thou canst.  Somebody will know it. No true word or work is ever lost.
Stand thou in thy lot; do thy work; for the great Being
that framed the world assuredly meant that somebody
should do it-that men and women of various gifts should
do it, as they are able. Or one may say, " My part in
this good vocation is not held by the world in due appreciation and honor; I sing the music, or speak the dramas,
that others have written; and my calling is profaned in the
common parlance of the day; the church anathematizes it,
and society enjoys without respecting it." I admit the injustice; and for this special reason, that these callings are
naturally good, and for the evil in them, society and the
church are much to blame. Naturally good, I say; for the
world would not know or feel what Beethoven and Handel
have composed, or Shakspcare or Calderon have written,
if there had not been those who studied them, and, inspired
by kindred genius, learned to breathe out their thoughts ill
song and dramatic speech.
Why can we not look at the goodly band of human occupations and arts as it is; and depreciate no trade that is necessary, no art that is useful, no ministration that springs
from the bosom of nature, and is thus clearly ordained of
Heaven? If there be abuses of such ministration, let them
be remedied; but rejection and scorn of any one thing that
God has made to be or to be done, is not lawful, nor reverent to HIeaven.*
*I have always thought, however, that this fair and reasonable appreciation
of all the lawful and necessary vocations in society, could never be the result, but
158 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Let this whole system of nature and life appear as it is;
as it stands in the great order and design of Providence.
Let nature, let the solid world, be more than a material
world-even the area on which a grand moral structure is to
be built up; itself helping the ultimate design in many ways.
Let the works of man take their proper place-the place assigned them in the plan of Heaven.  Let agriculture lay the
basis of the world-building. Let mechanism and manufacture rear and adorn the vast abode of life. Let trade and
commerce replenish it with their treasures.  Let the liberal
and learned professions stand as stately pillars in the edifice
of society. But when all this is done, still there are wants
to be supplied. There is a thought in the bosom of humanity that longs to be uttered. The heart of the world would
break, if there were no voice to give it relief-to give it utterance. There is, too, a slumber upon the world which
needs that voice. There are dim corners and dark caverns,
that want light. There is weariness to be cheered, and pain
to be soothed, and the dull routine of toil to be relieved, and
the dry, dead matter of fact to be invested with hues of
imagination, and the mystery of litfe to be cleared up, and a
great, dread, blank destitution that needs resource and refreshment-needs inspiring beauty and melody to breathe
life into it.
Then let the artist men come and do their work. Let
statues stand in many a niche and recess, and pictures hang
upon the wall, that shall fill the surrounding air with their
sublimity and loveliness.  Let essays and histories, let written speech and printed books, be ranged in unending al
of the highest and most reflective civilization. It was with surprise, therefore,
that I read the following passage in Bossuet upon the Egyptian system of society:
"II falloit qu'il y eut des emplois et des personnes plus considerables, comme
il faut qu'il y ait des yeux dans le corps. Leur eclat ne fait pas m6priser les
pieds ni les parties les plus basses. Ainsi, parmi les Egyptiens, les pr6tres et les
soldats avaient des marques d'honneur particulibres; mais tous les metiers,
jusqu'aux moindres, e6taient en estime; et on ne croyoit pas pouvoir sans crime
mepriser les citoyens dont les travaux, quels qu'ils fussent, contribuoient au bien
public."-L'Histoire Universelle, troisiume partie, chapitre premier.
159 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
coves, to pour instruction upon the world. Let poetry anl(
fiction lift up the heavy curtains of sense and materialism,
and unfold visions of beauty, like the flushes of morning, or
of parting day behind the dark mountains. Let music wave
its wings of light and air through the world, and sweep the
chords that are strung in the human heart with its entrancing melodies.  Let Jofty and commanding eloquence thunder in the ears of men the words of truth and justice,
Or, in strains as sweet
As angels use,... whisper peace.
Let majestic philosophy touch the dark secret of life, and
turn its bright side as a living light upon the paths of men.
Come, other Platos and Bacons!-do we not exclaim?
come, other Newtons  and Laplaces!-other Beethovens
and Handels!-come, other  IHomers and Dantes, Miltons
and Shakspeares!-other Demosthlieneses and Ciceros, and
MIassillons'-and fill the long track of future ages with
your glorious train, and lead on the world through everbrightenling ages to knowledge, to virtue, and to immortal
life!
Under such auspices, my friends, visions of better days
to come, rise before me.  I look upon a company of people,
a plantation, a district, or a township among us; and, coinpared with a Hottentot village or the tents of Alaric, there
is great progress now —order, comfort, and a certain amount
of culture.  But  alas! there is destitution, ignorance, crime,
weariness, heart-heaviness enough still.  Cold and chill is
the day of life to many within the protected pale of our
modern civilization; and the bright sky is of a leaden hue
to them; and the eyes are dim and the spirit is sad and
heavy, that should sympathize with the fair and lovely
picture of the world around them. God be thanked that it
is no worse-that ours is a protected civilization, protected
from the tortures of old superstition, and from the blows of
feudal oppression; ay, that it is free; that no baron's arm
heAcre can strike and scatter youth and innocence into street
dust for him to travel on to his accursed ends, nor cast
160 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
down the noblest hearts to sigh in his dungeons. But there
is uncivilized misery enough among us still; miisery that
comes from want of knowledge, refinement, culture, and the
gracious influence of the beautiful arts and virtues. There
are blows of domestic tyranny. There are cruel words
spoken, fit only for barbarians.  There is hard and bitter
and grinding toil for many.  There is the life-long struggle
for culture and comfort; struggle with painful conditions
of need, and uncongenial and ill-requited taskwork; struggle ill schoolrooms and factories and perhaps homes; strug(gle in all the callings and all the liberal professions of lifefor I hear voices of complaint from them all. Sad isolation,
secret and untold griefs, disappointed hopes, aims, and affections, wvearying nmental strifes and questionings, brood far
and wide upon the heart of modern society.
But I believe in a better day that is coming. Improved
agriculture, manufacture and mechanism, less labor and
more result, more leisure, better culture, high philosophy,
beautiful art, inspiring music, resources that will not need
the base appliances of sense, will come; and with them
truth, purity, and virtue; reverent piety building its altar
in all human abodes; and the worship that is gentleness
and disinterestedness, and holy love, hallowing all the scene;
and human life will go forth, amidst the beautiful earth and
beneath the blessed heavens, in harmony with their spirit,
in fulfilment of their high teaching and intent, and in communion with the all-surrounding light and loveliness.
11
161 
LECTURE -V-III.
A GAINST DESPONDEVCY.C-HELPS AND HINDRANCES, OR A
CONSIDERATION OF THE MORAL ITRIALS OR EJIER   GENCIES THAT ATTEND THE WORKING OUT OF O UR
HUMAN PROBLEMl.
WE are now penetrating deeper into the wor]d-problem
-the great problem of our humanity; and we are to consider this evening some of the interior, the mental and
moral conditions, on which it is to be wrought out.
I have been sensible at every step that the subject upon
which I am engaged in these lectures, requires a far larger
discussion than I am able here to give it. It is indeed a
subject for a great work, rather than for a few lectures; I
am tempted to say, for the greatest work in the domain of
philosophy; and for a work, too, that is yet to be written.
My conviction is, so far as my reading has extended,'that
only a few firagnents worthy of a place in it have yet appeared in the literature of the world. And it is a work
which, when it is accomplished by the united powers of genius, learning, and piety exhausted upon a lifb of study, and
concentrated in a book of wisdom, will be of only less value
than the Bible itself. Happy and crowned with blessings
shall he be who can achieve it.  I can but express my sense
of the value and grandeur of the undertaking. I but see
in future time, when thought shall be more cosmopolitan
and comprehensive than it is now-I can but prophesy that
then some gifted nature shall appear, which, emlbued and in 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
formed with the German lore, penetration and spirituality,
with the French clearness and vivacity, and the solid English sense and feeling, shall so unfold the problem of human
Destiny, as to become a second Plato-and a greater-the
greatest uninspired teacher of men.
Let us, however, pursue our task as we can, in these leetures, and consider this evening some of the interior conditions, trials and emergencies, which attend the working,
out of our human problem, the helps and hindrances to it as
a practical work, and the courage and cheerfulness which
ought to attend it, instead of the depression and despondency which too commonly darken the way.  For, in particular, I wish it to be considered whether there is anything
arbitrary or unnecessarily distressing, or whether there is, to
the extent usually supposed, anything peculiar or strange,
in the conditions of human attainment.
We are apt to imagine that there is something very
peculiar in man's case. Probation, for instance, is thought
to be peculiar to him. The problem of the Origin of Evil is
commonly regarded as pertaining to humanity alone, as
darkening no world but this. The very constitution as well
as physical condition of human nature, is supposed to stand
in direct contrast with that of other beings in other worlds.
It is very easy to see how this idea arose. For, ages, the
only beings beside men who were imagined to exist in the
universe, were angels, seraphs-superhuman natures, dwellers in the empyrean heaven. It was not suspected that the
surrounding worlds were inhabited. And when that conceptiol arose, it very naturally peopled those worlds with
the same beings, i. e., with angels. All other beings than
men, before supposed to exist, were angels; therefore these
were angels. The very contrary might have been more
justly inferred; since those worlds are of the same nature,
order, and comnpany with our own. But the mnore irrational
notion very naturally prevailed for a time; though I think
it is now beginning to give way to the reasonable idea, that
163 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
those dwellers on high-dwellers on  high to us, but no
more than we are to them-are indeed our brethren.*
But let us now proceed to that further consideration of
the interior and trying conditions of human culture, which
I have proposed as the design of this lecture.
The fundamental condition I have already discussed;
that is to say, freedom, free will; and the consequent liability to error and to evil. This fact of freedom I took for
granted. The necessity of it to virtue, I took for granted. I
started from these points, as the very intuitions — of expe —
rience. I know that, under the limitations of course imposed by a finite and moral nature, I am free; and that I
cannot be virtuous unless I am so. I know, that is to say,
that I possess a rational and modified freedom-that I am
free-not indeed to do everything possible-but to do and
to be all that is involved in virtue and a virtuous happiness.
I am not free to disregard motives; but I am free to yield
to good or bad ones at my pleasure-free to cherish the
good and to resist the bad-free, at any rate, to turn my
thoughts to which I will, and thus to give them weight and
power. I am not free to be indifferent to happiness, but I
am free to determine what kind of happiness I will seek for.
And this freedom, it is plain, is, in its very nature, a restless
and perilous element. A mechanical or irrational creation
might have perfect security, and undisturbed enjoyment.
A free creation, a virtuous, improving, advancing creation,
must be liable to sin and pain and trouble.
But there are other conditions-imperfection, effort and
struggle; penitence or regret for failure; illusion, fluctuation, indefiniteness in the process; and the clogs and the obstructions which flesh is heir to: let us examine them.  The
question naturally arises: Is not this an unattractive way?
Is not imperfection undesirable; and effort toilsome; and
penitence sad?   And  are not illusion, fluctuation, indefiniteness, obstruction, undesirable?  And is not the path to
good, therefore, an overshadowed and mournful path?
* Oersted's "Soul in Nature" has some interesting discussions upon this point.
164 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Grant that it is so, to a certain extent; yet surely it
would be a sufficient vindication to show that it is the only
possible path. This vindication I offer; but I think that
in thus considering the conditions of progress, we shall
come to be convinced that they are not altogether dark nor
repulsive.
1. First, imperfection is to be considered.   I should
hardly touch upon this point, with a view to explain or defend it, so clearly inevitable is it; but I wish to expand this
element of the problem into its due place and proportions.
I say imperfection. In all the ranks and orders of being,
ill the seraph as in the child, there must be imperfection.
The grades may be different, but the thing is the same; and
whatever objection lies against our degree of imperfection,
in principle lies against every other.  Thle thing, I say, is
alike inevitable and unobjectionable.   Our grade is human; others may be superhuman, angelic, we know not
what; thrones, princedoms, principalities of heaven.  Nay,
what if it were true that they had started from  iifaecy, as
we do?  What supposition, indeed, so reasonable?  Is it
not, in fact, inevitable, in some sense of the word infancy?
We speak of imperfection; we say that is inevitable; must
not the first steps of imperfection be infancy; if not of the
body, yet of the mind?  If every created existence h-ad a
beg,inning; if it had nothing of experience at the first; if
all its knowledge and virtue were to be acquired; if the
highest dweller among the stars of light must remember
the time when he began to be, began to learn, began to
choose the right and to'adore the infinite perfection, and if
his whole being has been a progress, must not his beginning
have been an infancy?
And is it not reasonable, nay, is it not inevitable to suppose that the first steps were attended with more or less of
mistake, of erring?  What is imperfection?  It is limited
capacity, knowledge, virtue.  It implies that there are
truths not yet seen, propositions not yet solved, points of
light, heights of attainment not yet reached.  It is so with
165 
ON T HE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
us; must it not be so with the highest finite natures?  They
may have gone far beyond all voluntary erring; they may
be in this sense sinless. But in the vast breadth of their
activity there must be things for them to try, questions for
them to solve, as truly as in our humble daily walk there
are for us. It must be so. If not, then they have learned
all, and have stopped ill the career of progress. A gloomy
pause! For if there is no progress, there can be no activity; if no activity, no happiness.
2. This brings us to the second point-effort. And in
general, I say, is it not a good condition? Is it not a favored, a fortunate condition? All experience testifies that
the highest happiness is found in action, bodily, mental,
moral. Any of them, all of them are good.  So persuaded
am I of this, that no prospect for a month or a year seems
to me so attractive as a plenum, a crowded  fulness, of
healthful and wise activity. And one of the highest benefactions of wvhichl I can conceive, in the better world which
we hope for, would be the privilege, the power of incessant,
never-we:Lrying, glorious activity-no more dulness, no
more sleep; no stupor of disease nor sluggishness of the
overwrought brain; no heavy head nor fainting heart; but
action, travel, growth, increasing knowledge, expanding visions of God, amidst the bright and boundless spheres that
roll around us. No soft, bland region do I see above, lulled
to repose, curtained with moveless clouds, and basking beneath a tranquil sky: that heaven of the IIindoo, of the
Turk, ay, and of o'u Christian childhood, too, is giving
place to manlier and maturcr thoughts of ever-unfolding
life and joy.
But now if I substitute for effort, the word struggle,
immediately the problem assumes a darker aspect.  "I am
weary," says one; "I would rest; why must I still fight
this battle? Why could I not win the prize on easier
terms? "  I answer, What  prize?   Enjoyment, pleasure,
outward abundance?  That you might have had on easier
terms. Mountains might have been coined into gold for
166 
uN THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
you, and the rivers have flowed with milk and honey, and
the trees have dropped manna and distilled wine; and all
this you mnight have had as cheap as the grass which the
innocent sheep crops in the summner.field.  But the heights
of virtue, the sweep of expanding knowledge, the pathway
of immortal joy-with other thoughts, on other terms, are
these things to be achieved. Is it hard to achieve them?
sNay, what if you were to learn that they are never to be
achieved as things laid up, like gold, in a secure coffer; that
they are never to be achieved or kept, but as they are held
in the free and immortal grasp of beings who prize them
above the universe beside?  Such, I believe, is the everlasting tenure by which wisdom and virtue are held.
3. But this is not all.  With wavering and wayward
steps, stumbling and sometimes falling, we press on to the
great end of our being-true virtue-true blessedness.  Repenting, regret for failure, is an essential condition of all
true moral life.
The keenness of this regret is really a remarkable thing
in our moral constitution; and nothing indeed can account
for its sharpness but its high mission; which is to cut the
bonds of evil. Even in his sports, a man cannot shoot and
miss the mark, cannot strike the ball aEnd lose the game,
without a gesture of disappointment and vexation. But in
the game of life, how often and how seriously do we miss
and fail! Passion crosses the track, and sways us fronm the
mark. The lawful senses, the innocent affections, often go too
far; and their erring is discovered only through experiment
and by the result. And so it is in our social relations.
IHow often does a man say, after having tried, and, it may
be, honestly tried a thing, two or three times-soinme.measure
with his child, somne interference with the affections of others, or some principle with the public-" I shall never do
that again!"  The whole history of the world, of government, of society, of philanthropy, of charity to the poor
and suffering, is but a history of experimenting; of errors
corrected by their consequences, of truths shaken and sifted
167 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
from the chaff of falsehood, amidst the mighty winilowings
of social and national convulsion.
But not to be led away from the individual referencethis private regret, this sorrow for erring and wrong-doingwhat just mind will complain of it as a grievance and hardship?  "Iet me  repent," such an one would say-" let me
sorrow for my faults and follies; it is balm to my wound;
God in pity has made it, not a scathing fire, but as the
gentle dew of mercy to my nature."  This emotion occupies so large a place in the actual working out of our problem, that I must dwell upon it a moment longer; not indeed with a view to the duty-which should be urged in
another place-but to the philosophy of the matter. A man
thinks, for instance, that wealth will satisfy him, that sensitive
pleasure will satisfy him, or that knowledge will fill the measilre of his capacity. Hie does not accurately distinguish, at
first, between the boundaries of right and wrong; his reason, perhaps, is not clear in its discriminations, but his passions, alas! are clear in their demand; he knows what he
wants, but he does not know what is best for him; he
wants this, and he wants that.  Well, he gets it-the knowledge, the wealth, the pleasure, the eclat-he gets it; he
tries it, and hlie finds that it will not do. With Solomon
and with many another seeker, he says, it is all vanity.
Disappointed, grieved, sorrowful, he turns back; and
whither must lie turn?  To deeper, purer, more spiritual
resources.  Hle finds, if he finds anything true, that nothing but virtue, sanctity, God, will satisfy him. He wonders that he did not see this before; hlie reproaches himself;
he repents. The sense of his folly is keen and bitter; but
it is salutary. Ile has learned now, by experience, the
hatefulness of evil, and the preciousness of good; and only
by such experience, perhaps, could hie learn. This inward
conflict has made the only true theory of welfare, a thousand times more true to him. 2Vow he knows what is best
for him, and nothing can tear from him that conviction.
To all allurements he can say, "Ah! I know you; I know
168 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
where ye lead; I know your false, accursed, blighting
charms."  Thus his repentings have been the steps of progress. Thus his errors have taught him to cease from the
way that causeth to err. And I cannot but think that
a more humble and tender, a nobler and more beautiful
virtue may come out of erring, than would have ever been
otherwise attained.
But besides imperfection, struggle and sorrow in the
practical working out of the human problem, there are
other things to be considered; things which at first sight
seem to be hindrances in the moral course, but which, I
think, as man is constituted, will be found, on examination,
to be helps and not hindrances.  How talk you, it may be
said, of a sublime destiny for man, when we see him baffled by illusions, subject to perpetual fluctuations, bewildered by a painful indefiniteness in all his moral relations,
and chained to physical conditions full of difficulty and obstruction, rather than furnished with wings to try the
courses of a heavenly virtue?
4. Illusion, then-the fourth point to be considered.
We cannot see things as they are. We mistake form for
substance. We mistake semblances for realities. All things
are veiled and muffled to us, as if to keep us firom the sharpest contact. We live in a universe of symbols, and but
slowly grasp the sense. It is the hardest thing in the world
to get at the very truth-at the inmost reality; and notihing, perhaps, more distinctly n)arks the progress of a mind,
than the gradual disenchantment by which the shows of life
dissolve-not into nothing, as they do with the idle and
worldly-but dissolve away into the truths that lie within
or behind them.  But illusion-is it, as is commonly supposed, the antagomnist of truth? BRather it is often the envelopment; the husk that protects the corn; the flower that
is preparing for fruit.
Such a flower is youthful enthusiasm.  The experienced
eye looks gravely upon it; wisdom sits aloft and sees clearly
its mistakes.  But wisdom would not crush that flower.  It
169 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
hath the beauty of its time,'and will produce fruit.  It is
like the flowery style of a youthful and imaginative writer.
"Too much efflorescence," we say; but there is promise
in it.
Illusion is often a glare that dazzles and bewilders; but
it also draws and fixes the eye that will yet penetrate
through it. Is it not childish and foolish in barbarous tribes,
to be attracted as they are, by the mere gewgaws and trinkets of civilization, without looking at its actual superiority?
But they cannot at once see that; and in the mean time, the
glitter and show draw them to intercourse-the only means
of improvement.
In a manner not very unlike this, it seems necessary that
the whole youthful world should look with adnmiration upon
the splendor and glare of life, for they cannot at once attain
to sage and profound spirituality. They must be interested
in something, that their faculties may be kept awake and
active.  They must lhave rattles in childhood; they must
have dresses and gayeties in youth; they must have exclusive
friendships and passionate regards; they must marry and
be given in marriage, though they are hereafter to be, in
expansive affection, as the angels of heaven. And when
this childhood of life seems, as it does with many, to run
into their maturity, and they live upon the outside of things
and do not k4ow what the things mean; still I say, better
to live so, than not at all; better this action, than death: it
may nurture strength and faculty for something higher.
Better the school of worldliness than no school. Ti] at a man
should not see the deep foundations of his strength and sufficiency; that he should not feel a possession in all things,
hioghler than ownership, and enjoy a use more sa(red than
mere property, is a sad thing; but the Master of life hath
patience with it, and will perhaps conduct it to something
better.
This whole tremendous illusion about wealtlh-I say not
about the means of livelihood; for that is a reasonable care
-but about accumulation, mere accumulation, and the
1TO 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
means of outward splendor, with no care for the treasure or
the light within; we complain of it much at this day, and
with good reason.  But I have seen a man  who was educated by the splendid things that his wealth brought around
him; educated by his pictures, by his furniture, by his rich
mansion. Hie was not, to be sure, so much the master of
his house, as his house was master of him; and it taught
him some things.   The elegancies around him did something to cultivate, polish, and refine his manners and
thoughts. He felt that he must do something to raise himself up to such a style of living. A certain consistency demanded it of him; demanded, at any rate, that his children
should be educated for such a splendid lot.
No error, no mistake, perhaps, is a dead mass of obstruction in the mind; it is often the very scaffolding of truth,
or the shore that props up a weaker part, till a firni buttress
can be placed beneath.   Thus, to many minds, there is
hardly any greater stumbling-block than the differences of
faith. "So many creeds, so n many religions," it is said;
"they cannot all be true."  No, nor any of them altogether
true, perhaps; i. e., as men modify them. But what is not
true, may be a temporary outwork to the true. And every
honest builder may have unconsciously constructed such as
he needed. Ages build so; and, I think, individual men.
It is very plain to me that rude and dark ages could not
have done without their superstition; and every mind may
be a reduced picture of those ages. But what, now, if I
were to say, in view of the differences of faith, that I would
not believe in anything?  It would be a startling declaratioll. And yet if it were even so with me-yet the error
of such absurd and universal scepticism, might be a temporary shield against the edge of particular errors; infidelity
might not harm me so much as some creeds would; atheism
itself might shield me for a time, from some Moloch worship; and thus I might be led by a way that I knew not, to
an end that I did not think of.
In fine, we complain of illusion; we ask for reality; but
171 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
it may be that we ask for more than can be wisely given
Who knows whether he be able yet to grapple with the
naked spirituality of truth?  Let reality be fully unveiledall semblances dissipated, all interposing  clouds  swept
away-and I know not but the world would go mad. We
talk about the absolute in truth-seek for it. Very likely,
success would be fatal. Very possibly, the human mind
could not bear it. Here is this solemn vesture of mystery
upon us and upon all about us.  Perhaps it is only so, that
we "sit, clothed and in our right mind."   Give us the
piercing, "microscopic eye," and nature, we are told, disrobed of its soft veil of beauty, would appear like a ghastly
skeleton. And so it might be with life, if our wish could be
indulged to pierce all its secrets and mysteries. And so, to
see thefuiture life-that whichl we so long for-might be
more than we could bear.
5. The thing to be next considered, isflucttation. Is it
an evil? Life might be stagnant without it, as the sea without its waves.
In the whole system of things, no law seems to be miore
universal than fluctuation.  I have often thought that if,
after the manner of the most ancient philosophers, I were to
form any generalizing theory concerning the constitution or
the primordial element of things, it would not be water
with Thales, nor numbers with Pythagoras; it would not be
the atomic nor the dynamic theory that I should adopt-not
the theory of changing atoms nor of permanent forces, not
the theory that makes all loose or all fast-but the theory
of eternal swaying to and fro-the theory of eternal fluctnation.  Of the original nature, the essence of things, we
know nothing; but we know that all things are in a state
of change, of conflict, of balancing to and fro. We see it in
winds and tides, in times and seasons, in action and reaction,
growth and decay, day and night, and the going and coming of the heavenly spheres.  Nay, light itself is now found
to be but a vibration.  And when, as the sun images its
great daily revolution in my apartment, by the light that
172 
ON TIHE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
steals along the wall, I have observed how the line of light
sways slightly, almost imperceptibly, to and fro as it advances, it has seemed to me a silent type of the infinite mutation.
ZNow that which seems to appertain to everything else,
belongs also to the motions and mnoods of the human mind
-constant fluctuation.  Especially where the mind's experience is very strong, definite, and marked, is this observable. As the wailings over the dead in Oriental countries
rise from time to time, so in all affliction does wave succeed
to wave. And in states of mental anxiety and distress, I
have often remarked it, and have been able to anticipate
with great confidence in what state I should find such a
mind, on any approaching interview.
Now all this may be thought to be very discouragingthis swaying backward and forward, this gaining and
losing; but how would you have it?  One perpetual strain
upon the faculties; we could not bear it. One unshadowed
vision; it would make life monotonous.  One unvarying
state of mind; how much that is of priceless worth would
it cut off from our experience? After toil, how sweet is
rest! After pain and danger, ease is elysium; and safety,
a blessed thanksgiving. Besides, in darkness and need, lessons are learned that never would be learned in light and
gladness; lessons of humility, of conscious weakness, of
self-despairing, Heaven-trusting prayer. That feeling which,
firom time to time, comes over us, that we are nothing and
know nothing, how powerful a stimulus is it! Even in languor the mind is nursing up the strength that will soon1 be
put forth in new efforts. But moral depression is often
very different from languor-is the very reverse of languor.
It is when most discouraged and cast down, that the mind
is often making the most rapid progress. When the waves
are highest, ay, and the stormin is darkest, is the ship often
sailing fastest; and the bold voyager says,  "Give me that,
rather than everlasting calm and sunshine." We are cradled on an ocean, whose tides are sweeping on to eternity:
173 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
not on the bosom of a summer lake, can we be borne to
that far, unseen, and shadowy land.
In short, the great trouble is, that we are moral beings
at ll.  If we were machines, we might be put on a smooth
and even course. If we were animals, we might have
walked in the way of unerring instinct. But we are moral
beings, and imperfection, effort, regret, illusion, fluctuation,
are our discipline. We are moral beings, and are to work
out our own problem, under an administration of reasonable motives, inducements, fears, and hopes.
And that we may do so, a certain indefiniteness in our
moral relations is necessary.   I have touched upon this
topic in a former lecture; but there are so many persons
who halt at this point; who do not feel as if there were any
clear, strong, controlling moral order in this world; who
misunderstand this condition of progress which we call
moral indefiniteness, that I wish to say a word or two further upon the subject.  If-such is their feeling-if penalty
more directly and clearly followed transgression; if the bad
intent never succeeded; if deceit, lying, knavery never
prospered; if remorse immediately followed wrong; or if
disease, for instance, struck the first excess with an instant
blow, or the all-powerful hand hurled its swift thunderbolt
upon injustice, a moral providence would be more manifest.
And then, too, if our good endeavors were more immediately rewarded by success, the system would seem to be
more encouraging.
But, in the first place, let not this indefiniteness be overrated. The results do follow both good and evil conduct
very soon; and the consequences are often more certain
tlhan manifest. The bad man may seem to get along very
comfortably; he is guilty of atrocious deeds, but he has no
conscience, you say, no remorse; he seems very happy for
the time. Biut he is not, even for the time. There is a
secret, dull pain, and a pitiable impoverishment in the soul,
of which he is himself, perhaps, but half conscious. And
then the good man is not so happy or so successful as he
174 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
might be, because he is but half good. It is the misery of
our better purposes, that they are not so thorough and decided as they ought to be. We do not know what we might
b)e) if we threw away all reserves, and gave ourselves up
wholly to rectitude and purity.
But, in the next place, let us observe how the moral indefiniteness complained of; such as it is, conduces to the
training of man. If Providence were to follow every dereliction with an instant blow, the mind might be overwhelmed by that close-pursuing retribution.  It would have
no liberty or leisure to work out its solemn, moral problem.
Startled by the impending peril, it would leap from side to
side, or rush through life, as from an executioner. Or it
would hold itself in one cowering endeavor to preserve a
negative rectitude, rather than tempt the heights of lofty
and perilous virtue. Something, we see, is left to man's sagacity, to his reflection, to his reasonings from experience.
A field is opened on earth for his generosity, his fearlessness
and freedom. Under a system as rigid and exact as the
objector seems to demand, I do not see much place or
chance for self-moved, noble, and disinterested virtue.
6. But, " No," it mnay be said, " no, the great trouble is
rot that we are moral beings at all, but that the moral is so
darkened, obstructed, burdened by the physical nature."
The soul, says one, is a noble thing in itself; it has high aspirations, and seems at times to have the wings of an angel;
but how fearfully is it chained to sense, to sensual passion,
and to sensual infirmity! How many a man who is striving
to be virtuous, is thrown almost into despair at times, under
the awful relapses of his mind into sense-which lays hold
upon him like a lion in its strength!  And then when he
would fight on through life, how does the darkness of sleep
come over him, and bury him in its shadow! When he
should be doing his great work, and is doing it, that leaden
sceptre is stretched over him, and he is vanquished; nay,
perhaps " wicked dreams abuse the curtained sleep," and he
awakes feeling as if he were a dishonored being.
175 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
But if you will carefully examine all these matters, you
will find, in the first place, that there is not one of the forms
of sensation but is essential to human virtue or to human
existence. I have not time to go into detail here, and indeed have discussed the subject before; but if you will ex-.
amine the appetites and passions of a man, one by one, and
survey them in all their relations, you will find that there
is not one that can be spared from that complex moral constitution of human lifb, from that whole sum of influences,
by which humanity is trained to industry, to domestic affection, to social order, and spiritual sanctity.
And in the next place, how do physical need and infirmity contribute to the same end?  I have said in a former
lecture, "if I could see that eating and drinking, and sleeping and waking, are ordinances," it would clear up one large
part of the picture of human life. Well, I do see it. I see
that physical wants are the first great bonds to labor, care,
foresight, prudence. I see, too, that physical infirmitiesweariness and sleep-have their moral uses.  Sleep, for instance. For a being that often errs and fails, it is well that
hlie should often begin anew; that the chain of evil associations should be broken; that hlie should begin a new day
and turn over a new leaf; that the pure morning influences,
and his freshly wakened powers, should incline and enable
him to start anew in his moral career. I confess that I am
glad to be sometimes delivered from myself-frorii my own
thoughts, from their weariness and perplexity. I am not
always good company enough, to wish to be always with
myself: Let me sleep; let me escape: as one says to an
importunate creditor, hard to account with, " I will see you
to-morrow."
And then again, to evil at large, what a direct, peremp.
tory, and powerful check, is sleep!  What would become of
the world if wickedness never slept; if revenge, if intrigue,
if guilty revelling never slept; if tyranny, scorn, and hate
never slept!  Thus is the activity of man for evil, bounded
by the mighty barriers of inwalling darkness and iron slum
170, 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ber. The oppressor's busy brain, teeming with mischief,
loses its fearfuil energy, and for a while can devise no more
mischief; the tyranlt's arm sinks nerveless by his side, and
is as harmless as an infant's; brutal intemperance, which
otherwise would destroy the man, ends in stupor and insensibility-the man sleeps, and awakes sober-sober, which
but for God's interposition, hle might never have been;
wickedness sleeps its awful sleep, which, however awful, is
less so than the dread energy of its waking life.  AIeanwhile the victims of oppression and wrong sleep, and forget
for awhile the blows and burdens that are laid upoii them.
Nor is this all.  It is a blessing that misery from whatever cause, finds that temporary refuge. What should we
do if sorrow never slept; if the broken heart were never
lulled to rest by its own moanings? Well for us that sleep
comes to our rescue
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course;
well for us that it comes, and lays its hand upon the burdened heart and aching brow. God " giveth his beloved sleep."
But while I have been thus discoursing on these trials
of the human lot and heart, I can fancy some one saying to
me-" Ah! smoothly you discourse upon these matters, sir!
easily you seem to settle the points one after another; but
here am I, after all, weak, struggling, sorrowful: here am I,
bewildered, tossed to and fro, and fighting a hard battle: here
am I," perhaps one may say, " poor, ay, poor in natural ability, poor in fortune, poor in the respect of society; nay more,
impoverished by my honesty, a martyr to conscience, with
no fair chance; depressed, forsaken, and forlorn: and yet
you tell me that the laws of my being are wise, that Providence is kind, that all is well.  TWell?-God forgive my
thlougcht!-how is it well, when I am such an one, and so
hard bested? Oh! why could I not have been perfectly
innocent and perfectly happy?  Fair domain of life and
12
177 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
light and joy!-it is not mine!  Why, in the realm of infinite power, could not such have been appointed to me? "
I do not cast reproach upon the solemn and painful
question. I do not blame the cry of human sorrow that
asks for light: it is mly own.  I do not believe that it is
displeasing to the great Being who made us, that we should
humbly ask why His goodness has dealt thus with us.  I
cannot but believe that just as a good father on earth would
be pleased with that fearless but modest question from his
sensitive child, so the Infinite Parent is better pleased with
such question than with the usual stolid or cowering acquiescence; and that the time will come when filial piety
will understand this freedom.
And I freely say, that if any needless but fatal and
crushing weight were laid upon the world; if any law like
that of Malthus on population, now sufficiently refuted-if
any such law were to be discovered, proving that population must increase much faster than food, and therefore that
famine or war, or some other catastrophe, is the irreversible
doom of human society; if any such crack, or flaw, or jar
were found in the frame of the world, which was destined
to split or break it in pieces, that then I should be dumb,
and have nothing to answer. But I see none such; I see
nothing in the constitution of the world that is designed to
ruin it; nothing that is destined, in the long run, to be prejudicial to the cause of human virtue and happiness.
It may be thought  that in the complaint just now
stated, there is one difficulty alluded to which requires attention; that is to say, that an ascendency is given to inte,llect which is not fair to virtue and conscience; that in
the affairs of life, in the necessary business of life, honesty
is not a match for cleverness and cunning. It is even maintained by some, that trade, and also that legal practice,
cannot be carried on with a good conscience-that, at any
rate, an honest man cannot succeed in them, unless it be
by some immense ascendency of talent.   TAigs I do not
believe. If it be true, what means the maxim universally
178 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
received, that "honesty is the best policy? "  Still I admit that, in the action of life, a rather startling ascendenicy
is given to intellect. Doubtless it is hard for one to feel
that he lacks talent, wit, capability.   But the feeling,
however, does not prove the fact.  I have often observed
that such complainant ill makes out his case. Modesty
certainly is no proof of inferiority. I am inclined to think,
if you begin with idiocy and go up to the highest genius, that self-complacency will be found to be in an inverse ratio. Still, as I said before, I admit, of course, that
there is actual inferiority, whether a man knows it or not,
and that it tells very seriously upon the fortunes of life.
What then?   Would you have all men made  and kept
equal?   Surely not.  Would you have keener wits precluded from gaining any, even any temporary advantage?
I think that, on reflection, you would say, no. I think, indeed, that in a free system, it would be impossible.
If, indeed, there were created a class of beings on earth,
of such superiority that, by mere dint of talent or cunning,
they swept the board clean of all lifb's prizes, then a staggerilig problem would be presented. But it is not so. Still
you say, " The case is very hard. Conscience is a hindrance
to success." I insist that you mistake here, on the whole.
I say, you are mistaken.  But so far as you are not, this I
say: life was given not to gain fortunes and honors, but to
gain a fortune within, and an honor vwithin, of an infinitely
nobler kind.
7. In short, the discipline of this life involves trial and
difficulty.  Must it not-I come now to this point lastmust it not be essentially the discipline of all moral life?
Lift your eyes to the stars. Can it be essentially otherwise
there?  I draw no unwarranted analogies.  I say nothing
about circumstances.   But must not the constituent elements of which we have spoken-freedom, imperfection,
mistake, learning, progress-enter into all moral life?  Does
the Bible oppose this analogy?  Certainly not; because it
says nothing about the inhabitants of those worlds; nothing
179 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
of their being inhabited. We believe that they are inhabited-but on other grounds. Millions of creatures dwell in
a drop of water; can those vast spheres be void?  We cannot believe it.  But we are taught absolutely nothing about
the condition of their inhabitants. We are left to reason
about it as wisely as we can. They may be higher than
we; they may be lower; we know nothing about it.  But
we know this; we know that we cannot conceive of a free,
mnoral nature, as learning, without some mistakes and some
regrets. Possibly, ours may not be the lowest rank in the
order of creation.  One of the propositions of the celebrated Erasmus, that was brought into questioni before the university of Paris, was, "that he was not sure that an angel
was more excellent than a man." If hlie had said he was
not sure that an inhabitant of Mars or Saturn was more
excellent, i. e., of a higher order, than man, it would have
been a pregnant doubt; and one that would receive better
entertainment in this age than it did in his.
Now it is very obvious that the general tendency in men's
minds, to discouragement and despondency in all their
higher, their religious contemplations, must be immensely
increased by this idea that they are placed in a dark, dismal, blighted world-cut off from the great fellowship of
worlds. Under the common depreciation of this world, we
do not see the significance, the grandeur and beauty of its
discipline. We are impatient with many things, we are
indifferent to more, because we do not see that our life, that
all moral life, is meant to be everywhere and in every act, a
moral experimenting; and thus, that nothing is mean, nothing is low in its intent. As we walk through the dusty
street or the thronged mart, through the busy manufactory
or the ploughed furrow, or amidst the homes of humble
care or splendid opulence, we are apt to think of nothing
but the present and pressing engagement. We do not see
in this, a part of the great and solemn training of the worlds
to wisdom and virtue. The true spiritual philosophy would
dart a ray into this dusty cloud of life, which would make
180 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
every particle of it brighter than gold. I say that there is
not a care, nor a toil, nor a trial —not an act of business not a cry of childhood nor a cut finger, nor a lost key, nor
a threaded needle but it has its place in this training of
imperfect creatures to prudence, wisdom, and sanctity.
But looking at this world alone, as many do-looking
upon it as a sad and lonely world-looking upon it as invested with a cloud of low and mean cares and trials, there
is, in not a few minds, a prevailing dejection every way in jurious and greatly to be regretted. There is dejection especially in their religion, and naturally so. Sad and low
and heavy beat the pulses of spiritual life, because we do
not feel that they throb with the great moral harmonies of
the universe.  Sorrowful is our cry for help, because it
seems to us to be solitary and alone. As outcasts and deserted, we feel as if there could be no sympathy for us in
all the surrounding worlds. If we saw the same-as to its
principles-the same great moral discipline in those bright
spheres as in our own, and saw it to be the best possible,
would it not give us courage and strength?   But why
should it not be so? Is not the supposition favored by all
reasonable analogies?
For me, I shall venture to say, the universe is not parcelled out thus: here, a dark prison house; there, a city of
sapphire and gold; beneath, a gulf of fire, where sink the
groaning nations; and far around, heavenly heights, on
whose battlements stand the shining ones; —this universe of
Milton's poetry is not the universe to me; but lo! through
worlds unnumbered and unbounded, rise the myriad ranks
of being; each having its own sphere; each moral creation
advancing; and all holding on their sublime career, from
knowledge to knowledge, and from glory to glory, through
the bright, the everlasting ages.
Such is the view of universal life-such, I mean, as I
have given it at length in this discourse, is the view which
commends itself to me, as the most just and reasonable, as
most accordant with the infinite wisdom and goodness. I
18.1 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
do not know how it will appear to you, my friends, but to
me it is an inexpressible satisfaction. With it I can be
resolute, I can be cheerful, I can be happy, amidst all the
trials and difficulties of this tried life. I do not know how
it will appear to you; but if I have lifted one unnecessary
cloud fromi the face of the world, I shall not have spoken
in vain.
182 
LECTURE IX.
PROBLEMS IN ~AN'S INDIVIDUIAL LIFE: PHYSICAL PAIN;
HEREDITAR Y EVIL; DEATH.
I NOW wish to take up some of the vexed questions in
the philosophy of human life and history; some of those
facts in the human condition, which are usually thought to
be the most mysterious and unaccountable, the most irreconcilable with creative wisdom and goodness; such as
pain, hereditary evil, death-such as polytheism and idolatry, despotism, war, slavery, and the prevalence of error.
These facts naturally divide themselves into two classes:
those which come home to man's individual life; and those
which spread themselves over his social life. We have
therefore to consider (so to speak) private problems, and
social or historic problems. The first will occupy our attention in the present lecture; that is to say, pain, hereditary evil, and death.
Let us distinctly keep in mind the end which we are
considering throughout these discussions. The end is human culture; not pleasure merely, not immediate enjoy
meint, but joy of a higher kind, the ultimate strength and
nobleness of the human character; not an unconditional
happiness, to be given to man as it may be given to an animal, but the higher happiness which, by the very nature of
it, he is obliged to work out for himself. And the question
is: Do the conditions of our being, just referred to, promote
the great end? It is true that this is not the only question;
for we are bound to show that these conditions are either 
ON THE PROBLEM OF JIUMAN DESTINY.
inevitable in the constitution of things or necessary to human culture, and also that the severity of the means is not
disproportioned to the value of the end.
To proceed then-with these statements in view,-here
is this terrible fact of pain. And I mean now physical pain.
That which is mental we have considered in a former lecture-under the head of imperfection, struggle, penitence,
illusion, fluctuation, moral indefiniteness, etc. And the
pain of bereavement will naturally come under our view
when we speak of death.  The point now before us is phlysical pain. And a sharp point it is. I confess for myself
an exceeding dread of pain.  Montaigne reckons it the one
comprehensive calamity of our being-le pire accident de
notre etre-reducing all others to that. What we fear in
death, he says, is pain; and in poverty, it is pain-i. e., want,
anxiety, hunger, thirst, cold. Be this as it may, the evil, no
doubt, is sufficiently felt. There is no need to dwell upon
it, in the aggregate or in the detail. It is the detail indeed,
it is the individual suffering, that presses upon us as a problem to be solved, rather than the aggregate. The aggregate
bffects us, it is true, through sympathy, but not directly as
pain. The illness of thousands does not make me more ill.
Pain is a solitary thing. It does not require, like the misery
of war, an army to produce it; nor can an army, though
vast as that of Xerxes, fight off from its commander, for one
minute, the pang of a toothache.  It is the sharp puncture
of pain in my own flesh; it is yet more, the suffering of
years or of a life, that moves us to deep questioning. The
first-bare pain-is the law, which we are to explain; the
last-in its unusual degree or continuance-is an exception
which, it may be, we cannot explain; unless indeed it shall
be found to come under some one of the categories of the
law.
The law is that of pain; of pain, not usually severe nor
perpetual, but genera], moderate, occasional. And the main
question is: Is it useful?
Now, in general, we find no difficulty in answering this
184 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
question in the affirmative. Pain is a sentinel that warns
us of danger. And therefore it stands upon the outposts oi
this citadel, the body; for pain is keenest, the surgeon's
knife is felt keenest, on tAte surface. Now, be it granted,
that pain does us some harmn: but it saves us from worse
harm.  If fire did not pain, it might burn us up.  If cold
did not pain us, it might freeze us to death.  If disease did
not pain us, we  might die before we knew that we were
sick. If contacts, of all sorts, with surrounding objectsthe w-oodman's axe, the carpenter's saw, the farmer's harrow
-did not hurt Lus, they might cut and tear us all to pieces.
Think of it. A knife, held by a careless hand, approaches
us; it touches the skin.  We start back.  Why?  Because
there is pain. But for this, it iglilit have entered the body,
and cut some vital organ.  An old Greek verse says, "The
gods sell us the blessings they bestow."  These are the best
terms for 8s.  They make us careful and prudent.  Unconditional giving might lead to reckless squandering.  Pain,
then, is a teacher of prudence, of self-care.   Nay, and if
happiness alone were considered, it might be argued that an
occasional bitter drop gives a zest to the cup of enjoyment;
as hunger does to the feast, or sharp cold to the winter's
fire. But in moral relations, the argument is still stronger.
Here is a lhuman soul clothed with a body, to be trained to
virtue, to self-command, to spiritual strength and nobleness.
Would perpetual ease and pleasure, a perpetual luxury of
sensation, best do that? We know that it would not. Every
wise and thoughtful man at least, knows that some pain,
some sickness, some rebuke of the senses, is good for him.
Sulch a man often feels, in long-continued states of ease and
comfort, that it is time something should come to try, to
discipline, to inure and ennoble his nature. IHe is afraid of
uninterrupted enjoyment. Pain, patiently and nobly endured, peculiarly strengthens and spiritualizes the soul.
Heinrich Heine says, "Only the man  who  has known
bodily sufferings, is truly a vzan." The loftiest states of
mind, and, compared with mere sensual indulgence, the hlap
185 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
piest, are those of courageous endurance; and the martyr is
often happier than the voluptuary. Cicero says, speaking
of the sacrifice of Regulus, and after describing his happy
fortunes-he had carried on great wars, had been twice consul, had had triumphal honors decreed to him —" nothing
was so great as his death"; when, to fulfil his word, he
went back to Carthage to suffer all that could be inflicted
on him.  " To us hearing of it," says Cicero, "it is sad; to
him suffering it, it was a joy, it was a pleasure;" erat voluTptarius.  " For," he adds, "not the light and gay in their
jollity, nor their wantonness, nor their laughter or jestingcompanion of dissoluteness-but the serious and resolved in
their endurance and constancy, are happy." * This is the
general statement to be made with regard to pain.  It is
general indeed, and does not propose to cover every case.
But now, it may be asked, could not the same end have
been gained, the same nobleness, the same constancy have
been achieved, without pain? Which is, I think, as if one
should ask, whether the wood could not have been cut into
shape without the axe, or the marble without the chisel, or
the gold purified without the furnace. But let us answer;
and we say, not in any way that we can conceive of. First,
it may have been absolutety inevitable in the nature of
things, that a frame sensitive to pleasure should be liable
to pain. This may be the explanation of that long-continued and severe pain, which presents the hardest problem
in our physical life. With such causes foregoing, such a
train of influences, mental, moral, or physical, as produced
this terrible suffering, it may have been impossible, without
a miracle, to prevent it. Ordinarily, indeed, such pain is
not long continued. It destroys life, or life destroys it. Si
gravis8, brevis; si longus, levis, "if severe, brief-if long,
light," is the old adage; and it is true. But if it fail, and
the terrible case of protracted anguish is before us, we may
be obliged to leave it under some great law of the human
constitution, which mnakes prevention impossible. I may be
* De Finibus, ii. 20.
186 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
told that such pain does no good; that it breaks down mind
and body together; and therefore that it cannot, in any
way, be useful. But we do not know that. In the great
cycle of eternity, all may come right. Hiow much happier
the sufferer may be forever, for this present pain, we know
not. All experience, all known analogies, favor the idea of
that immense remuneration.
The word remuneration, may startle some; and they
may ask, if the sufferer does not deserve all this pain; not
indeed, as meaning that he in particular, but that all men
deserve as much. I answer, that it is very easy to talk
about ill-deserving in the general and in the abstract. Do
you think that you deserve to have a tooth extracted or a
finger chopped off every day-or any pain as great as that,
every day, for ten years in succession?  But there are sufferers who endure far more than that amount of pain daily.
Some pains are doubtless punitive; such, for illstance, as follow sensual excess or gross negligence; that is very plain.
Authors of a certain religious school-like McCoshl on the
Method of the Divine Government-sometimes write as if
they had found out a great secret, unknown to philosophy,
when they discover that pain is punitive; that the world is
wicked, and needs and deserves chastisement. This, however, is no mystery, nor matter of doubt. But it will not do
to bring all pain under this category; to resort, with Leibnitz, to the "' evil of sin" as the sole "reason for the evil of
pain." Some pain in a sensitive organization, and sometimes
great pain, may be inevitable. If it is not, let some one
answer me this question: why do animals suffer?  They
have not sinned.
But, secondly, if pain be not absolutely inevitable, it is
relatively inevitable; it is necessary, that is to say, to the
intellectual and moral training of humanity.
To see this, it is necessary to observe two things. One
is, that every physical organism as it befits a higher nature
is endowed with a more susceptible nervous constitution.
We see this gradation in fishes, bugs, birds: and quadrupeds.
187 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
In man the highest point is attained.   He is clothed all
over with a network of nervous tissues. These minister to a
higher than animal culture.  Do you wish that your watch
was a stone, that it might not get out of order? To escape
neuralgia, would you be a fish or an ostrich?
The other thing to be noted is, that for moral purposes,
this exposure to pain is still more manifestly inevitable. It
is a less evil, preferred to a greater; one of which is unavoidable. It is only necessary to state the case, to see the conclusion. Give a finite and free nature; give a body for its
training; fill that body with perpetual enjoyment; let no
amount of negligence or recklessness hurt it; let no excess,
no intemperance nor debauchery, no indulgence, bring retributive and disciplinary suffering into it; and the ruin of
this being would be as certain as his existence. Is there
too muich of this restraint and counteraction in the world?
We know there is not.  I may struggle against this conclusion; but I do not see how I can get rid of it.  I would
have man moral and free, and I cannot have him infinite; I
would have him win the prize of immortal virtue; I would
have the hostile tendencies of his ignorance and wvilfulness
checked, controlled: I see that pain is such a restraint; I
must confess it to be good.
Nor does the immortal prize cost too dear. We are in
an unfair situation for the argument now. We are in the
midst of the discipline, and have not yet experienced the
full result.  We  are in the battle, and have not won the
day.  But if ever the day come when we shall rise to the
height of the immortal victory, well shall we know that it
is worth all that it costs; ay, and infinitely more. Nay,
many feel that now, and bless their adversity as a greater
benefactor to them, than ever was their prosperity.
But let us conme to that form of evil-be it suffering,
sickness, mental disease, or unhappy temperament-that is
hereditary.  This, it may be thought, is far harder to account for.  It may be said that it is an injustice; "the
fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are
188 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
set on edge." Is not that hard? And can it be expected
to be useful?  No; not if all pain must be regarded as
punitive, in order to be profitable; for this plainly is not.
But suppose that in the best possible system of things, the
best for all, the best for the sufferer, this pain, this thread
of suffering in the great and useful bond of hereditary transmission, is a thing that could not be extricated, without tearing the system all to pieces; would not that alter the case?
And what, after all, is there that is so peculiar or strange in
the case?  An incendiary sets fire to the city, and my house
is buLirned.  A flood pours down the valley, and sweeps away
my mill. In either case, I am an innocent sufferer. What
then? Would I destroy the quality of fire, or stop the spring
freshet?  I belong to a general system.  If everything in it
conspired for my benefit, it would not be general. It is impossible that general laws, those, for instance, of heat, cold,
wind, rain, should work no inconvenience nor ill to anybody.  I want rain when my neighbor wants the sun.  I
want a wind when he wants a calm.  The law that is good
for all, must expose some to harm.  Why slould exemption
be demanded from the law of hereditary transmission-provided it be a good law? What harml or wrong does it, more
than any other general law?
But now consider, that it ds, in fact, a law of immense utility. First, it lies, I think, at the foundation of nationality.
What is it that makes the Frenchman so different from the
Italian or German, or Englishmnan?  It is not climate; it is
not situation alone; it is not the train of historic events.
Balck and beyond all these, we must go to something in the
blood, in the temperament, that makes a Frenchman a
Frenchman; something which is propagated from age to
age; and which thus creates those separate schools of culture, called nations.  It is well that they  are separate;
that they have separate governments, institutions, literature; that they should be working out experiments  by
themselves, free from foreign influences, sentiments, vices;
experiments which may ultimately inure to the benefit of
183 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the whole. This may be the final cause of the difference
of languages-to keep people separate.  I am sure I am
glad that the French literature cannot pour its unobstructed
tide into the channels of common reading in this country.
The better things-science, philosophy, do come, through
the investigations of learned men; the worse things, the
dregs of popular literature, are mainly kept out.
Next to the bond of nationality, and stronger, and more
necessary and useful, is the family bond; and this, I think,
is created by the law of hereditary transmission. I say, not
the family, but the family bond-that mysterious affinity,
which is involved in the relation of kindred. I shall have
occasion in another connection to speak of the descent of
property, and may fairly add the weight of that consideration to what I am now saying; but I speak now of the descent of character; of that congruity, that sympathy, that
union, that oneness, which is made by affinity. It is a
bond, not only of indescribable interest, but of incalculable
utility; the very heart's hold ill this world, upon unpurchased affection, assured confidence, comfort, and happiness.
The words parent, child, brother, sister-there are no words
like these. And even if the word friend, is a higher and
more awful word, yet to how few, in its highest sense, can it
be applied! There doubtless are some persons, of singularly attractive and attaching natures, or of certain cosmopolitan habitudes, who can do better than others, without
the famlily bond. But how many, amidst the coldness and
indifference of the world, would wander tlhrough life in sad
isolation, feeling that they had none to care for them, if they
could not return and lean upon the bosom of domestic afifection! Amidst the wide-flowing fibres of human feeling, amidst
the wilfilluess and recklessness of mien's passions and regards,
are set these fast knots, these ties of kindred, to hold the
social world together; nay, and they link together family
after family in succession, and thus become the biiding ties
of generation to generation, and of age to age.
Now I suppose it is obvious, that if anything is hlere(li
190 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tary; if influence, temperament, character, the very lifeblood, flows down from sire to son; if good or bad name
descends, then some evil must pass on along with the good.
The one cannot be separated from the other. Nay, and observe that the general influence of all this must be good.
The very thought of this transmission must be salutary.
What a premium upon good conduct is it, and what a tremendous admonition to bad conduct!  Many a tenmpted
man has been startled and struck to the heart with that
thought-that his children may inherit his passions, his
vices, his diseases. Nature within us, keeps a stricter account with us than we think.  It expects us to do right;
and so exquisitely is everything adjusted within us and
around us, that we can never do wrong with impunity.
In all these awful depths of humanity and life, there is no
hiding place where evil can be buried forever. It may be
cloaked in secrecy or decency all our lives, and yet break
out in misleading and misery to our children, and to our
children's children; ay, " unto the third and fourth generation."
But the subject to which I intended to devote the principal part of this lecture, is the end of earthly pains and of
the human generations-the solemn departure from this life.
Three great facts, says the Italian Vico, are everywhere
found, embedded in the foundations of human  society:
" worship, marriage and burial." Among all nations, in all
ages, exist these solemn usages; and without them, human
society could not exist.  They are not mere facts, and universal facts; but their significance is manifest; they are
essential ministrations to the moral culture of the human
race.
The rites of sepulture are as peculiar to man as those of
worship or marriage.   -Aan is the only being on earth that
buries his dead. This usage is the expression of a sentiment, far beyond the reach of animal instinct. It is not
mere convenience that suggests the practice. I-t is a sentiment; it is a sense of fitness; it is a dictate of respect for
191 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the venerable form of humanity; it is to garner up its sacred
dust as reverently as if it were laid in a royal mausoleum,
where,
"Nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch it further."
Alan marks as holy the spot where he lays down the frame
of the spirit's life to its " dread repose;" and over those
holy remains he builds the sepulchre, the tomb, the pyramid. Hie builds them as monuments of veneration and
affection; as testimonials to the solemn import of death, and
to the hope of immortality.
It is in this light that I am now to contemplate death;
not as a bare fact, not as the simple ceasing of life-for animals too die —but as clothed with moral sentiments, and as
ministering to the moral improvement of mankind.
By the uLnreflecting mass of men, death is regarded simply as the greatest of evils. They survey its ravages with
dread and horror.  They see no beneficent agencies in the
appointment; they scarcely see it as an appointment at all.
The behold its approach to their own dwelling, not in the
spirit of calm philosophy or resignation, but simply with a
desire to resist its entrance. To "deliver those who all
their lifetime are in bondage through fear of death," was
one express design of Christianity; but only in a few minds
has this design been fulfilled. Death is still regarded, not
as an ordinance, but as a catastrophe. It is like the earthquake to the material world; that which whelius all.  It is
the one calamity; that which strikes a deeper shaft into
the world than any other. It is the fixed doom, which
makes all other calamity light and phenomenal. The world
trembles at it, grows pale before it, as it trembles and grows
pale before nothing else.  Nay, and with reflecting persons,
I think, the feeling that they must die, is usually the feeling as of some stern necessity. "1 Now let nme depart: it is
good for me to go hence," is a language sometimes heard;
but it is rare. That dark veil, at the termination of the
192 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
view, there forever suspended, casts a shade over the whole
of life.
Can it have been meant, is it reasonable, that an event
so necessary, so universal, and appointed doubtless in wisdom and goodness, should be thus regarded?  For death, it
is evident, in fact, if not in form, is a part of the original
world-plan. I know that it is commonly looked upon as
the consequence of sin, the consequence of the fall. But
observe the language in which this doom, supposed to be
consequent upon the fall of man, is pronounced. It is in
the third chapter of Genesis. It is a doom, in general, of toil
and pain and sorrow; and when death is mentioned, it is in
these terms: " In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,
till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou
taken; for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
" Till thou return to the ground." This then is represented
as a part of the already appointed ordination of nature.
"For out of it wast thou taken."  The reason assigned
has no reference to the fall, but to the constitution of human
nature.  "For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." That is, thou shalt die, for thou art naturally mortal; earth has part in thee, and shall reclaim her own.
I have no wish to strain this language to the support of
any theory; and perhaps it does imply that if Adam had
stood in innocence, the doom, or rather the present form of
that doom, might have been averted; but then it certainly
does imply also that it was the natural consequence of the
human conformation.  Saint Paul indeed says, that "death
came into the world by sin;" but he may mean, death figuratively, i. e., misery; as where he says, "the commandment which was ordained to life, I found to be to death, i.e.,
to misery, to despair. Some able commentators have been
of this opinion.* But whether it be so or not, is not material to the view I take; which is this-that there is a wide
distinction to be made between death, as a gloomy, fearful,
distressful event, and simple departure from this life. "That
* See Koppe on Romans v. 12.
13
193 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
death," says Jeremy Taylor, "which God threatened to
Adam, and which passed upon his posterity, is not the going
out of this world, but the manner of going." Grant, then,
that death as a mnode of departure were the consequence of
sin, yet the simple exit from this life, the return of the body
to the dust, is evidently a part of the original plan. It belongs to the constitution of man and of the world.
Dissolution, death, is that to which the humnan body
tends by its essential constitution. It is as much in the natural course of things as childhood, youth, manhood, age.
The earth too was evidently made for transition, not for permanent abode to its inhabitants. If successive generations
enter it, generations in succession must leave it. Its supplies of food are limited. Its accumulating generations
could not even stand, upon it. One therefore must give
place to another. If not, there would have been no place
for s8, at any rate; we should not have been here to discuss
the matter, anyway.
All this is but saying that each generation must die. In
this sense, therefore, death was a part of the original plan;
the departure from this world, that is to say, was a part of
it; even as that most ancient, Scripture record of it implies.
But still, doubtless, this departure may have assumed a particular character in consequence of sin. It may be, I repeat,
a death, dark and fearfuil-distressful both to body and
mind. Vice, for instance, brings on disease; and disease
produces death: and this death, thus premature and agonizing, is the fruit of sin. And doubtless in many ways and in
every way, departure from this world must be a more afflictive event, both to the sufferer and to survivors, in consequence of our moral darkness, wandering, and weakness.
Nevertheless-for I must insist upon this point-the departure, in somne way, is inevitable.   The over-crowded
dwelling must dismiss some of its inmates; the over-populous nation must send out colonies. Thus must the world,
so to speak, colonize its inhabitants, translate them to
another country. Else death would come amidst horrors
194 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
now unknown; amidst the agonies of famine and the suffocation of fulness.
I do not know whether I succeed in the attempt; but I
wish to impress upon your minds the conviction, that man's
life on earth could not have been meant to be immortal;
that death, considered as a simple exit from this world,
must have been as certainly a part of the original plan, as
birth; that, if the system of the world is capable of defence,
this inevitable part of it must be; inll fine, that if God is
good, this ordination must be a good, and not an evil. For,
so long as this natural and wise limitation of the period of
life is looked upon as an unnatural and dreadful catastrophe-as wreck and ruin to the genuine, all-comprehending
order of nature, and not a legitimate and beneficent part of
it-it is in vain that we speak of it, and urge the grounds
for placing it among the wise and good ordinances of our
being.
Let us now consider this event, first, in its circumstances, and then, in its direct ministration to the great ends of
our being. The circumstances to which I refer are the isolation that attends it, and the disease and suffering that
usually conduct to it; and the question may arise-why
these arrangements, so full of pain and affliction?
First, the event is isolated. -"Alas!" one may say,
" earth does not colonize its inhabitants; it does not dismiss
them in tribes and families; then were we spared the sorrows of bereavement; one by one men depart for the spirit
]and." But let us see how important ttis arrangement is,
not only to human culture, but to the general intent and
economy of the human condition. What would become of
the cultivation of the earth, where would be the transmitted fruits of experience, and in what state would be the
whole training of the human race, if men departed for the
other life in companies, in families? Take away that one
bond from the world-inheritance, inheritance of property
and experience; and the world could not stand in its present order; it would fall to pieces. Houses, estates would
195 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
decay, if none, neither friends nor children, none for whom
we had any regard, were to take them from our hands; all
forecast, prudence, industry would die out of the world;
like the animal tribes, each generation would hlave to take
up the lesson anew.  It is only upon the plan of single, isolated departures from the world, that its instruction can be
kept up, or its progress carried forward. If nations, geinerations died off at once, all the labors of hunmanity would
only weave its winding sheet.  But now, throughout the
mighty frame of society, unnumbered hands sink fiom the
loom at every moment, and unnumbered new ones rise, to
ply the great task; and thus is woven the unbroken web of
ever-progressive human fortunes.
-Next, let us consider the illness that is usually the precursor of death. Why, it may be said, the pains of mortal disease?  Why so much suffering that is apparently useless,
i. e., morally useless? I might answer, holding to the strict
coherence and continuity of the present and future life, that
it is no more useless than any disciplinary pain. But I amn
looking now only at the general economy of the human condition; the advantage or disadvantage for this life. And
in this view, it may be assumed, without regard to the moral
issue, that it is desirable, almost necessary, that men should
have some premonition of their departure from this world;
that they should not drop instantly from the scene. They
wish to give directions and make arrangements for the
future. Endless difficulty and confusion would arise with
regard to property, to trusts, to important matters involving the welfare and comfort of survivors, without this final
disposition. And then with regard to the pain of a last illness, simply considered; suppose the premonition were to
be distinctly given in some other way, and long enough
previous to the event; suppose there were something in the
human system that gave the note of preparation, like the
clock before it strikes the hour: does not the illness that
slowly breaks the tie to life and makes the sufferer willing,
and perhaps desirous to depart, cause less pain than would
196 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
be felt in one week passed in health, under the doom of that
fearful certainty?  }'or one, in the midst of health and enjoyment, in the flesh and vivid sense of what life is, and of
all its ties, to be told that he shall die next Monday; what
a dread interval would it be-at least to most men! I cannot doubt that the present mode of our dismission from life
is more merciul than that would be.  " No escape!" says
Egmont in Goethe's drama-(he was doomed to the scaffold
by the cruel Duke of Alva)-" no escape! Sweet life! beautiful, kindly wont of being and action!-from thee shall I
part-so quietly part?  Not in the tumult of battle, nor
amidst the noise of arms, dost thou give thy swift farewell;
thou takest no hasty leave-cuttest not short the moment
of parting.  I shall take thy hand-look yet awhile illto
thine eyes-feel all lovingly thy beauty, thy preciousnessthen tear myself away-and say, farewell! "  More merciful, I repeat, than this, is God's ordinance of sickness and
pain as the pathway to the grave.
I will venture to add that death sometimes brings specific relief-from  evils for which there is no other remedy;
from sickness and pain which nothing else can end; from
painful relations, from mental difficulties, from embarrassing
crises in life, of which nothing else can break the knot, the
bondage and sorrow. It is not always hard to die. There
are those, and more of them perhaps than we think, who
desire to die. I have looked upon those, in sad relations to
one another, or to the world, of whom I have said, " Nothing that I see but death can help you." And there are persons, involved in such mnoral emergencies-so desperate and
irremediable-that they are fain to say, " Let me die; let
death deliver me; I would begin anew; I would try again."
There may be more of them, I repeat, than we think.
But let us now proceed to the main and final questionthe moral question, to be examined: whether the highest culture, the safety and happiness of this life, do not make the
appointed departure froni it, however naturally unwelcome,
actually necessary, and even desirable. In this view, I am
197 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to speak of death, not merely as the end of this life, but as
the passage to another.
The learned Bishop WVarburton, assumling, though, as I
think, erroneously assuming, that the Hebrews had  no
knowledge of a fluture life, has gone into a very elaborate
argument to show that Moses must have had a divine Legation, attested by miracles.  For he maintained that without the expectation of fiuture rewards and punishments,
nothing but a special and miraculous interposition could
hold a people in the bonds of moral order. Doubtless the
argument is just, whatever may be thought of the premises.
What could keep in any bounds the swellings of ambition,
pride, cruelty, luxury, and licentiousness, did not death
interpose its dread barrier?  It is commonly called "the
king of terrors; " as if in that character it were to be deprecated. But its terrors are for those who most need them.
And well is it, that that shadowy king stands in the path,
and says to self-indulgence, "remember!" and to oppression, "beware! "-else were not the earth habitable.
But I wish to speak of this event in its widest relations
to human improvement; not merely as a terror, but as every
way a wisely appointed and good discipline.
Death is an epoch in our moral course.  A youth at
school is far more likely to be affected by the prospect of an
approaching examination, than by his general responsibility.
Then he is to answer for himself. Tlhen his learning is to
be brought to the test. Then his fidelity or neglect is distinctly to appear.  Such is the coming hour of death to the
moral learner. It brings the sense of obligation to a point,
from which there is no escape. It brings the great moral
trial of life to a solemn issue. Doubtless there is a higher
thought, a larger view, for the manhood of reason; but in
this respect, most men are yet children, and need the discipline of children.  Doubtless the moment that lies in the
distance of a thousand years, is to answer for the moment
that is now passing; the whole vast future is bound to the
present hour, by the indissoluble chain of cause and effect;
198 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
but for creatures of our limited capacity, that prospect is
too general; and it seems expedient that there should be
distinct steps in our progress; that manhood, for instance,
should distinctly answer for youth, and age for manhood;
and in like manner, the immediate future life, for the life
that now is.
Again, the nearness of the event has its purpose. If any
one should ask why the allotted term of man's existence on
earth should be so brief; I still answer, that I see in this a
wise ordination. The advancement of the world depends
on the earlier vigor and flexibility of life. I say not upon
young men and women-for that seems to me one of the
follies of our tiime —but upon the age between twenty-five
and sixty-five. After that, opinions usually become settled,
hlabits fixed; and the world may not look for new ideas, innovating enterprises, nor the enthusiasm to prosecute them.
Inventions, reforms are seldom to be seen in old age. Age
has indeed its part to act; to guide the zeal and restrain the
rashness of the young. Its experience and wisdom are to
be respected; far more, I think, than they are at this day;
but old men, generally, are not the working men of the
world. What then is the ordinance that is to meet this condition of humanity?  The scythe of death mnows down the
generations, that it may provide for a more vigorous growth.
The axe, that "is laid at the root," cuts away the aged trees,
that younger and fairer ones may shoot up in their stead.
The builder removes fixtures, that lie may prepare for improveminents. Thus the world is continually recruited with
fresh strength, and is pervaded with an imaginative and
flexible enterprise; and thus its arts are advanced; its fields
are cultivated with increasing skill; its houses are built on
improved plans; its science and literature are constantly
rising; and its religious systems are advancing to higher
truths and wider ranges of vision. Death, then, grim and
fearful as it is accounted, is, like decay in nature, the constant improver, enricher, and beautifier of the world.
Yet further, the inevitableness of the coming change is
199 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
a weighty element of its moral power. The certainty of it;
the feeling that nothing can stay the event; that no hoard
of gold, nor crown of honor, nor crowd of cares, nor press ure of engagements, nor thronging visions of coming pros perity, nor momentous crisis in affairs, can ward off the in evitable hour —how does that feeling penetrate through the
whole of life, and sober, at times, the wildest levity, and
subdue the haughtiest ambition! The Grecian Epaminondas, when told that a distinguished general had died while
the battle was raging, exclaimed, " Ye gods! how can a
man find time to die, at a moment like this!"  But every
man must find time to die! Ay, the man of blood, whose
ruthless sword has cut down its thousands and ten thousands; who was deaf to the groans and pleadings of human
misery; who has crushed ten thousand human hearts beneath his blood-stained car-Tamerlane or Alaric, Cesar or
Napoleon he has, in God's dread forbearance, found a time
to kill; but he has also, in God's awful justice, found a time
to die! And the private man, the man who dwells in the
deepest seclusion; who lives hidden and shrouded from the
public eye; who draws the veil of midnight around his
deeds; that man still feels that an eye is upon him; he is
ob)liged to confront the awful image of death; he cannot
escape.  " But I must die!" is a thought that steals upon
many a worldly dream, and many a silent rumination. He
feels it, though no solemn message, as in the Egyptian feasts,
take up the admonition and say, "Remember! thou must
die!"
Yet not with terror only, but with tenderness does death
touch the human heart-touches it with a gracious sympathy and sorrow. One may know the house, where death
has set his mark, long after the time.  Traces are left in
its affections, that are never worn out. Traces are left in
memoriam, in poetry, in all human sentiment. Death is
not the sundering, but the consecration of fiiendship.  It
strengthens that holy bond. It makes the departed dearer.
It gives new power and sanctity to their example.  It in
200 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTLNY.
vests their virtues with the radiance of angel beauty. It
canonizes them as patron saints and guardian angels of the
household.
Nor could it fulfil its high mission, if men departed from
the world in families, in tribes, in generations. Then indeed were we spared the sorrows of bereavement; but at
the expense of much that is most sacred in life. If families
were dismissed from life together, they would inevitably
become selfish; contracting their thoughts and affections
within those domestic spheres, in which all their destinies
were bound up. If generations were mowed down at once,
like the ripened harvests, then had there been no history of
public deeds nor record of private worth. The invisible
presence of virtue that now pervades and hallows the earth,
that consecrates our dwellings, and makes them far more
than the abodes of life, would be withdrawn from the fellowship of men; and the signal lights of heroic example
that are now shining through the ages, would all go out in
utter darkness. A working-day world, a utilitarian world,
we should have; shut up to the cares and interests of the
generation that is passing over it; not as now a world that
is overspread with the mounds of departed nations, with the
dust of buried empire-the theatre of majestic history, the
heritage of genius, the altar of holy martyrdom.  The earth
is no longer the mere material globe that, at the beginning,
rolled round its parent sun: it is the tomb of generations,
the monument of ages. From out of its hollow recesses and
echoing caverns, what oracles come!  Upon its majestic
brow, what names are written-Assyria, Egypt, Phcenicia,
Greece, Rome; the Goth, the Gaul, the Saxon, the Slavonic
race, and races of the old, the dateless American time!
The very dwellings, the cities of the world have become
momnumental. Not present convenience, not bustling actiity alone, but the sanctity of death makes them what they
are. Their walls have echoed to joys and sorrows that have
passed away. Hiigh, heroic hearts have throbbed within
them, that beat no more; pain and patience have built
201 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
altars in them, to lowly resignation and prayer; the last
sigh has ascended from them, and, as holy incense, consecrated them for ever.  Oh! not the present alone is here;
but the image of the majestic past stalks through the world,
and casts its solemn mantle over the life of to-day. We
live, that we may garner up the treasures of humanity, and,
adding to them the little that we can, transmit them to
those that come after. We survive, with whatever pain to
ourselves, that virtue may not die. We guard the holy bequest. See we to it, that it waste not, nor dwindle in our
hands!
Nay, in another respect, the grandeur of death imparts
a reflected dignity to life. God puts honor on the being to
whom He says, "Thou shalt die! "-to whom He does not
veil the event, as He does to animal natures, but unfolds the
clear prospect. Hle, to whom the grandest achievement of
courage and heroism should be proposed, could not be a
mean creature.  But every man is to meet the grandeur of
death. In these mortal lists he stands-ay, the youth, the
child, the frailest spirit that ever was clothed with the
habilinlents of mortality; and hlie knows that he is to meet
a crisis more sublime and mysterious than any other, that
ever challenged mortal courage. The meanest man lives
with that prospect before him. More than that which makes
heroism sublime, it is his to encounter.
Yes, and in the bosom of death are powers greater than
itself. I have seen them; I have seen them triumph, when
death was nearest and mightiest; and I believe in them-I
believe in those inborn powers of life and immortality, more
than I believe in death. They will bear me up more than
death will weigh me down. I live; and this living, conscious being which I am to-day, is a greater wonder to me
than it is that I should go onl and on. How I came to be,
astonishes me far more, than how I should continue to be.
And if I am to continue, if I am to live for ever, I must
have a realm fitted for such life. Eternity of being must
have infinitude of space for its range. I would visit other
202 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
worlds; and especially does the desire grow intenser, as the
boundless splendors of the starry heavens are unfolded wider
and wider.  But I cannot go to them-I cannot skirt the
coasts of Sirius and the Pleiades,'wit  this body.  Thensome time-in God's good time-let it drop.  Let my spirit
wander free. Let this body drop; as when one leaves the
vehicle that had borne him on a journey-to ascend some
lofty mountain-to lift his gaze to wider heavens and a
vaster horizon.  So let my spirit wander free-and far. Let
it wander through the realm of infinite good; its range as
unconfined as its nature; its faith, the faith of Christ; its
hope, a ]lope full of immortality I
203 
LECTURE X.
HISTORIC PROBLEMS: POLYTHEISM[- )ESPOTISM- WAR   SLAVTERY-THE PREVALENCE ANiD MINISTRY OF ER   R OR, LV THE SYSTEM OF THE WORLD.
I MUST now take up the great social problems to which
I referred in my last lecture-Polytheism, Despotism, War,
Slavery, and that problem which embraces them all: the
Prevalence and Ministry of Error.
"A grim and fearful host of ills," it may be said, "to preside over the destiny of the human race; or if not to preside,
to prevail-to have darkened the world with fear, to have
bound it in chains, to have torn it with violence, from the
beginning; to have led the generations of men in mazes of
darkness and wandering through all ages!  How can such
things have been ordained, or permitted? hIow in any way
could such things have been the agencies of a good and wise
Providence?"
Now, in dealing with these questions, we must take along
with us what has been already said upon the very grounds
and principles of the human problem. -Alan, as a moral being, mnust of necessity be free; as a created being, he must
oe imperfect and ignorant; as a being whose destiny it is to
improve, he must begin somewhere; nay, as a being, all
whose knowledge and virtue are to be acquired, he must begin at a point where he has no virtue or knowledge; i. e., he
must begin in infancy. Look, then, at this being, and consider what must be the inevitable laws of his development,
and what the probable course of it. Do not ask why this or 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
that could not have been hindered; but see that the prince Iz
of hindrance would be fatal to the system; that the demand
for divine interference made by millions, irretrievably complicates, and, if listened to, ruins all. See man, then, as he is
and must be. Imperfect, ignorant, infantile-yet endowed
with powerful energies and impulses, without which he would
be nothing-he is placed upon the earth to do what epTleases.
Deprive him of the liberty to do so, and you unmake the
man. Deprive him of his imperfection, his ignorance, his
exposure to error, and you make him God. Or yet once
more: interfere with his free development, by incessant mnir_
acles to ward off the evils into which he falls, and you break
up the whole regular training on which that development
depends. Take the case of any evil, any wrong, any misery
that ever was inflicted, and consider it. The assassin's arm is
raised to murder.  Almighty power could arrest it; but then
the agent would not be free. Two armies are about to rush
into battle. Almighty power could in an instant chain these
hosts like statues to the earth; but then they would not be
free-would not be men.
I must desire you further to take it into the account, not
only that some evils were likely to flow from such a constitution of things, but that these very evils which we are to
consider were the natural, if not inevitable, developments of
human ignorance and weakness; nay, and of the higher human sentiments too: of the feelings of righAt and of religion.
Not from some dark cavern are they let loose, like avenging
furies; not from some fabled Pandora's box have they issued,
but from the bosom of humanity; nor from any constitutional badness of nature, but from passions, from errors,
from mistakes, from collisions, from circumstances necessarily attaching to this nature. I pray you to look more nearly
into these evils than you do when you generalize and sum
them up into one portentous and crushing mass of gratuitous calamity and wrong. Thus, error, for instance-religious
error, superstition in many forms-could man escape it?
Thus, again, in rude and lawless times, was not the govern.
205 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ing hand likely to hold things with a strong gr'tsp-to be
despotic and oppressive?  And when questions arose between nations, was it not natural that they should resort to
physical foree-i. e., to war?  Could rude barbarians stand
still to argue?  Could they settle, could they understand
any code of international law? Was it not almnost inevitable that they should fight?  If the question was about a
piece of land, or a fishery, was there anything else for them
to do but to endeavor to push one another from the disputed
possession?  Supposing the parties to be honest-supposing
that each believed the thing in question to belong to himsupposing there was no umpire to which they could appeal;
must not a natural sense of justice have led them to strive
for their right?  War is ordinarily the clash of opinions.
"You have got that which is mine," one says; "you will
not give it to me; you will not listen to my just claims for
it: then I must take it from you." In fact, must not this,
where the case arises, be the language of to-day?  But certainly, where neither right nor reason would be listened to,
must not the party wronged, or conceiving himself to be
wronged, enforce his claim with the strong arm-or else sit
down, abused, crushed, robbed, and despoiled on every
hand?
Doubtless there has been violence enough in the world
which has had no such plea. I only wished to show that it
is not all blank malignity nor wilful error which has filled
the world with darkness and sorrow. And do you not suppose, let me ask, that Hie who made the world foresaw all
this?  And are sin and pain agreeable to Infinite Benevolence?  Ilust you not believe that God would have prevented them, had there not been obstacles to prevention in
the very nature of things and in the welfare of the beings
he made?
It is of some such intrinsic obstacle, I think, that Plato
speaks, under the name of " necessity,"-a something inevitably and inextricably interwoven with the constitution of
things, and preventing the exclusion of evil and misery
206 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
from the world. Hie appears to me obscurely to intimnate in
a passage of the Timeus, that view of the origin of evil which
I have endeavored plainly to set forth in these lectures as
the true and only solution of that dark problem. His mind
evidently had not settled upon any theory. Sometimes lihe
speaks of a malignant being, next in power to God, as having
introduced evil into the creation; sometimes of dark, intractable, obstinate qratter, as the source of evil; for these
old ideas of Zoroaster seem to have pervaded all antiquity.
But in the Timneus we find him  speaking of "necessity " as
some strong and apparently opposing power, " on which," to
use the language of a learned commentator,* "on which the
divine energy was constantly exercised, not so much in directly overcoming as in controlling and directing it to the accomnplishment of the Divine purposes."  " But since," says Plato,
"mind (i. e., the Supreme 1Iind) rules necessity by persuad
ing her to bring to the best results the most of things as
they are generated (or made); thus in this way, through necessity overcome by rational persuasion, this universe received its construction;" or was fashioned into its present
order.
"By rational persuasion," says Plato, i. e., not by irresistible coercion, but by a wise urging and turning of things
that are unavoidably liable to evil, to good account. This is
the light, in fact, in which I am about to speak of the special
problems which are now before us.
Indeed, our HIoly Scriptures teach a doctrine not dissimilar to this; as when they say that " God causes the wrath
of man to praise him, and the remainder of wrath he restrains; " as when they say that he permitted certain things
to the Hebrew people  "because of the hardness of their
hearts," i. e., because they could bear no better; as when
they say, " I gave them statutes that were not good," 4. e.,
not absolutely good-not in themselves desirable, but tolerated, and turned to good account.
I know there are those who regard human superstition,
-* Prof. Tayler Lewis on-" Plato against the Atheists." p. 217.
207
I 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
oppression and strife, simply and only as the results of a depraved nature; who see no farther into the great problem
of human fortunes; who, as they look back upon the history
of the world, only exclaim, " See what a wicked race!" But
the philosophy of human life and history, and, as I conceive,
a just reverence for the Divine Providence, demand another
consideration of things. It would be deplorable for us to
leave the world-story in that blank abstraction. It would
quench all good faith in the past, and all good hope of the
future. It would be strange, also-nay, incredible, that human nature and history should want all those evidences of
wise and good design of which the material world is full.
I say, then, and lay down these three propositions: First,
that the bad institutions and usages of the world, whether
religious, political, or warlike, have been better than none;
secondly, that they have been the only ones in every age
that the world could then receive; and thirdly, that they
have ministered to human energy and improvement, and ultimately to human happiness.
First, they have been better than none. Idolatry has
been better than no religion; superstition than no restraint;
despotism than no government. War itself has been better than no activity-better than savage stupor and indolence, or stupid submission to wrong. It has developed more
strength, more heroism, more virtue, than absolute languor
or moral indifference would have done. The strife of man
with man in the assertion of rights, or what were deemed to
be rights, was better than a total disregard of all right. For
suppose that one man or nation does another man or nation
a gross wrong; taking away with the strong hand lands,
goods, property, rights-nay, wife and children. Thle invading nation carries them off! Would you have the wrong
quietly acquiesced in-submitted to in dull stupidity?  It
would be to deny our humanity. No, we would have every
man feel the right, and fairly assert and defend it. We would
have force applied for that end where it is necessary. And
this force, intervening in national questions, is war. Some
208 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
wars have been right, though many have been wrong. We
must not, for the abuses of a principle, however enormous,
discard the principle. It is right to assert our rights, and
to compel others, if we cannot persuade them, to abstain
from wrong. This appertains to our humanity. A sense of
right must so assert itself; and if rights could be violated,
and no resistance, no contention followed, hui.nanity itself
would be dead.
Secondly, the institutions and usages of every age have
been the only ones it could receive. The mind of every age
has been bodied forth in its religious systems, in its political
forms, in its activity, whatever that activity has been.   Its
action, its idea of right, and its mode of righting itself, would
have been better if its mind had been more improved. Each
form of development has been that which the spirit of the
time gave to it.
Let us state this point, however, with proper care and
qualification. In one respect, the rudest age is susceptible
of high teaching-is capable of receiving the very highest
ideals. There are certain innate ideas of right, of justice,
of religion-eternal intuitions-to which appeal  may  always be made. To these, prophets and wise men have ever
appealed, and met an unhesitating response.  But institutions, usages, are different things. These must be in general accordance with the culture of a people. Yet even here
there is still room for the reformer: because the institutions
are ever falling behind the culture, and need to be reformed.
Nevertheless, the reform in any given period, could not proceed beyond a certain point.
In ages of darkness and ignorance and materialism, superstition was inevitable; oppression was inevitable; wtar
was inevitable. Men could not arrive at once, at refined and
spiritual ideas of God, or at those ideas of moral justice
that should banish oppression and war. They could not
comprehend, they could not agree upon, those principles that
should supersede coercion and strife with the strong hand.
Alas! the world does not comprehend them yet. But to
14
209 
ON THiE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the infant world it had been as impossible to teach the
highest ideas of religion, of law, and of the right social
relationships, as it would be to instruct one of our infant
schools ill the mathlematics, in astronomy, and moral philosophly.
Thirdly, the defective religion, polity, and intercourse of
the nations have ministered to their energy, improvement,
and happiness. They have not only been better than none;
they have not only been, in general, as good as the general
mind could receive; but they have done good. This observation opens the whole field of our present discussion.
But in entering upon it, I wish carefully to state the
ground upon which I proceed.   I said in my opening lecture, that in the prosecution of the subject, I had nothing
more at heart than to show how this system of human free
action, while necessari]y free, in order to be a moral system,
is neverthleless governed and controlled so as to bring about
good ends.  But I seek now, in this connection, to make the
distinction between freedom and contro-between the erring
of the human will and the overruling of it for good-perfectly explicit and clear.   In man as a free agent, there is, of
necessity, the power and liability to err, to go wrong.  Aeting freely, he runs into polytheism and idolatry; he builds
up despotic governments; he wages cruel war; he oppresses
his fellow. Now in this mass of error and evil, there are
two elements. There was nistake, incident to the infancy
and ignorance of the world.  Or, there was theoretical im-perfection-as, for inrstance, in idolatry and despotism-and
yet, withal, a certain fitness for the time.   And there was
downright and wicked hate, and cruelty.  Now ths I am not
to defend. I do not say, with some, that evil is good; that
there is no evil in the universe. I say and feel that hate and
cruelty are evil and wrong and odious. But I maintain
that out of this whole systeinm-out of mistake and imperfection, and in spite of hate and wrong, good has come; and
this it is my simple and sole business to show.   It is not to
defend human erring; not to lessen my own or your sense of
210 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
it; but to show the guardianship over it of a divine and
guiding Providence.
There is one point, especially, on which I admit all that
can be charged upon human erring; and that is, the abuse
of power; of power in religion, of power in government;
of power military, feudal, social, indiv;dual. Power of
every kind has been abused, beyond anything else that man
has possessed. There is nothing that distresses me in the
contemplation of past ages or of the present age, like the inhu4?anaity of power.  That wvhic  furnishes the noblest
opportunity for doing good, has been turned into the most
frightful instrument of cruelty and oppression. " Man's inhumanity to man "-whether it be a doom to the prison, to
the rack, or the fire, or whether it be the scornful word of
the superior to the inferior-I have nothing to say for it; I
give it up to the righteous indignation of all just men.  Let
that indignation rise higher and higher; let it accumulate
in mountain masses, to crush and drive the accursed thing
out of the world.
What then am I to say to all this?  Tigs, first of all:
that to a free nature, even that hateful abuse could not be
forbidden.  Mlan must do what he will. Here, now, to-day,
you have power to strike down an inferior in strength or
station. God does not miraculously interpose to wither the
lifted arm, or to palsy the proud and scornful tongue. And
then, next, I must resist the impression that all this abuse
of power is a mass of uLnmitigated evil.  I must not leave
it to be supposed that this has been a godless and forsaken
world.  Amidst the strugglings of man with man, I must
endeavor to show that all has not been intentional wrong;
that there have been unavoidable mistakes; that there have
been insuperable difficulties; and that there has been good
amidst evil. I must endeavor also to correct our own mistakes in looking at these things; and to present the great
institutions that have presided over the world, in the justest
light that I can.
In the first place, then, we are to speak of polytheism
211 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
and Idolatry. And here we find immediate occasion for ap
plying the observation just made to the old religion.  There
are mistaken views with which we have grown up from our
childhood, that need to be reconsidered. For instance,
beast worship, among the Egyptians, the worship of dogs,
cats, and even of meaner creatures; looking at it as we
have, it has, of course, always seemed to uis an unspeakable
degradation. In the view we have been accustomed to take
of it, it might well have seemed to us, as partly it has, an
incredible degradation. It passes belief, that any human
beings should be so stupid as literally to worship the meanest reptiles. Yet more is this incredible of a cultivated
people, like the Egyptians; who had carried the practical
arts to a point hardly surpassed by ourselves; who had a
learned priesthood, to which the Grecian sages resorted for
instruction; upon one of whose temples, at Sais, was recorded that sublime inscription, expressive of the Divine
nature-the sublimest of all heathen antiquity-" I am all
that has been, all that is, and all that shall be. No mortal
has ever raised the veil that conceals me! " *
What then, was this mysterious Existence? It was that
great Life of Nature, which all the East worshipped. And
no doubt, it was this great Life of Nature that the Egyptians worshipped under animal forms. In this view, IHegel
maintains that the worship of animals is noway less respectable than the worship of the sun and stars.t HIe remarks,
indeed, that there is something peculiarly incomprehensible
and mysterious in the animal spirit-dumb and shut upnever articulating its thought. If we compare it with the
spirit in ourselves, he says, it is clear that we less understand
it; for we know ourselves by consciousness. But what is
passing in the horse, the ox, or the dog, we do not know;
and the idea and the observation must be familiar to us all,
that "we  should like to know what they think."  "A
black cat stealing by us in the twilight," says Hegel,
* Proclus adds, "and the fruit I have produced is the sun! "
t Philosophic der Geschichte, p. 258, 259.
212 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
"brings over our minds an impression as of something preternatural."
Then again, with regard to idolatry, the worship of
images: the idea that these images of wood and stone were
literally worshipped as the all-powerful deities who presided
over the world, is utterly inadmissible. Thev were worshipped, doubtless, as representatives, symbols of the gods.
This worship, however, became so gross that it was vehemently denounced by the Hebrew prophets; though there is reason to believe that there was a time when a species of images,
called Teraphim, were recognized in the Hebrew worship.*
And with regard, in fine, to polytheism itself, great as
the error was, vet it was natural, and perhaps unavoidable.
The rude mind, in the infancy of the world, first awaking to
the conception of unseen, stupendous, creative agencies
around it, would not, perhaps could not, immediately learn
that all these agencies centred in one Being.
But I must desire you to observe, that great as the error
and the evil of polytheism were, it was not powerless, nor
altogether useless. What a keen and quickened sense of
religion must it have nourished! We have no devotees to
compare with those of India and Thibet. In Lassa, the
metropolis of Bhuddism, says the traveller, M. Hfuc, the
whole population gathers at nightfall into little circles for
prayer; the sound goes up from the whole city. But look
at the ancient polytheism.  Erring as it was, yet how strong
it must have been, and intense, and ever awake! A local deity, instead of one far off; a god of the field and the stream
and the grove, and of the house, and of the very hearthstone;
how must it have struck the every-day and hourly thought
of men! In the later ages of Grecian and Roman refinement, this religion was dying out, and so making way for
another; men did not believe in the religion of their fathers,
and the Christian apologists might well speak, as they did
speak, of its inefficacy; but in its pristine strength, it was
far from deserving that charge. Then, again, the idol, the
*See Hosea iii. 4, 5, and Newman's Hebrew Monarchy, p. 28.
213 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
visible symbol of the present deity in every household;
how must it have appealed to the imagination, and the very
sense! Its wooden or stony eye; how must it have seemed
at times to look into the very misdeeds of men! The Catholics feel a similar influence now, and their sense of religion,
whatever may be thought of it in other views, is stronger
and more frequently awakened, I have no doubt, than that
of many Protestants. SNay, I should doubt whether the
Protestant world has not swung too far toward the limit of
bare and naked spiritualism. Some sense of this I mark in
that extraordinary movement somne years ago, known as
Piuseyism, in the Church of England; in which if there were
some things that I could not sympathize with, yet this tendency to reconsider and reassume some elements of the past,
were it wisely controlled, I cannot help regarding as healthy
and good. Then, again, and once more, the sacrifices of the
old religion, the victim on the altar, the daily ising incense
-all that direct and visible appeal to Heaven; how imnpressive must it have been to the worshipper! And every head
of a household too, was a consecrated priest: now few men
comparatively are priests in their families, in any sense.
And when the parent took his child from its mother's bosom
and sent it through the fire, a victim to MIoloclh-dreadful
god-that offering was not hypocritical, but terribly sincere; it was not a mere form, but religion awfully in earnest; it was not mere cruelty, but the shuddering homage
of religious fear-of a fear strong enough to tear the very
life-cords from the palpitating heart! In all this there was
much error; but in all this there was a tremendous power
to bind the rude mind to religion of some sort, and to restrain its wildest excesses.  The bond of religion, the dread
of Divine displeasure, I am inclined to think, was stronger
then than it is now.  Men now, in courts of justice and in
national quarrels, appeal against bad faith, to Heaven; but
not perhaps with such positive impression and effeet, as
when they said in old time, "The gods will punish you!
/{eptune will awake his storms, Jupiter will launch his
214 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
thunder against you! the god of the rooftree will desolate
your dwelling; the god of the field will sweep down your
harvests, or will send disease among your flocks!" Other
things are indeed to be desired in religion besides strength,
and no one would bring back the old superstition; but here,
I say, was strength; here was a power over the infant
world, the highest that it could receive, which guided and
controlled its steps, and was leading them on to something
better.
Turn now, in the second place, to the political relations
of men.  A hard and grinding despotism wveighed upon the
ancient world.  Equal laws, the just rights of men, were
unknown. The chieftain-patriarch, priest, or king-reigned
with absolute authority.  Here and there, democracies, republics sprang up, but died away as soon, and were, in fact,
despotic while they lasted. And throughout the ancient
world, there was no just conception of the equal rights of
men. The many bowed down to the few with absolute,
slavish, superstitions allegiance. Tihe people, even in feudal
Europe, says Guizot, were as timid as sheep. We see the
injustice and falsity of all this.  We have better theories.
But what would our theories of equal rights have done, if
they had been cast into the bosom of the old Asiatic nations; av, or into the communes and kingdoms of the middle ages? Torn them all to pieces. Society could not have
lived a day with these theories. The single, strong arm was
necessary to bind and hold together the wild elements of
the primeval world. The deep and lowly submission to it
was necessary.  It was more than merely necessary; it was
beneficial. Absolute rule was the best thing possible; and
it was attended with the then best possible results.
This instinct, the blind instinct of obedience, natural to
rude and savage life, worked usefully in two ways. First
it was a good guidance for those whose minds could not yet
rise to any high or reverential obedience to law, or to a po litical constitution. It was well that something should attach
them to the chieftain, to the king, to the head of the State.
215 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
And then the sentiment was saved from the meanness and
degradation that would otherwise have belonged to it, by
its being so reverential, affectionate, and disinterested. There
was something affecting and beautiful, as well as fit for its
time, in these old homages to superior rank.  The attachment of the Scottish clansman to his chief, of the feudal
retainer to his lord, was often of the most touching character.  It is good to reverence somethingq; and even the excess of the homage is better than the opposite extreme. I
had rather pay it, than always to stand up stiffly for my
rights. I like the story of the son of Ivan IV. of Russia,
better than some with which our theories of equal rights
might furnish us.  The armies of the emperor, says the
annalist, had been worsted in one or two engagements.
Hils favorite son said, "' Let me go and take the command."
The brutal father, stung with self-reproach, jealousy and
anger, felled him to the ground, with a blow, that, it was
evident, must prove mortal. Struck with horror at what
he had  done, the emperor  rolled in agony  upon the
floor, and offered millions to his physicians if they would
save his child. The dying son, as he lay upon his couch,
strove to reassure his father. " You did right," he said, " to
strike me. I ought not to have asked you that question. I
have offended against the laws of the empire and against
you; and I deserve to die."
All power, alas! is liable to abuse, and to the grossest;
but protestants against despotism as we Americans are, we
are prone perhaps to do it some injustice. Certain it is,
that it has often been paternal and protective, in proportion
as the homage to it has been filial and affectionate. Hegel
says that there was more personal freedom in the old Assyrian Empire than in Rome. In those soft Eastern climes
especially, the government was paternal, the people as children, compared with the stern Roman rule and the stalwart
Roman men. The Oriental despotism, compared with the
Roman, was as a flowery girdle to an iron banid. The Persian monarch was a sort of teacher and sage to the people;
216 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
attendant scribes, in court and camp, were ever at hand to
write down his sayings; and these were deposited in the
state archives, as the annals of his reign*-a tremendous
environment for a man, and it must have made him thoughtful, and his speech the wiser.  IIn the earliest times of the
East, the patriarchal king sat in the gate. The Persian
royal palace was called the Porte or Gate t-and hence the
phrase Sublime Porte, to describe the Ottoman sovereignty
-the patriarchal king sat in the gate, to hear complaints
and award justice; and although, in later times and in
crowded empires, this was, of course, impossible, yet always
there was a right of personal appeal, as of children to a parent, unknown to our more conmplicated systems of administration. The court was a scene of magnificent hospitality:
Ctesias, a Greek historian of Artaxerxes' time, says that
fifteen thousand persons sat down daily at the king's table;
seemingly an ilncredible number; according to Xenophon,
it took-I know not how many persons to make Caimbyses'
bed.t In short, more ease, freedom, and happiness existed
under these old despotisms, than we are apt to think-bad
as they undoubtedly were.
But I must now turn, in the third place, to a more awful
element in the world-problem; and that is war.
I have already said that it- has been, and is, inevitable.
In fact, unless we give up the right of self-preservation; unless we go the length of saying that any man who pleases,
may take what he will of ours, or may break our limbs, or
beat us to death, without resistance from  us, we admit the
principle that lies at the bottom of war. But let us consider further, whether it has not a providential place in the
world, among the means of its discipline and culture.
There certainly have been worse things in the world
than war. There have been states and conditions of human
society, worse than that of martial conflict, and which that
* Heeren, Asiatic Nations, vol. i. p. 55, Bohn's ed.
t Ibid. p. 260.
$ Heeren's Researches, Asiatic Nations, vol. i. p. 254.
217 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
conflict has broken up: deep-seated injustice, which nothing
but a violent shock could overturn; intolerable oppression,
universal corruption and licentiousness, universal effeminacy
and stupor. Better that the cause of justice and right be
pleaded with the sword, than not pleaded at all. I had
rather see the moral sentiments, or the material interests of
men, in fierce collision, than in a state of palsy and death;
it is more hopeful, if not more agreeable.
Then, again, war is a means of intercourse, communication of knowledge, interfusion of ideas, between nations. In
some cases, there seems no other way to lift a people out of
its stupor and degradation. By means of isolation alone,
China has remained the same for ages.  But in times when
there was no printing, and little travel, nations lay side by
side, more ignorant of each other than people now are in
opposite henmispheres. What, then, did a war effect? It
brought nations into the presence of each other's homes, institutions, usages, arts.  Thus the Northern barbarians were
brought to look upon the Romnan civilization. Imagine the
Roman  Empire to  have gone  on undisturbed, sinking
deeper and deeper into lethargy, luxury, and corruption;
and the Goths and Vandals to have remained in their rock
fastnesses and woody deserts, the same brutish people.  Instead of this, the invasions have given us-cultivated Eu
rope.
But we must go to a question more radical, with regard
to the influence of war upon the human character and condition.  Could the world, or can it, go on nobly-go on improving-go oni safely even, without this dread discipline
of war?   The elder Bonaparte is reported to have said,
"The conscription is the everlasting root of a nation, its
moral purification, the real foundation of its hlabits." I do
not know precisely what he meant by that; but I should
interpret it thus: Lay upon every family in a nation the
bond of that dread liability-that one of its members mnay
be called forth to fight and die for his country; and you put
a principle of sobriety, of manliness, of sacrifice, of obedience
218 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to the law, of consecration to the common weal, into that
family, which nothing else perhaps could impart to it. Who
does not feel that such an inquisition coming to the household, for son, brother, or fathler, must search out and stir to
the very heart everything loyal, heroic, ay, and religious, in
it?  And how many have felt this ill the present solemn
crisis in our country! How many have found life, withl
them, to be more earnest, high hearted, meditative, and
prayerfull than it ever was before!
Suppose, on the contrary-ill this nation or any other —
war never to come.  Days, years, centuries pass on, and in
all the households of a people there is nothing but toil, accumulation, multiplication of comforts and luxuries, care for
themselves and their children.   Can  human  nature  be
trusted thus to go on, in profound and unbroken peace and
prosperity?  In its present state, I must doubt whether it
can.  We  have been wont, in former days, to bless ourselves, that, separated by the ocean from Europe and European complications, wve had the prospect of going on for
ages, undisturbed by the alarms and horrors of war.  That
dream is broken by intestine discord, and by the levelling
of the ocean barrier through steani communication; and
for my part, I believe it is best for us that we are to take
our share in the solemn experience and discipline of
nations.
But at the same time, while I see and admit the inevitableness and the moral uses of war, I believe that the war
time is a transition state in the world, and that a better
time is to come. I look upon war as being to the body
politic what disease is to the individual.  MWhen men learn
to live more wisely, simply, and innocently, there will be
less disease: ultimately there may be little or none. But
till then, disease is not only inevitable in the constitution,
but is a moral element bound up with it and essential to its
welfare.  So with war: humian society will outgrow it.
when it outgrows its vices, its angry passions, its injustice,
selfishness, and ambition.  Till then, the world must suffer,
219 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
and I believe it is best that it should suffer, from this fearful scourge.*
The last specific problem to be considered is slavery; the
subjection of man to man; the subjection, not of man to the
Government, but of man to man-of the serf to his feudal
lord, of the slave to his master. It is a fact, in the history
of past ages, too universal to be overlooked;  too deep
founded in the order of the world, to be passed by. I am
acquainted with no such fact among animals-except the ant
-as one making a servant, serf, or slave of another; or one
species, of another and inferior species. Everywhere in the
history of the human race, we are met with this stupendous
problem: how is it, or why is it, that man has thus been
sulbject to man; that a condition, directly opposite to every
fi'ee tendency of humanity, should have been as universal
almost, as if it had been an ordinance of nature?
I desire you to dismiss from your thoughts all those
questions connected with this subject, which are so warmly
debated at the present moment: I am looking at the course
of ages, and not at the controversy of to-day. Keep your
own opinions, whatever they be; for the present I contro
vert none of them. Nay, let a man entertain the worst
opinion possible of the system; all the more reason is there,
it seems to me, why he should desire to see, in the calm
survey of God's government over the world, all the good he
can see, coming out of it; and all the more, the worse he
thinks of it.
Montesquieu observes, in his Spirit of Laws, that slavery,
cruel as it seems, and unjust as it certainly is in the form of
chattel slavery, had its origin in comparative mercy. That
* I have been led to some modification of my views of war, by M. Prudhon's
" La Guerre et la Paix"  (War and Peace).  I have been led to see it, that is
to say, more as a Providential fact; to be accepted with patience, instead of being regarded simply as horrible. M. Cousin led the way, in the same course of
thought, in his Lectures Introductory to the Philosophy of History; see lee. ix.
latter part. With regard to the New Testament protest against fighting, I regard it as a protest, not against war absolutely, but against the ordinary war
spirit.
220 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
is to say, it succeeded, in the morality of nations, the barbarous practice of putting to death all captives made in
war. But I was about to observe, that there was another
step which society had to take, that involved greater difficulty. It passed from the slaughter to the slavery of captives; that perhaps was not difficult; and it certainly was
beneficial.  But how was it to pass from its nomadic state,
from the wild and wandering habits of the hunter and shepherd, to settled abode, and the tillage of the soil? It has
been contended by an able French writer, M. Auguste
Comte, that fixed occupation must have been originally enforced; that the necessary industry could not have been
obtained but by compulsion. Hle maintains that the natural indolence of mankind, and especially in warm climates,
could, in no other way, have been overcome. We, stirring
Anglo-Saxon men, cannot understand it perhaps; and there
may be more truth in it than we suspect. If it be so, then
look at it. Here are men doomed to death, saved alive;
that is something. Then here is a soil which, in the ruder
ages, nobody will cultivate without compulsion; and these
men are put to work upon it. I have said in former lectures, that hunger was a spur to activity.  To regular activity, to industry, other inducements may have been neces
sary. And although they may have been wrongfully or
crullely applied, yet it cannot but be grateful-looking
away from man's injustice to God's wisdom and goodness
-to see any good that has come out of evil.
In the next place, this translation of men from states of
barbarism and ignorance into more civilized communities,
has been a means sometimes has opened a school, however
unintentionally, for their improvement.   Civilization has
thus taken the wilder natures into its bosom, and, with however much imperfection and error, has performed the office
of education. The Thracian and German tribes experienced
that effect in the old Roman school: and there is one instance on record where the civilizing influence came from
the other side; for Herodotus tells us that the Lydians did
221 
ON TIIE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
that service to their Persian conquerors and masters. Butt
look at Africa.  Surrounded by a wall of darkness, and
filled with cruelty and blood; with no civilizing influence
in herself, as the story of ages has proved; what now do we
see?  Britain sends to her borders the man stealer, to tear
her children from  her bosom, and transport them to the
American colonies. It was a deed of unmingled atrocity;
compared with which, capture in war was generous and
honorable: the African king of Dahomey grows white by
the side of the Saxon slave-trader.  But what follows? The
African people in this country improve, and are now far advanced beyond their kindred at home. And now they begin to return; they are building a state on their native
borders, which promises to stop the slave trade with Africa,
and to spread light and civilization through her dark solitudes.  Was this the best means conceivable, to such an
end? No, but it was a means; and the best means possible
-man being left free to act his pleasure. Was it his design
to civilize Africa?  No, but God may overrule his action to
bring about that result.*
We have now examined the four great historic problems:
Polytheism and Idolatry, Despotism, War, and Servitude.
But these are all wrapped up and comprehended in another,
which is yet to be considered; and that is the prevalence
of error.  The place and part which error has had in the
world, and in the working out of the world's problem-this
more precisely is what we have to consider.
Some place and part it must necessarily have had.  For
although men 9mi,ht have just ideas of certain absolute truths,
and have had them-as of the beauty and rectitude of justice and benevolence-yet when they came to apply these
ideas to practice, to institutions in religion, in government;
*I cannot leave this subject without lifting up my hands and heart to the
great hope, that the way is now opened for purging our American soil from the
stain of slavery.  Many of us have long been asking how this was ever to be
done. At length we see the way. The slave system is destroying itself. The
madness of the slavemaster is breaking the chains of the slave.
222 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
to usages in war, or to the relations of man to man, it was inevitable that they should err. Whatplace, then, has this erring?
Now to some, the problem may present itself in this
way-that things should have been so ordered in Divine
Providence, that error should seem to have been better than
truth, polytheism than pure theism, despotism than equal
rule, servitude than freedom, war than peace. That error
should seem to have worked better than truth, wrong than
right-does it not appear to be a contradiction in ideas?
Does it not stamp the charge of essential falsity upon human
nature itself?
To this I reply, in the first place, that it is mainly a misstatement of the problem. The case is too broadly stated,
and only requires some analysis, to be relieved of its main
difficulty. In all the instances referred to, there has been a
mixture of truth and error. And it is the truth, and not the
error, in every case, that has been useful. Thus in religion;
the belief in an all-creating Power; the feeling that that
power was present in all nature and life; and the attempt
simply to express or body it forth in visible forms-all this
was right, and it was useful. Even the giving to this Power
"a local habitation and a name" for every place it occupied,
was, to a certain extent, right; it conveyed a juster idea, I
am tempted to say, than that extreme abstraction of thought,
which sees God nowhere. The excesses to which all this
went, the low and degrading forms of idolatry, the errors,
in short, were the things that were not useful. The essen tial strength of polytheism lay in the truths, and not in the
falsehoods it involved. So also with regard to superstition that men sliouldfear God, should feel that He is displeased
with evil; that He would punish evil-this was right:
and it was useful.  When it went too far, when  it cre ated an irrational terror; in so far, that is to say, as
it was false, it was not useful.  Then again that govern ment should be strong, and controlling, and, simply
as a form of government, despotic, was necessary and
beneficial. That political form is the best, the nearest to
223 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
right, which is best suited to the people to be governed.
And for a rude, ignorant, lawless people, a strong, central
controlling power is best. But the selfishness, injustice, and
cruelty with which it is often exercised, are not good, nor
do they work any good. The ideas of divine right in a
government, and of the duty of religious obedience to it,
could they be justly construed, are right and useful; and
they have worked usefully in all ages.  It is evident that
God meant that nations should have some kind of govern ment; for they cannot be nations, cannot be moral, peace ful, well-ordered communities, without it.  Government,
therefore, in a certain sense, is of God. What, then, has
been the error?  That of investing government with irre sponsible, unlimnlited power-that of consecrating its abuses,
worshipping its very tyranny, enthroning its very corrup tion. That part of absolute sovereignty has not been the use ful part. The truth has been good, but not the error.
Then, once more, with regard to war and servitude-in con sidering which, the question is about usages rather than
theories-certainly I do not say that evil has worked better
than good would have done. A war may be right-a battle to defend homes and households, to resist overwhelm ing wrong, to achieve a lawfiul freedom. Such a war does
good. It sets up and sanctifies with blood the great and
everlasting claim of right. Human blood is not too dear to
pour out for such cause. The names of Thermiopylse and
Salamis, of Bunker Hill and Yorktown and Fort Moultrie,
are watchwords to honor, to patriotic vigilance and selfsacrifice in all time. But wars of mere ambition and desire
of conquest, have another account to settle; the worse they
have been, the worse has been their influence; and any
good that has sprung from them has been incidental, and
has arisen in spite of them. And so in the subjection of
man to man-not the bad elements, but the good, have done
good; not injustice or cruelty, but kindness and care-the
superiority that has been humane and gentle. If you could
suppose that, not by human violence and injustice, but by
224 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the simple fiat of Providence, a rude, ignorant, nomadic
people was taken and transferred to the presence of a cultivated people, to be trained to regular industry and social
and spiritual improvement, you would say that was a good.
Thus I think that I see a great, a solemn, a Divine Providence extracting good out of all the conditions upon whiclh
humanity has fallen. I think that it becomes me to be
patient with what God has permitted. I look with awe
upon the sphere in which an Infinite Providence is working.
I think it is but reverent to seek for the good that is evolved
firom the dark and mysterious ways of Heaven, rather than
to look upon anything that Heaven permits, as altogether
dark and evil. I understand well enough what indignation
at evil and wrong, is; but I doubt whether that is the last
and best state of any thoughtful mind. I might rail at
the world, and heap wrath and scorn upon it; but I believe
that philosophy is better than satire. With a brotherly
consideration and sympathy and sorrow, must I take into
my heart the struggling fortunes of my kind. What mistakes, what errors, what crimes, what sufferings, what overwhelming floods of disaster, what a mournful train of evils,
filling the long track of ages! I must see something besides
this-something beside evil or the Evil One in the world.
I must see God in history; or I must not look at it at all].
But far be it from me, at the same time, to spread the
shield of this philosophy over any mistakes that now demand to be corrected, over any evils that now can be remedied.
That evil has been overruled for good in certain circumstances, is no argument for abetting or perpetuating it,
but the very contrary. In the calm and philosophic consideration of the past, I can have patience with its errors and
abuses; but patience with present evil and wrong, though
possibly  to some impetuous spirits it may need to be recommended, is a virtue scarce likely to need any general inculcation or enforcement. On the contrary, we are far too
liable t o acquiesce in established wrong, far too slow to ap
15
225 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
prehend the high point after which we should be reaching
and striving. Custom, habitude, even prejudice has its
uses; there wvould be no stability without it; but it would
be death, if it were not mlixed up with the element of progress. Therefore we need ever to hear the stirring words
of the reformer. The human mind must not stand still.
It cannot indeed forsake entirely "the old paths,"  nor
ought it to do so. But it must not stand still. Therefore,
I say, must the great word, Refor7n, be sounded out through
the world. It has been sounded out through all past ages.
It has been the trumpet call that has led on that grand
march of progress, whose steps are centuries; whose history is the history of all time; whose forces are every day
sweeping on with accelerated movement; and whose final
victory must be the redemption of the world from Idolatry
and Despotism, and War and Bondage and Error.
To trace this great movement in the world, will be the
object of the two remaining lectures.
226 
LECTURE XI.
HISTORIC VIEW OF HUfIANITY: HUMAN PROGRESS-THE
A GENCIES EMIPLO YED IN IT; THE HISTORY OF THO UGHT
-OF INSTITUTIONS-ANiD OF ACTIONS OR EVENTS.
WE have hitherto surveyed humanity in its fixed and
permanent conditions. We are now to contemplate it in
its grand movement.  Hitherto, that is to say, our studies
have been occupied with man simply as a being, subject to
certain principles and influences; and subject to them in
all ages; subject to them alike, though not in the same degree, at the beginning as now. We have considered, first,
the ultimate end evidently proposed in the creation around
us and within us, human culture; secondly, the fundamental
principle on which the end is to be achieved, moral freedom. Then, in five following lectures, we considered the
ministration to this end, first, of the physical creation, of
nature; secondly, of man's physical organization; thirdly,
of his mental and moral constitution; fourthly, of his complex nature, including the periods of life, society, sex, &c.;
and fifthly, of the occupation and arts of life-agriculture,
manufactures, trade, and the learned professions; and of
architecture, sculpture, painting, music, poetry, and literature.  In three more lectures we have considered certain
circumstances pertaining to the human condition and cul ture;  and circumstances  which are thought to involve
peculiar difficulty; as first, imperfection, effort, and peni tence; illusion, fluctuation, indefiniteness of moral attain ment, and bondage to the physical infirmities and appetites; 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
secondly, pain, hereditary evil, death; and thirdly, polythe ism, despotism, war, servitude, and error.
These are the subjects ill which I have endeavored to
interest you, in the ten previous lectures. In the two that
remain of the course, I wish to invite your attention to the
historic view of the human race; to single out some of the
leading traits that have marked its successive developments;
to contemplate-of course it must be in the most general
way-the story of the world from the beginning.
What was that beginning? What, may we suppose, was
the condition and character of the first inhabitants of the
earth?  With the purpose which I have in view, I have no
occasion to discuss the question whether the various races of
men had their origin in distinct stocks, created in different
parts of the world, or in the one pair in Eden. Were the
first created qnen, whether many or few, brought into exist ence in a state of high development-incarnate angels in
wisdom, knowledge, virtue; or in a state of infancy, ignorance, and weakness? The question is enveloped in thick
darkness; and with regard to it, we are left mainly to inference. Proceeding upon this ground, I adopt, for my part,
the theory of an infancy for mankind: I mean, of an intellectual and moral infancy. There is no evidence in the
Scripture record, whatever value or validity may be ascribed
to it, that Adam was advanced beyond that condition. We
are told that he was innocent at first-which he might be
in a moral infancy; and I find no mental act ascribed to
him but that of naming the animals-which is the first and
humblest step of thought. And I say that the natural inference from all we know, is, that the human race, like the
human individual, began its career in infancy. When I see
a tree growing through successive years, I naturally trace it
back to the sapling. When I see a river gradually enlarging as it flows, I justly conclude, not that it burst forth from
the earth at first a noble and majestic stream, but that it
began as a little rill. From the earliest recorded history of
the human race, we see a constant progress; and as we fold
228 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
low it back, step by step, we naturally trace it to a beginnin,g-to an infancy.
From this beginning, I say, to the present day, there has
been a progress; a gradual advancement in human culture,
character, know]edge; institutions, government, state of
society; religion, virtue, and happiness. I shall take this
for granted. I suppose that nobody denies it. It will be
the ground idea of these two lectures. It will not be, therefore, by analysis that I shall proceed; i. e., by taking the
multifarious facts of history and life, and tracing them up
to the one principle of progress, but by synthesis rather; i. e.,
assuming the principle of progress as lying at the root of
humanity, I shall speak of its actions and fortunes in successive ages, as the natural unfoldings of that principle.
The fact of progress will be equally made out on either
plan.
But I shall not attempt, after the manner of the German
philosophers, to construct the world out of an idea.  Fichte,
proceeding on Plato's doctrine of innate, seminal, worldproducing ideas-a doctrine often reproduced in the later
German philosophy —undertakes to deduce the epochs of
human development and history, in their necessary order,
from a certain principle. Hie conceives that things must
have unfolded themselves, according to a certain plan, which
he has wrought out in his own abstract contemplations. iHe
tells his auditors, that, as a philosopher, he is not concerned with the facts, but only with his theory. Hie plainly
says: "If the philosopher must deduce from the unity of
his presupposed principle, all the possible phenomena of
experience, it is obvious that in the fulfilmeit of this purpose, he does not require the aid of experience," and that
"he pays no respect whatever to experience." *  Hie says to
his hearers, in substance: " I see, I know, from the very nature of humanity, and from the very nature of things, that
the human race must pass through certain epochs. Two
principles lie at the bottom, reason and freedom. The end
* Fichte's Characteristics of the Present Age, p. 3.
229 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
is free self-culture. The epochs must be these: the first,
when reason is obeyed as an instinct; the second, when
despotic authority fastens itself upon the neck of this obedient reason; the third, when the human mind struggles to
free itself from this yoke-which is the present age; the
fourth, when reason shall reign as speculative truth; and
the fifth, when it shall reign as moral wisdom. Now I
shall draw out these epochs from the one principle of free
self-culture, as a matter of abstract reasoning; you will see
whether the facts correspond; that is not my concern."
I have thus referred to this work of Fichte-it is that on
" The Characteristics of the Present Age "-not only as very
curious and interesting, but as pursuing a method in direct
contrast to that which I propose.   For while I recognize
the law of progress as self-evident and certain-it being the
very nature of the mind and of all its faculties to expand
and advance, as much as it is of a tree to grow, or of a
stream to flow onward-I shall not attempt to deduce the
necessary results of this law, but to point out the actual
results.
It has been made to appear, I trust, in our previous lectures, that all the great laws of nature, of life, and of humanity, tend to promote, as their end, human culture.  As
the proper complement of this representation, which has
thus far been mostly applied to individual life, I wish now
to show how the whole course of history, the collective life
of the race, falls into accordance with it. For this purpose
I propose to take a cursory view of the leading processes,
cirrcumstances, and agencies which have contributed to this
result.
With the task I have before me, it is time that I should
have done with preliminary observations; but there are yet
two points which I must impress on your minds, even at the
risk of repetition; because in this matter they are the opposite poles of thought, upon which everything turns.
Two principles, then, I say, preside over the wor]ld-devel
opment; human sportaneity and Divine control.  When
230 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
you look back upon past ages, upon past races, upon the
heaving elements of the world's life, what impression do
they convey to you?  Do they not appear to you in disconnected fragments, in stupendous revolution, in wild and
almost fortuitous disorder? Do not the fortunes of men,
in this larger view, appear like a chaotic mass of accidents?
Bear in mind, then, on the one hand-do not merely say, but
see clearly, and fully admit, that in the working out of the
human problem, men must act their part fieely-ay, foolishlly, madly, distractedly, if you please; any way, so it be
freely done. In vain shall we look for any exact system of
arrangements by which everything can be said to have
helped on the race in the most direct way, to the most rapid
advancement.  No: it could not be so: the race must find,
and make, and work out its own way. Cruelties, butcheries, battles, murders, crushing oppressions, conflagrations
kindled by incendiary hands, the whelming of cities and
nations in fire and blood; these things could not be helped,
if man was to be free.  Nay, free thought by its natural
expanzsion, has burst asunder, age after age, the very frames
and fixtures in which it grew-the idolatries, despotisms,
false systems, cramping institutions; and much to the general advantage, though to much temporary harm.
But recollect, on the other hand, that things have never
been left to run their own wild course, free from Divine
control. In the very bosom of humanity are many checks,
placed there by a Divine hand. There is what M. Guizot
calls the "natural morality of man, which," as he truly
says, " never abandons him in any condition, in any age of
society, and mixes itself with the most brutal empire of
ignorance or passion." * MIen grow weary of wickedness,
and ashamed of degradation. One wonders sometimes that
human passion stops anywhere, but it does stop. One wonders that communities and nations, sinking lower and lower
into dissoluteness, do not sink to utter perdition; but there
are powers put forth to arrest their career. Powerful as
* Histoire de la Civilization en France, tome i., p. 262.
*~..
231 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
evil is, there are antagonist powers still stronger. There is
the WOE that evil brings; a flaming sword, set upon the
heaven-erected barriers and battlements of all times, for
the protection of the human race. And other messengers,
too, are sent forth; yet more distinct interpreters of the
Great Will above. Through ages of declension from virtue
and piety, ever from time to time, has rung out the stern
and  solemn voice of the reformner.   Some Moses, some
Menes or Confucius, some Zoroaster, some Socrates has
arisen to call back the forgetful world from its wanderings.
As Christians, we believe, also, in special interpositions for
the rescue of the world from evil and misery.
But this leads me to speak, as I propose to do in the pres ent lecture, of the agencies which have been employed for
the world's advancement. In considering these agencies, I
shall not confine myself to any one precise order in which they
have appeared, but shall be governed by that of time or
affiliation or natural precedence, as I may find convenient.
Thus the history of thouqht, in the first place, would take
the natural precedence over every other topic; because
thought lies behind all other agencies, and is the cause of
them. This great subject would naturally divide itself into
a history of philosophy and a history of public sentiment.
The first would embrace the theories of the few profound,
speculative thinkers; from Thales and Pythagoras down to
the present day. The second would occupy itself with the
pervading, the popular ideas, sentiments, and aims that have
prevailed in successive ages. The first has been the subject
of many treatises. The second has not, that I am aware,
been attempted in any work distinctly and exclusively devoted to it. It may be that the history of popular opinion
would be too multifarious and too vague for any such definite
treatment. But if the successive phases of public sentiment,
like the theories of philosophy, could be traced; if the
dominant thoughts that stirred in the bosom of the old
Assyrian civilization, of the Egyptial, the Phoenician, the
Hebrew, the Grecian, Roman, feudal, and modern civiliza
-....' ~
232 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tion, could be unfolded to me, I should better understand
the world and the problem of the world's life, than by any
other means whatever.
This history of human thought, both philosophic and
popular-you must see at once, how impossible it is that I
should deal with it here, except by the most general suggestions, even if I were ever so much qualified to do it.  But
consider, in this matter of mental development, how natural it is, and we may say certain, that every man's individual
life is a picture of the world's life.  Look at the natural
traits of individual life. In childhood, docility-receiving
impressions with little questioning of them, wilfulness and
waywardness controlled by authority; timidity, also-fears,
natural or superstitious: in early 2nanhood, the forming of
opinions, the struggling with questions, the liability to be
misled by false theories; premature judgments, and presumption and confidence, in the same proportion: in later
manhood, a correction of those errors, a larger knowledge
and experience, a settling down upon more simnple and certain bases of thought; more caution, more modesty, more
wisdom: in short, impressions for the jBrst period, assumptions for the second, solid results for the third; these are the
natural steps of individual progress. They have been the
steps of the world's progress. These are the steps, indeed,
which Auguste Comte has so laboriously traced out, under
the denominations, of what he calls, the theologic era, the
metaphysic era, and the era of the positive philosophy; i. e.,
in other words, the ages of superstition, of theory or assumption, and of the observation of facts; for, I think, his terms
are new, rather than his ideas of progress.
But let us look at the world's periods.  The first was
that of superstitious obedience, to whatever was taught or
established. It embraces the oldest Asiatic nations, together
with the Eg,yptians, and, indeed, all the rudest tribes of men
everywhere. Its grand characteristic is that of childlike
and implicit acquiescence in the existing system, in the
political or social order, as a Divine enactment. Whether
233 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
that order was caste, or subjection to a priesthood, or to a
patriarchal head, or to the king, it was never questioned
Kings were often slain by their rivals, but the people, in
those earliest days, seldom rose against them. We can hardly
comprehend, at this day, that absolute obedience.  And we
must not confound it with rational obedience, which is oine
of the latest fruits of the highest culture. It was unreasoning, instinctive obedience. And the lessons to be obeyed,
extended to everything;  to the daily action of life as
well as to political relations.   Men  took  their trade,
their occupation, from their fathers.   In India and Egypt,
it was assigned to them by the law of caste; but among all
rude people, the same principle has prevailed, though not
to the same extent. Then, in political relations, the chieftain, the king was priest also; and in that double character
was regarded with unbounded  awe, and had unbounded
power.  This was the childhood of the world.
The next period begins with Greece, and embraces Rome
and the whole of semi-civilized Eiurope in the middle ages.
It is the period in which thought began to be free. It is
the period of struggling theories; about philosophy, politics,
law, and the social relationships.   Thales and Pythagoras
-both of Phoenician origin, though born and brought up
(about six centuries before the Christian era) in the great
cities of Miletus and Samos-were the harbingers of this
second period in the history of human thought; but it burst
forth in morning splendor in the schools of Socrates and
Plato, and of Aristotle. INow one of the darkest problems
in the history of thought, is the apparent declension in
philosophy firom the time of Plato and Aristotle to the time
of Bacon; a period of about twenty centuries.   Platonismi
in the new Platonic schools of Rome and Alexandria, in the
second and third centuries, died out into mysticism and
pantheism.  Aristotle's system arose and flourished in the
eighth century, under the culture of Arabian philosophers;
and partly through the Arabian schools in Spain, and the
fostering care  of Charlemagne  and Alfred, it attained,
231 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
under the name of the scholasticphilosophy, to a firm lodg ment in the culture of Europe. It was less spiritual, less
elevating than that of Plato; yet it prevailed. It was full
of irrational hypotheses, and barren syllogisms and subtil ties; more fitted to exercise human thought, than to lead it
to any true knowledge.  Why then did it prevail?  May
we not fairly suggest, that it may have been better and
safer for the human mind in that stage of its culture, than
the philosophy of Plato?  Plato's philosophy, we see, was
abused; it declined into mysticism and pantheism! Aristotle's, more formal and mechanical, held its place more firmly.
And do we not see a type of this phase of the world-development, in onr own individual progress?  Is there not
a time ill our mind's life, between youth and later manhood,
when we are struggling, rather than attaining; when the
faculties, the tools of thought, are sharpening, rather than
l)building; or when their building is experimental rather
than final; when we are trying many things, many theories,
and do not yet find the track to clear and settled conclusions.  In politics, however, in the science of law, in ideas
of social justice, there was, at the same time, a great progress. And in this connection we must not forget that
grand achievement-the separation of the temporal and
spiritual powers.*   The union of political and spiritual
authority in the same hands, formed and established in the
ancient world the most solid and impregnable despotism.
Christianity set up a new thought in the world, that was
to reign over kings and emperors. It was the power, not of
an idol god, but of an omnipresent Divinity; not of a ceremonial function, but of a God-obeying conscience. In the
persons of the Christian priesthood, it separated itself fron
the temporal power, struggled with it, and at length gained
the ascendency.   When Pope Hildebrand, in 1077, sumnioned the Emperor of Germany, Henry VI., to Canossa, in
the Apennines, and made himi do penance on the cold mountain side for three days, before he would admit him to his
* Comte, Philosophie Positive, 54th lecture.
235 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
presence or give hinm absolution, the battle was fought and
won. Doubtless the religious power in its separate form was
enough abused, but its separation was a great step onward.
The third great period in the history of human thought
commenced with the sixteenth century. The revival of
learning, the protest of Luther, the invention of printing, the
discovery of America, nearly simultaneous, gave a new
spring to men's minds, and philosophy partook of the general movement. Under the guidance of Bacon, Leibnitz, and
their successors, it turned away from subtilties and the
ories, to real knowledge, and to its foundation principles.
For the last three centuries, then, the human mind, having
struggled out from the cloud-land of the middle ages, has
been advancinig on firmer ground aud in clearer light, and
to more decided and substantial results. It is the manhood
of the world.
I am sensible that this discoursing is too abstract and
cursory to be profitably pursued. But it may serve to convince you that there has been a progress in the highest
regions of thought; in that search for truth which touches
the vital springs of all human welfare.
Let me add a word on the progress of thought, as it appears in the form of public sentiment. And let it be considered that public, like individual opinion, will always be
working itself out into expression, into action.  Nlow the
progress of public sentiment through ages, has manifested
itself in a constantly increasing respect for freedom, for justice, for humanity. Let us dwell upon this last point for a
moment; for it covers the whole ground.
Civilization, says XI. Guizot, embraces two elements,
the improvement of society, and the improvemient of the
man; and the question, he says, which is to be put to all
events, is What have they done for the one or the other?
Of these two developments, hle further asks, which is the
end; and which, the means?  Was the individual made to
advance society, or society the individual? * And he quotes
* Histoire de la Civilization en Europe, tome ii. p. 23, 24.
236 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Royer Collard in favor of the latter view. Can there be
any doubt about it? Of course the actual tendencies are
reciprocal; general culture helps individual; the individual,
in turn, helps society. But if any one asks which is the
ultimate end, I say the culture of the individual soul.  Indeed, what is the development, improvement, perfection,
happiness of society, when analyzed, but that of individuals?
Society, like humanity, is a mere abstraction; only individuals have any actual being or fortune, weal or woe. Society is only a relation; man is the substance. Society
passes away; man is immortal. The family, tribe, commune, nation, state, is instrumental; man, final.  Society
can do nothing greater than to make noble and happy men.
But men can do something greater than to make noble institutions-to make themselves noble. It is beautiful to die
for one's country; but it is more beautiful, it is majestic, to
die for the right-for the sense of right in the lonely and
private heart.
Now the progress of the world, of society, of freedom,
of education, intelligence, literature, religion, has witnessed
a gradual development of conscious individuality, of the
worth of man, of the individual man.  It may be traced
down through successive institutions and ages.* Under the
ancient despotisms, Assyrian and Egyptian, still more in
China and India, the man was nothing. Society was strong;
but the man was nothing. Armies of hundreds of thousands
of men, with terrible unity, cohesion and force, swept over
the world; still the individual man was nothing but a particle of that destroying cloud. In the Roman time, man
was nothing but for the state. The sole thought of parental affection, yea, of the tenderest maternity, was, to rear
children for the state.  Christianity gave birth to individuality.  Feudalism permitted the great idea to grow.  Man
became free, and learned more and more that he was a man.
The consciousness of one's self has gone on developing ever
since, till, in these days, it is tending in some instances to
* To do this, was the favorite thought of Hegel in his Philosophy of History.
23'1 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY
isolation, to a sort of intellectual monachismin, to fastidious
peculiarities of thought and modes of speech, and almost to
self-apotheosis.  Its creed is a very short one: "I believe in myself;" and its practice equally brief: "I will live, in,
by, and for myself."
From the History of Thought, the next step naturally is
to the Iistory of Institutions; though they are closely con nected, and cannot, in our consideration of them, be entirely
separated.
And here, religion, by every right, (laims the first place;
by its dignity, its priority in time, and the extent of its in fluence.
This grand impress upon the world is a sublime testi iony to human nature. Religion was the dominant thought
of all the early ages. The sceptic, nay the atheist philoso pher of history and humanity, has been obliged to take it
into the verv heart of his theory; for no account can be
given of the world, without it.  But in the ancient world
especially, reilgion reigned supreme. It was the shadow in
every grove, the wind upon every shore, the waving harvest
in every field; the sunlit mountains were its burning altars; the deep-sunken glens and caverns its haunted chambers; its idols were in every house, its signet was upon
every hearthstone; birth and burial, feast and fight it
claimed for its own; it was the consecration of marriage,
the strength of government, the sanctitude of kingship; it
was the seal upon everything sacred; upon every oath and
covenant and bond in the world. Nay, and concerning the
more modern ages, the ablest judge on the subject, M.
(Guizot, says, that " until the fifteenth century, we see in Europe no general and powerful ideas, really acting upon the
masses, but religious ideas." *   " Yea," says Plitarch,
who stood a little this side of the dividing line between the
pagan and the Christian ages,+ and thus belonged to our
Christian era in time, though not in faith —" Yea, shouldst
thou wander through the earth, thou mnayest find cities
* Civilization in Europe, p. 307.
238
t Died abOUt A. D. 120. 
ON TIIE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
without walls, without a king, without houses, without coin,
without theatre or gymnasium; but never wilt thou behold
a city without a god, without prayer, without oracle, without sacrifice.  Sooner might a city stand without ground,
than a state sustain itself without religion.  This is the
cement of all society, and the support of all legislation." *
In religions ideas and institutions, it is hardly necessary
to show that there has been a constant progress from the
earliest ages; but its steps have been more marked than is
likely to be comprehended by the common and vague impression of the fact.  The first form-I except, of course,
from this account of the natural progress, the Itebrew system-the first form of religion that prevailed over the world
was Fetichlism; a word derived firom the Portuguesejfetieso,
mleaning a block, worshipped as an idol.  It prevailed over
all Asia and in Egypt; and was substantially the worship
of nature. It was the worship of nature, or of idols, the
monstrous births of nature; for the idolatry of these countries is widely to be distinguished from that of Greece. So
gross were the Oriental ideas, that the idol was sometimes
chained by the leg to his place in the temple, lest he should
leave it, and desert his worshippers. The idols were ugly
and misshapen, often huge and monstrous; like the statue
of Nebuchadnezzar, fifty cubits (about one hundred feet)
high, or like the colossal Sphinx at Gize in Egypt, one hundred and fifty feet long, and sixty-three feiet high.  The
Sphinx, you knrow, was in the form of a human head on the
body of a lion-humanity, as one has said, looking out from
animalism. Indeed, the Egyptian, as a worship of animal
life, was an advance upon the mere worship of material
nature; and was an approach-was a " looking out," perhlaps we miay say-to the Grecian development.  This, the
Grecian development, wvas the second step, and was the
worship of deified human attributes; the worship, that is to
say, of the gods under these 6representations; for we are always to understand this by the worship, as it is called, of
* Quoted from the Biblical Repository, vol. ii. p. 259.
239 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
outward forms. The Greek worship formed its symbols of
the Divinity, by an idealizing, not of nature, but of humanity. That is to say, it was distinctively this; for much,
doubtless, of the old Oriental worship was left; it is always
to be remembered that much of the spirit of every previous,
flows into the succeeding age. The Greeks, then, deified
humanity; the most illustrious men they had known, represented their idea of God; and they made their idols in the
most beautiful human forms. It was a step onward. Next,
the Romans abjured idolatry entirely. This trait the better
prepared them for the further and last great religious step
in the world, the introduction of Christianity. Christianity
has presided over all the best culture in the world, since its
advent. It has itself passed through successive stages of
development and improvement. That is to say, its principles have been better and better understood.
But before speaking more particularly of Christianity,
let us turn a moment to consider the place which the Hebrew religion has held in the world.
There is scarcely anything that is so urgently demanded
in our literature, as a work which will justly discriminate
and fairly present the claims of the Hebrew system to our
attention and veneration.   The Bible is regarded by a part
of the world, as a literal record of the words of God-a
theory which precludes all free appreciation; and by another part, as a book of old and useless stories, and formal
and antiquated writings-a presumption that altogether
overlooks its true character.  For here is a book that stands
out, amidst the darkness of antiquity, in bold relief and
unchallenged superiority, to everything around it. Hlere,
in the first place, is the most valid history of the earliest
known period of the world; of the time before the flood.
Here, in the second place, is a record of the most liberal
polity of ancient times. There was nothing among surrounding nations to compare with the freedom of the Hebrew State.   Here, in the third place, is the sublimest
poetry of the ancient, if not, indeed, of any time.   Some
240 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
of the ablest critics have agreed to assign to the Book of
Job and the writings of Isaiah, a place, not only above the
Indian Mahabarat, but above the Iliad itself. And in the
fourth place, here are writings, of such lofty spiritualism
and devotion, that they not only leave all contemporary
records far behind, but have been the food of piety and the
language of prayer, among the most enlightened nations, to
the present day.  Compare the prayers in the Zend-Avesta
and the Iliad with those of David-and they are all nearly
contemporaneous-and you must feel that David soared far
above them all.
Such a system of lofty spiritualism, moral wisdom, and
civil polity could not faiil to have some effect upon the surrounding  nations.  Indeed, M. Auguste  Comte himself,
though far enough from recognizing any element of supernaturalism in the Hebrew system, is disposed to ascribe to
it, the initiative and leading part in the great transition of
the world from polytheism to the worshin of one God.* The
position of the Hebrew State favored such an influence.  It
stood in the centre of the most ancient civilizations; with
Assyria on the one hand, and Phlenicia and Egypt on the
other.  At a later day, it was a central province of the
Roman Empire. And, as if its office were meant to be diffusion, the Hebrew State was never at any time, a locked-up
and impregnable kingdom. It was frequently overrun by
the armies of Egypt and Assyria and Rome; many times
they desolated and despoiled the Holy Temple; yet they
found there no idol nor idol-worship, but only a simple altar
to the one, invisible God. They dashed it in pieces, indeed,
with idolatrous rage; but they must have felt the sublimity
of the symbol and the worship. So little, in truth, did the
Hebrew theocracy exist for its own sake; so much for the
lifting up of a standard of pure theism to the nations, as
the Hebrews themselves were often told, that they were
reared as apeople in Egypt, and were more than once carried into captivity into Assyria. Not for national aggran              * Philosophie Positive, vol. v., p. 290, 291.
16
241 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
dizement did the Hebrew State exist, but for the diffusion
of higher truths than the world had elsewhere attained, and
thus to prepare the way for a still higher and purer religion.
This was Christianity. The crisis of its advent and the
consequences must occupy some attention, even in the most
cursory notice of the world's progress.
The old religions were worn out. The Asiatic and Egyptian worship of nature had given place to the Grecian
mythology, and to this had succeeded the Roinan latitudinarianism, and indifference. Though abjuring idolatry, Rome
admitted the gods of all nations indifferently into her pantheon, and her philosophers believed in none. The observation of Cicero is familiar to you, that the very priests could
not help laughing in one another's faces, as they celebrated
the sacred rites. All faith was fast dying out of the world,
and where faith is dead, nothing lives.
Then it was that Christianity came, as we may say, to
the world's rescue: and many circumstances favored its introduction. I do not choose to say, as most writers do, that
Providence especially prepared these circumstances; they
arose in a natural way; the facilities of communication
opened by the extent of the Roman Empire, language and
law, the prevalence of peace, the failure of polytheism, and
the despondency of philosophy, all favored the new religion.
Occasion was taken from these circumstances, we may
doubtless say: it was " the fulness of time."   But what I
wish especially to mark is tile crisis in civilization. Civilized society, to which the rescue came, was about to sink
under the weight of its own inherent vices. The life of the
world had been gathered up in Rome, to one central point;
the limbs had been drained to fill the heart to repletion;
and now that destruction threatened it from very plethora
and consequent gangrene and corruption;  now, too, that
the Goth and the Vandal were coming to pierce it, that
mighty heart was about to burst in deluges of blood. It
had been an awful problem for any philosopher of those
242 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
days, any Cicero or Plotinlus, to consider, how, from that dark
and mysterious abyss into which humanity was descending,
it should emerge-how, and in what form  and character.
But there was a power coming to help and to rescue, of
which the philosophers knew  nothing.  Christianity descended with the world into that awful abyss, where the
wild torrents and stormy winds of human passion were
struggling together in the night-brooding chaos; and that
heavenly Guardian and RPestorer brought it up again to
stand on a firm basis.  For then it was that the spiritual
powers, the dread sanctions, and the imposing ceremonies of
the Christian religion, awed the rude invader. Then it was,
that its mitred bishops clothed themselves with the office
of the civil magistrate, to restrain the lawless. Then it was,
that its monasteries preserved the treasures of the ancient
learning.  Then it was, above all, that the one great idea
arose in the world, to reign over all after ages-the Christ,
the divinest being that ever appeared in the world, and the
most human; divine to inspire reverence, human to win
confidence; and suffering, in such wise, as to touch the springs
of love and pity through all time. And it did touch the
hearts of men.  It transtbrmed many fiom earthly baseness,
into confessors, saints, and martyrs. And it is a circumstance to which I wish to call your particular attention, that
the lives of these holy men became the popular literature
of the world, from the sixth to the eighth century.  The
profane literature had disappeared; and these Lives of the
Saints took its place. The Collection of Bolland, a Belgian
Jesuit, with its continuation, consists'of fifty-three volumes
of these Lives.  I wish I had time to recite to you some
of these legends of the early Christian saints.  They were
often extravagant; but they contained some of the most
beautiful pictures of heroism, self-sacrifice, and saintly pity
and care for the poor and suffering, that can be found in
any literature of any age. And these, amidst the wild
license and cruelty of barons and robbers, were the good
Christian legends that circulated among the people.*
* Guizot, Histoire de la Civilization en France, 16e et 17o legons.
243 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
And thus, amidst the corruptions and vices of succeeding
times, Christianity has ever stood forth as the image of
purity and goodness. It has not been, as in the ancient
heathen time, when the religion was no better than the
morals of the people. Ever in the Christian ages, there has
been an ideal, drawing on to something better. And thus
Christianity has ever been impressing itself more and more,
upon Governments, upon social institutions, and upon art.
It has made Governments more just and tolerant. It has
built hospitals and asylums on the sites of voluptuous baths
and bloody amphitheatres. It has formed worshipping
congregations, built for them temples for meditative thought,
for instruction-a thing unknown to other religions; an
institution, indeed, of almost inappreciable  value.   And
what but the Christian idea, has been imaged forth in the
architecture of Europe; in its solemn temples, its majestic
cathedrals, its time-hallowed universities?  And what is it,
that is spread in forms of living beauty upon the walls of
Italy? It is the great Christian idea. The moving incidents of the Christian story, and the sublime virtues of
Christian confessors and martyrs, are there portrayed before
the passing generations.
I cannot dwell longer upon the institutions that have
advanced the world, and must come, in the third place,
to actions and events. Ideas, institutions, actions-this is
the order of my discourse; and I am obliged to content
myself with the mention of only some instances under each
head.
As I shall pass from the agencies employed in the
world's progress, to consider in my next and last lecture, the
actual steps of it, I shall reserve several points under the
head of action, for the places into which they naturally and
chronologically fall; and I shall take up in this lecture, only
somie of those movements of a general character which hlave
occurred occasionally and indifferently in all ages.
The first is Colonization. The great, peaceful colonizers
of the world-for the military colonization practised by
244 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Rome and Russia does not come under our present view -
have been Phcenicia and Greece, England and Holland:
Phenicia having had colonies in Spain and Northern Afi'ica;
Greece, in Asia Minor and Southern Italy; and England
and Holland, in the East Indies and in America. This
swarming of the hives of men, has always been attended
with certain advantages to the cause of civilization and
progress.  Hieeren says, "it is from the bosom of colonies
that civil liberty, nearly in all ages, has set forth." * It is
easy to see that colonization is likely to be an emancipation
from many prejudices and many inconvenient usages at
home.  Men, in a long-established order of society, become
weary of burdensome and cramping institutions, long before
they can get rid of them. They have improved ideas which
they desire to put in practice; and when founding new
comnimunities, they are certain to do it. Our own forefathers,
indeed, came to this country with that distinct purpose; and
in consequence, they abolished all state religion, all orders of
nobility, and all irresponsible government.
The next great movement which I shall mention, is invasion. By this I do not mean international war, to settle
some temporary quarrel, but those immense tides in human
affairs, by which either barbarism has poured itself down
upon the seats of civilization to settle itself there, or civilization has invaded barbarism to uproot and supplant it.
Of the first kind, was the invasion of India and Persia from
the central mountain land of Asia, and of the Roman
Empire from Northern Europe and Tartary. Of the second,
are the remarkable movements of the present day-of Rus
sia upon Tartary and Circassia, of France upon Northern
Africa, and of England upon Southern Asia.
IHere opens an awful page in human affairs, written in
blood and blackened with many atrocities and miseries, and
we must pause to consider it.  And  everything, depends
upon our standpoint.  If we demand some artifcial, best
culture for the human race; if we permit ourselves to say
* Historial Researches-Asiatic Nations, vol. i., p. 303.
215 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
-why was it not carried forward in civilization, with the
fewest blunders, troubles, and sufferings, and all accord ing to some factitious ideal of our ovwn?-we shall meet
with a confounding problem.  But let us say, here is a race
made as it is made, and, as we are bound to think, wisely
made, and of necessity left mainly to work out its own
way; and firom this standpoint, what do'we see'? Nations,
in fertile realms, like Persia and Italy, grow in wealth, com fort and luxury, and sink into indulgence, licentiousness,
baseness of every sort.  Every tendency is downward, and
there is no internal power or life to bring them up. Injus tice, cruelty, and corruption cry to heaven for their destruc tion; and moral debility, waste, and woe have left no argu ment on earth for their continuance.  The cup of iniquity
and misery is full; and the rudest barbarism is better and
happier, than this effete, worn-out, blighted civilization.
Theni, from the founts of primeval nature, are collected
the mountain streams, that pour a new life through the cor rupted channels of the old society.  The streams are turbid
and violent indeed; but after the first rush is over, and they
have swept the choking filth from the old channels, they
become in time calmer and purer. The elements that compose the new civilization, are better than the old.  In fact,
the better part of the old are retained. For the barbarian
cannot understand the effeminacy, the sloth, the luxury, the
artificial vices into whose presence he conmes; but the visible improvements, the comfortable dwellings, the useful
arts, and even t!le institutions and laws, he, in a measure,
comprehends and partly adopts.
He is improved.  But now at length, he too sinks into
debility and corruption, and is prepared to share the fate of
his predecessors. And certainly, if this terrible revolution
in the wheel of fate, by which another invasion is to cast
hini out and sweep him away-if this, I say, were but mlere
repetition, without any progress, the problem of all human
history would be as dark as ever. But the contrary is the
undoubted fact. The experiment is not in vail. The new
246 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
civilizations that arise are ever better, and have been growing better through all ages.
Let us now turn to the counter movement of civilization
upon barbarism. The most remarkable instance of this is
the establishment of the British power in India. It is the
most stupendous spectacle of an age, full of wonders. Within a century past, more than a hundred millions of barbarous people-the number is now said to amount to 150,000000-a population greater than that of the Roman Empire
in the time of Claudius-spreading over twenty-seven degrees of latitude,* and almost as many of longitude, from
Cape Comorin to the Himalaya Mountains, and from Persia
to the Ganges-has come under the ascendency of the
highest civilization in Europe. Commenced by a company
of merchants, and carried on by a people fromn the other
side of the world, nothing could have been more unintentional or improbable than the result of this movement.
That in this stupendous march of events, great suffering,
great wrong has been inflicted; that princes and nations
have been trampled under foot, cannot be denied. And
yet it has not been a course of mere reckless and ruthless
conquest.   Miany of the Indian princes have been taken
under British protection at their own instance; many others
have met with subjugation as the reward of unjust aggressions on their part. And the English are not a people to
let oppression in their name, go unchallenged; as the trial
of Warren Hastings, Air. Fox's East India Bill, and many
other parliamentary interpositions, show. Theyhave labored,
at the same time, to suppress many abuses and to spread
education amnong the people.
The effects must be immense, must be incalculable; and
they must be good. For two thousand years India has
made hardly a step forward; bound in the chains of politi cal despotism, of a religion at once dreamy, cruel, and de grading, and the fatal institution of caste. All this is des tined to give place to Christian order, law, religion, and
*From 8~ to 35.
247 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
society. Where Alexander with his armies, and Mohammedan
conquerors, and Tamerlane with his Mongol hosts, swept
like a destroying cloud, leaving behind them the same sterile
immobility and death which thev found-in that land a new
realm is rising, with the seeds of a new life in it.
Meanwhile England is spreading her influence far, both
to the east and west of India. Already she meditates a
land route by railroad from the Mediterranean to Hindoos  tan, through the plains of the Euphrates and Tigris; and
that fallow ground of the old Assyrian Empires, which has
lain waste for ages, is to be turned into a fruitfl field, busy
with thronging life, by the ploughslhare of modern civiliza tion. England seems destined to regenerate entire Southern
Asia, from the Mediterranean to the China Sea. What a
magnificent mission for that Island Queen!
There is one further topic, to which, but for fear of ex haustinig your patience, I should give some space in this
lecture: and that is political Revolutions, or more exactly,
popular resistance to arbitrary power. Insurrections of the
people against the government are seldom aroused without
a cause; when successful, they are usually followed by ben eficial changes; and even when they fail, they often do
good service to the cause of liberty and justice. It is to this
last point, as the darkest in the case, that I shall direct your
attention in close.
The burden of the case, so to speak, usually rests, as we
survey it in history, upon the sad fate of conspicuous individuals; for they are ordinarily the victims.  Ever since
history began the record of human struggles for justice and
for progress, we see that the rack and the scaffold, the market place and the battle field, have been stained with the
blood of the free and strong hearted, of patriots and mnartyrs,
of men who died nobly, because they could not live ignobly.
To any high and heroic sensibility, it is the saddest and
most agonizing spectacle in the world.
But the moving story, that stirs our blood with indigna.
tion and pity when we read it, does not end here. No,
248 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
there is another account to be made of deeds like these.
Haughty power has its day, and martyred heroism has its
day-ay, and it sets in darkness and blood; but, that day
past, and they change places forever. Forever hallowed
and dear to all mankind is that martyred heroism. Every
drop of innocent blood that ever tyranny and injustice have
shed, has been sprinkled upon the heart of the world, as
upon an altar, to cause the flame of indignant virtue to
motunt higher. No such weapon was ever formed on earth
to sustain the right, no such weapon to beat down the
wrong, as the battered sword of martyred patriotism. Separated from all earthly dross in the furnace of tyranny, forged
on the anvil of hard injustice and oppression, and tempered
in holy blood, it is lifted up as a standard before the eyes
of all mankind.
Nor let it be thought that things like these, are buried
in obscurity; as the tyrant would have the names of his vietills.  Somie of us perhaps, never heard of the Duke of
Alva and of the Count Egmont-the one, the brutal Spanish commander in the Low Countries; whose cruelties were
such, that he drove a hundred thousand people from their
country, and boasted that he had caused the publlic execution
of eighteen thousand persons; and the other, a young nobleman-the Count Egmont-otherwise to have been unknown
in history, whom he sent to the scaffold: but all Germany,
all Europe has heard of them; of the one for execration, of
the other for pity; the pen of genius has written their
names on everlasting tablets; in history, in ballads, in dramatic story, they are known, and will be, to the end of the
world.
But we all have heard of the heroic Wallace of Scotland. From indignant resistance to the English soldiery
stationed in his country, lie was led to armed assertion of
her rights; and after many darinig actions, he was defeated
through the jealousy of the Scottish nobles, and by the coinmmand of Edward I. was beheaded and quartered in the
English capital. With grief and indignation we read the
249 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
story. We sympathize with the lonely sufferer, torn from
his country and his home, and sinking to his doom amidst
exulting crowds of enemies.  But there is another award far other than that of the English court and the London
of that day. Suppose that behind that hostile crowd had
risen an amplhitheatre, on which were seated a hundred
thousand spectators, all execrating the deed, and lauding
and glorifying the victim of arbitrary power. He, alas!
saw no such majestic amphitheatre, but only murderous foes
around him.  Yet how feebly would that crowded theatre
represent the verdict of posterity! How do the ranks of
ages on ages rise, to take the victim's part; ay, to the end
of time-to celebrate, through all time, with song and paean
and dramatic scene and historic story, his nobleness and
heroism! Yes, it is such, in their melancholy but glorious
fate, that fire the hearts of millions, with new indignation
at wrong, with new enthusiasm for the right. It is such,
in their melancholy but glorious fate, that are the noblest
teachers of all mankind.   Chairs of philosophy, pulpits,
forums, thrones, sink to the dust before them.
iThe difference between the faint approval which contemporaries give to virtue, and the decisive and loud award of
posterity, is strikingly evinced by a passage in Herodotus,
concerning Aristides. Hierodotus was born in the very year
of the banishment of Aristides from Athens-i. e., 484 years
before the Christian era.  Speaking of that event, Herodotus uses this language: " He was banished by a vote of
the people, although my information induces me to consider
him as the most upright and excellent of his fellow citizens." *  "My information induces me to consider him "is the cautious language of the time: while the ages have
rung with the title of the " Just,,' appropriated without
doubt or hesitation to the name of Aristides; while every
language, every literature, every writing of human speech,
from the schoolboy's theme to the sage's thesis, has repeated
the eulogium; and while, moreover, the name of Themis
* Book viii., sec. 79.
250 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tocles, the adversary of Aristides, the most successful man of
his day-proclaimed by all Greece the greatest general at the
battle of Salamis, but worldly wise, wily, and unprincipled
-while that name, I say, wins no good verdict from posterity. There stands the little day's vote of Athens, on one
side; and the verdict of sixty generations of mnanklind on
the other.
It has been thought wrong, to desire martyrdom; but I
can think of no death so much to be coveted, as, after having
lived a heroic life, to consummate all in one bright example,
which, at no more cost than an hour's pain, shall send light
and power through the world. This is heaven's commission
to suffering innocence. This is heaven's vindication of its
bitter pain. The lowliest sigh from the valleys of Piedmont,
is echoed from distant continents. One glance from the
dying martyr's eye, flashes through the ages.  Small cost
for such stupendous purchase! Little to do and to suffer,
for so much to follow! That little done, is worth the world
beside. Let us not despair at the dark pictures which lhistory spreads before us. From that darkness is the brightest
flashing out of heroic virtue. In the dark cloud is embosomed a splendor, that outshines the common light of day.
Ay, and but for the gathering storm, that sometimes closes
around the noblest men that the world ever saw, their virtues had never been signalized nor clothed with honor and
beauty for the admiration of all mankind.
251 
LECTURE XII.
HISTORIC VIEW OF HUMANITY: IUMAN PROGRESS-THE
STEPS OF IT.
I HAVE considered in my last lecture, some of the great
agencies, by which human progress has been promoted. I
propose now to trace the steps of this progress.  A few preliminary observations may prepare us to take a juster view
of it.
There are difficulties, in many minds, about the world's
life, which do not press equally upon individual life. Many
feel that in their personal experience and lot, moral laws are
revealed, and that things are tending to moral issues; that
there really is a high purpose in their own life.  "But to
what end," they say, " have the wild, warring, slaughtering,
struggling nations lived? This wide waste and desolation
which history spreads before us-this confused turmoil of
follies and crimes-what necessity has there been for it?
What good has come of it?" Such is the view which
they take of the past life of the human race, that they are
almost ready to feel, in the spirit of the Manichean philosophy, as if the domain of the world had been divided between good and evil spirits; ay, and had been given to the
evil more than the good. Nay, there are those who say
that man is but an animal, sprung from the ape; and
stamped with animalism in his whole embryotic development
Now suppose it were true, that humanity is a develop 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ment from animalism. Yet even upon this theory, as upon
every view of the world, one fact is found to be involved in
the whole history of humanity; and that is thefact ofprogress.  Everywhere, from the beginning, through all ages,
there has been progress. If, indeed, the race had been running down, or if it had stood stationary amidst its struggles
and sufferings, then must we have given it up to the scorn
of the satirist or of the false philosopher. Then had our
problem found no solution. But progress redeems all, pays
for all; shows that in all things, however dark and mysterious, there has been a good intent and tendency, a good
Providence, ruling all,
"From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression."
This, it is our present design to trace and show.
And we may observe that this order of progress has presided over successive productions and races on earth, before the
appearance of man. There were, unknown ages ago, mlonstrous amphibious creatures; nameless when they lived, for
there was none on earth to name them; and it has been left
to the present age to classify them-the ichthyosaurus, the
megatherium, the megalonyx-names that seem monstrous
and fabulous like themselves; but they have lived. Then
appeared more perfect animals; then man. The vegetable
products, too, kept pace with the needs of animal life.
When those amphibious monsters were seventy feet long,
when there were such swarms and clouds of insects, that
their fossil remains formed quarries and mountains of rock,
then our common fern and brake shot up seventy and eighty
feet high. Not till man was brought upon the scene, perhaps, were created "the grass, the herb yielding seed, and the
fruit-tree, yielding fruit after his kind." And Mr. Agassiz
says, that no fossil remains of roses are found, of a date
prior to the advent of man. Let me add in passing, that
these discoveries of modern science do not conflict with the
Mosaic account of the creation; since, in a just construe
253 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
tion, the'" days" there spoken of, are not to be taken for
periods of twenty-four hours; certainly not the first period,
which was before the sun is represented as measuring the day;
but for a term of indefinite length; during which the earth
was "without form and void;" not yet prepared and beautified for the abode of man.
But the important observation is, that in all progress, the
past has ever been preparing for the future; and in the progress of rational beings, that the future is ever borrowing
wisdom from the past. Tradition, historv, experiment, are
ever spreading before mankind the facts, from which they
are perpetually drawing almost unconscious conclusions.
With the philosophic observer, however, they are not unconscious, but plainly traced out.  The work which John
Adams wrote in defence of our political Constitution and
for the guidance of our Revolutionary times, was founded
altogether upon the experience of nations.  In matters of
practical wisdom, it is only by experience that we truly
know anything; quantum sumus, scim9us; and only so it is,
that the world knows or can know. It is striking to see,
how one political truth after another, slowly rises out of the
bosom of past ages of experience;  first, that the people
must share the government, to make it safe and just; and
with this conviction, falls the divine right of kings: next,
that the people's interest in the government, must be expressed through representation, through suffrage; and with
this, sinks a hereditary nobility: then, on some experience
of the representative system, that majorities may tyrannize;
and the sanctity of numbers begins to be called in'question,
the rights of minorities to be insisted on, and the necessity
asserted, of intelligence, of education; nay, more, of
virtue, of mutual regard, of reverence for the Supreme
Lawgiver.
Thus great principles take their place with us, as familiar
truths; and we almost forget whence they have come, and
what they have cost. Our commonest beliefs are the fruit
of ages of experiment. They are familiar, and we imagine
254 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
that they were easily acquired. We cannot look " to the
rock whence they were hewn, nor to the hole of the pit
whence they were digged." We think them intuitions; but
the truth is, the steps of centuries have led to them; the
pathway of generations has been opened, through mountains and through deserts, through flood and fire, to bring
down to us the precious heritage.
Yet further, I must pray you, not to look at the material
in this world alone, but at the spiritual yet more. Not as
a dull, obstinate, intractable world, must we see'it, but as
God's ever-renewed and instant work; not as a mass of
matter and sense and corruption, but as penetrated all
through and forever with spiritual rays; not as darkness
and gloom, chaos and night and storm, but as the theatre
and story of a heavenly order; not, if I may say so, as if it
were that dull, familiar place which we call the world; for
which we have no respect because it is familiar; as the
husbandman unwisely has none for his farm, because he has
always trodden it and toiled upon it; but rather should we
look upon this world, as some vast repository of life, some
fair planet, rolling through the heavens, and bearing, midst
light and shade, midst change and struggle, midst varying
forms of development-Celtic, Saxon, Slavonic, Gothic, and
African-its infinite burden of human joy and sorrow:
concerning which we would know, as far as we may know,
the divine history of God's providence over it.
But there is one further preliminary point, to which in
this connection I wish more particularly to draw your attention; and that is, that the progress of the world has been
a purpose and a plan above all human sagacity; inasmuch
as it has been carried forward by man, while acting in total
unconsciousness of any such instrumentality.
It has been justly observed, that in some views, animal
instinct is a clearer proof of Divine direction, than human
reason. Reason acts for itself. Within a certain sphere, it
seems to act independently of the Power that made it. Instinct, on the contrary, is the mere vehicle of an intention
255 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
acting through it. Unconscious tendencies in human na.
ture, bear a similar character. And it is by these mainly
that the world has been advanced. Men, nations, genera tions, have not purposely combined to secure its progress.
No grand council, amphictyonic or ecclesiastic, Grecian or
Roman, ever sat down and solemnly resolved that the world
should improve. If there was such a design from the beginning, and if it has been steadily kept in view, it has
come from a thought behind all, and above all; it has been
God's design, and not man's. And in point of fact, it has
been a purpose, not of man's, but of God's creation; it has
been a purpose, aided, as we Christians believe, by Divine
interposition; it has been, as I have said, a purpose accomplished by man while acting in total ignorance of it; and it
has been a purpose, too, accomplished in spite of man.
But it was especially of human unconsciousness in this
matter, that I proposed to speak. A French writer, M.
Hello,* has devoted an entire work to the illustration of this
point, in the history of France. He contemplates the elements of national progress, as social, territorial, and political.
Thus under the tirst head, he says, that the gradually increasing freedom of the mass of the people, the circumstances that aided it, the pecuniary needs of kings which east
them upon the help of the people, the means provided by
which the cities bought their privileges; and hence the
rights of property, the value of labor, and the increasing
dignity of labor-that all this did not come from any design
of man, but from God. Then ag,ain, with regard to the
territorial element-to hold together an immense empire
like France, he says, some principle, some power was necessary, some permanent bond of union. What should it
be?  Perhaps there was no other possible in that country,
but a metropolitan city; the centre from which should radiate the great routes to the extremity of the kingdom; to
which everything should be subordinate; to which all the
world should resort. Such is the great central city of that
* Philosophie de l'histoire de France.
256 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
empire; and when it is said that "Paris is France," the importance of this may be more than its import in the common speech of men. I have sometimes felt, for myself, that
this relation of the imperial city was a great hardship to
the provincial towns and districts; but I confess that this
view of it has put a different aspect upon the matter. But
what has given to the central city this preeminence?  Not
the intention of those who founded it, but the course of
events, the force of circumstances-in other words, the providence of God.  A similar course of observations conducts
the writer to a like conclusion with regard to the political
element, the government; which has been gradually changed
and improved by struggles between the king and nobles
and people, mainly of a personal character, and having little
reference to the general good.  "Modern Europe," says M.
Guizot, "is born of the struggles of different classes of society."  Society has wrough]t out these changes; but society
did not know what it was about.
This view, which M. Hello takes of his country's history, is a good, a religious, and you will think perhaps, a
somewhat remnarklable view of things, for a French philosopher; and I was willing to spread it before you.
But the same view may be extended to the entire history of the world. Its progress has been carried forward
by many agencies that were unconscious of their high mission.
He who discovered the mariner's compass, hlie who invented the art of printing, they who perfected the steam
engine, little thought, perhaps, what instruments they were
putting into the hands of humanity, for advancing its great
end. Each one developed his own genius, followed his own
taste in his individual sphere; in his privacy, he held the
thread of inventive thought; in his humble workshop, he
pursued his task; but the eye of Providence looked upon
that work, and saw those narrow walls burst asunder, and
the wide world, pervaded, illuminated, revolutionized by
17
257 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the ingenuity of that dream'ug recluse-a Gutenberg or
Faust, a Fitch or Fulton, a Watt or Arkwright!
In like manner, science has owed its triumphs mainly,
to the simple love of knowledge, to single-hearted enthusiasm. But the secrets of nature which it has unfolded, the
unsuspected powers which it has developed from the earth,
and the wisdom which it has drawn from the skies, have
united to bear the world onward, though Newton, "childlike sage," and Davy, torlch bearer in the dark earth-mines,
thought of but little, perhaps, besides their studies.
And so it has been with men of genius, those masters of
human thought, that they hlave labored, not for influence,
but for utterance-not for fame, but for truth. Genius is the
grandest power on earth; for in its highest form it is religious as well as intellectual; and yet it has been well said,
that it is as remarkable for its unconsciousness as for its
energy.  The eloquent thoughlt, the epic story, the lifeimaging drama, have come firom depths of self-devAelopment,
far beneath-all calculation of results.
And why has not thlou,it terminated ill itself?  Why
has it not ministered only to its own improvement, died in
its own bosom? Why are the noblest emanations of human
genius, running on glorious errands through the earth, and
to the ends of the world?  Is it not evident that God has
made man thus to act on man, for the general enliglihtening
and advancement?  If the imperial m-inds in this magnificent empire of thought, were conscious of their appointment
and mission, then the plan and the intent were plain; but
how much more striking is it, when just in proportion to
their efficiency, has been their tnconsciousness of the glorious ministration for which they are raised up!
But it is time that I shloulLd proceed, as I proposed, to
take a brief survey of the actual course of things, the steps
of human progress.
The first two thousand years are very dark, in every
sense; whether as history to be studied, or problem to be
solved.  A wild wandering over the earth, as far as we can
258 
ON TIlE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
judge-nmen nomadic-hunlters, shepherds; 1no civilization,
at least, capable of makling any record of itself.
The infant school of the world had rude teachers-cold
and hunger and nakedness and need and peril were its teachers.  The early cosmogonies represented the earth, when it
first became the abode of man, as a scene of disorder and
misery. Diodorus the Sicilian speaks of the trees, plants,
animals, and man himself, as springing from the mud warmed
by the sun, and pictures the first men as brutish and weak.
Heraclit-us, according to Plutarch, imagined the original
habitable earth to have been but a miass of cinders, left by
volcanic fires. Plutarch himself gives his opinion in the
touching picture which he draws, of a mlan of the earliest
period, addressing those of later ages: " Oh! how are you
cherished of the gods,"' hlie says, " you who live now! Ilow
fortunate is your tiime! The fertile earth yields'you a thousand fruits; all nature is engaged but in giving you delights
but ouir birthtime was mournful and sterile; the world was
so new, that we were in want of everything; the air was
not pure; the sun was obscured; the rivers overflowed
their banks; all was marsh and thicket and forest; the
fields were not cultivated; our misery was extreme; we
had neither inventions nor inventors; our hiunger was never
appeased; we tore the limbs of wild animals to devour
them, when we could find neither moss nor bark; and if
we found an acorn, we danced around the oak, chanting
the praises of the earth; we had no other fetes nor rejoicings but these; and all the rest of our life was trouble and
poverty and sadness." a
But let us leave this period of the world's infancy, which
is indeed, as you see it in the historic charts, covered with
clouds; concerning which we can offer nothing but conjectures; and come at once to our proper starting point-the
earliest period of recorded history.  We can trace no proper
history of the world but in the form of nationalities; and
we know nothing of nations earlier than thie Chinese, the
* See Boullanger-Antiquite Devoile6, tom. i., p. 195, 196.
259 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Indians of Hindoostan, the Persians and the Egyptians; nor
anything of them earlier than about the year 2000 of the
Mosaic era.
In the survey which I am about to take of known epochs
and of distinct nationalities, the points to which I wish to
invite your attention are these: that every great step which
the world has taken, has been a manifest improvement upon
the past, and a manifest preparation for further progress;
that at every great step, the world has paused and gained a
foothold, in which it has rallied the energies of the past, to
throw them into the fortunes of the future; that every great
era of civilization, in other words, has presented these two
remarkable facts-it has received and collected the improve ments of the preceding era, its political forms, its laws, phlilosophies, theologies, literatures; it has carried them to the
highest point it was able; and then it has cast them into
the bosom of the future.*  Thus improvement has passed
on: front Asia and Egypt to Greece, from Greece to Rome,
from Rome to the feudal forms of Central Europe, and from
Central or Continental, to Western Europe, and to America.
The childhood of civilization then, was in Southern
Asia. In the soft clime and fragrant bowers of the East,
was man's birthplace and cradle.  There indeed, was the
Eden of the world, and there was its childhood nurtured.
There were the earliest and simplest governments; patriarchal, despotic, but parental too-parental in their indulgence, parental in their summary discipline and instant punishment; and there were institutions fitted in every respect
to be the leading strings of the world's childhood.  Do you
not see men there, seated as on school forms, in the great
divisions of caste; generation after generation taking their
places on those forms, with all the docility of children; finding them, to a certain extent, seats of instruction, and at any
rate barriers against universal anarchy-barriers indeed.,
* I state this in the most general way. I know how many exceptions and
deviations there may seem to be; but such, taking the whole world into the account, I believe to be the general course of things.
260 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
without which they could receive no instruction. Caste, in
India and Egypt, was nothing else but the extreme of a
principle that has prevailed in all ages; i. e., the division
of society into ranks and orders. The Indian parent taught
his son his own trade or pursuit; and the son could follow
no other. He could not, like the German apprentice in the
middle ages, wander over the country for three -years as a
journeyman. The German had more liberty; but hi8s liberty
was strictly limited. There have always been restrictions
upon the freedom of occupation; till in this country every
man is allowed, I had almost said, to do what he will, where
he will. But this liberty would have been disorder and
ruin in the old Indian or Egyptian life. It could no more
have borne the same liberty than literal children could, in
these days.  Do you not see again, the leading traits of
childhood, in the absolute and universal submission to authority, and in the unreasoning, unaspiring contentment with
their lot, of Hindoostan and China? Do you not also see the
people of Southern Asia and of Egypt, lapped in the bosom
of a rich mother earth and of a mild embracing climate;
with few wants, with few cares, with few calls to exertion?
Do you not see thenm moreover wrapped about with material influences, pupils of matter, taking all their ideas from
physical nature, and so building vast pyramids and splendid mausoleums and stupendous rock-temples, excavated
from the very mountains, like those of Petra and Ellora;
and estimating the forces of their armies alone by numbers;
attracted by outward decorations, conceiving of power, of
kingship, always as something seated upon a magnificent
throne, holding out a jewelled sceptre and clothed with gor geous habiliments? Look at Xerxes and Darius, thus seated
on their thrones-the great chlild-kings; surrounded by the
cloud of innumerable hosts; Oriental homages at their feet;
silken tent-curtains swelling in the night breeze over them;
music in their ears: they never imagined that anything of
hardship or peril could approach them:-when lo! at Platea
and Marathon, shot the lightning of intellect into that
261 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
cloud, and scattered the visions of Oriental greatness, and
revolutionized the ideas of an agre.
There is discrimination doubtless to be made, among
these Oriental nations, in regard to progress. In China, life
retires back into the irtost childish simplicity, docility and
subjection.   The emperor was the government, and the
law, and the morality, and the religion-and the very peon
pie; all was absorbed into  /ime. The rigor of caste in IIndia
-i. e., recognized classes with recognized rights-was some  thing better than this stereotyped, this solidified unity. The
subjection of inferiors was such in China, that if a son com plaiued of his father, or a younger brother of his elder, he
was to be whipped with a hundred blows and banishled three
years, even if his complaint were just; if not, lie was to be
strangled.  If a son lifted lhis hand against his father, his
flesh was to be torn from his body with hot pincers.  I am
speaking of the past; such is the law; how ofteii it is ex ecnted now, I do not know.  In China, all was prosaic life, learning, and philosophy alike.  The earliest Chinese
sage divided all knowledge into three departments-silk
culture, bridge building, and the training of burden-bearing
animals. The philosophy of Confucius never went beyond
the simplest precepts of mnorality and religious veneration.
No deep questions are discussed; no sense is entertained
apparently that there are such questions. It is the very
earliest childhood of philosophy.  The Indian philosophy,
witli all its dreaminess and mysticism, goes far beyond this.
It m-neditates the deepest questions. The secret of nature,
the mystery of God, the end of being, invite its contemplationi.  Its system indeed was pantheism; but the Chinese
could hardly be said to have any system.  And although
they were a parer people than those of India, it was because
they were more childlike, submissive, and timid. The miendacity of the people of India is well known. The Chinese,
perhaps, did not dare to lie.
The Persian was considerably advanced beyond either.
The Light which he worshipped wvas not Lama, not Brah
262 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
ma, not any particular existence, tbut the sentient All,self.
it was not Ormuzd as the original principle, but the Zeroene
Akerene-the infinite and uncreated Life. And the Persian Zelnd-Avesta-i. e., living words-discoursed far more
nobly thana the old Indian mythologies. In all respects too,
political and social, the Persian life was a clear step beyond
the Indian.  In fine, the Phoenicians, the Hebrews, and the
Egyptians, it is well known, went far beyond them all;
whether we consider their polity, their religion, their commerce, learning, or arts. Ill fact, as you advance westward
from the farthest E1ast, every step of your survey is a step of
progress; and I l)elieve the rule will hold good, as you
travel on through successive nations and ages down to the
present day.   "Westward the star of  empire takes its
way," says Berkeley: certainly that has been the course of
the empire of civilization.
We have glanced now at its first great phase; in which
docility, submission, mental slavery to religion, to governlment, to social order, held almost absolute sway.
But Asia at length ceased to be the theatre to which
the eyes of men were directed; and the great drama of the
world's story passed away to the shores of Greece.
Here was a new world, a new people, a new genus of
the human race. Offshoots perhaps from Oriental civiliza
tion, that took root on the shores and islands of Asia Minor,
small tribes that wandered at their will along the northern
boundaries of the MIediterranean, born of the sea, bred
among the hills, they had escaped from Oriental passiveness
and from the bondage of great empires; they were hardy,
vigorous, active, and above al], free. For here especially
was the birth of intellectual freedom; of'a freely working
and creative energy, which unfolded itself in religion, in
polity, and in literature.
So situated, trained and endowed, Greece made a large
step in the world's progress.  She took from Asia and Eoypt
what they had to give, their laws, their systems of philosophy, their mythologies, their crude and gigantic forms of
263 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
art; and refined them from their grossness, stripped them
of their clumsy overlayinigs, idealized what was crude and
material in them, and wroIght them into delicacy and
beauty-both of formi and thought. She rose from sense,
to idealism. The earth-gods gave place to celestial powers.
The fabled war of the earthborn Titans against the heavenly
divinities who overcamne theni, is probably the mythological expression of that fact. But all the mythology and religious art of Greece had their precursors and prototypes ill
Egypt and Asia. The Sun in the Persian worship, the
Osiris of the Egyptians, was iii Greece, the beautiful Apollo.
"The gods of Greece," says Heeren, "were mnoralpersons; "
they were not symbolical, but ideal; and  they could no
longer be represented as monsters with many heads and
arms.
But Greece had more to do than to make statues or to
spiritualize or humanize the old mythologies.  In her was
developed the first free, political energy in the  world.
There had been singular freedom in the Hlebrew land; but
it was comparatively passive; and besides, it was pressed
on either side, by the Assyrian and Egyptian monarchies.
In Greece, freedomn had a field to itself. Yet more, it was
disenthralled fiom Oriental languor. It breathed its inspiration into the whole life of the people. It expressed itself
in literature. It resolved itself into deeds. It was full of
restless, of youthful activity. Yes, upon the hills of Greece
went forth the struggling youth of the world; it went forth
in toil, and it went forth in battle. Iler soil was comparatively sterile, and her climate bracing, though pure and delicious; and hers was the hard hand, the strong sinew, and
the manly nurture. Her very sports were races and wrestlings and feats of strength.
The Grecian literature was a still more remarkable
stride; and may seem to bring into question our position,
that she lived in the youth of time. There are indeed wonders in it that cannot be accounted for, except by an original power, a divine energy native to the human soul, and
264 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
hardly yet recognized in our theories of culture. That the
poems of Homer, defying all after competition in epic verse,
should have burst out from the darkness of a rude and almost unknown antiquity, is a mystery, for which I confess
I have no other solution. The perfection of the Greek languag,e and style surprises me far less. For it appears to
me that the whole Greek culture owed a great deal of its
perfection and power to the limited channel in which it
flowed, to the singleness of its aim; which was to embody nature and humanity in their simplest and grandest
characteristics, without grasping the wider ranges and more
complicated forms of Ihuman thought.  I think I have
known a youth of twenty who, in his style, approached
much more nearly to the Greek simplicity and purity, than
hle did at forty, when he had much miore complex and difficult forms of thought to grapple with.  Deep philosopliizing is very apt to spoil the style, or at least this kind of perfection in it. And the modern poet, who sounds the depths
of the modern mind, has far more difficulty in expressing
his thought with force and clearness, than had Hoilomer and
Sophocles. And I maintain that the whole literature of the
Greeks was youthful, compared with that of modern times.
There was nothing in their drama like that comprehension
of the whole breadth of our humanity which we see in
Shakspeare, or the espousal of its noblest interests and affections in Sehiller.  There was nothing in their poetry like
the introversion, the self-comimunion, the subjective character of mnodern genius, in Wordsworth and Browning.  There
was nothing in Herodotus and Thucydides to compare with
the philosophical insight into history, of Herder and Guizot.
There was nothing in Plato and Aristotle to comnpare with
the breadth of Bacon and Leibnitz, or the sharp and patient
analysis of Locke or of IKant.  Of ancient and modern
science I need say nothing; for there is no comparison.
The next great step of the world was planted in Rt)me.
But qvas it a step onward? This it may seem more difficult to prove. In philosophy, in poetry, in art, in graceful
265 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMIAN DESTINY.
culture, certailvly it was not.  But there wvere two offices
which Rome discharged for the w-orld's culture, thaLt were
of more practical and diffusive benefit than anything done
in Greece.
The first was that of lawgiver; more important to the
world at that period, than philosopl)y or art. In this re spect she went entirely beyond her predecessor.  For inmpracticable political theories, like those of Plato, and for ill defined rights of property and persons, she substituted a
grand and elaborated Code of Law. Law has far more to
do with the welfare of well-ordered society, thian books or
theories, orations or poems, pictures or statues. The Roman
law was precisely what her barbarian invaders needed; nay,
and of such permanent value is it, that it has continued,
under the name of the Civil Law, to be the guide of more
than half the cultivated world to this day.
The second office which Rome discharged for the world,
was that of difif-.ser. That which was pent up within the
narrow confines of Greece, was now scattered through the
world.  Plato and Aristotle, Homer and Herodotus,  Eschylus and Sophocles, were transplanted to the banks of
the Rhline, the Seine, and the Thlanes.  Stores of cultivated
wisdom  there were in the world; but how should they
benefit, how enlighten the Gaul, the Saxon, the rude tribes
of Germany! It was for that stupendous and earthl-shadowing power, that spread her wings from Britain to Parthlia
and India, to bear to the nations the burden of ancient
lore.  Her legions swept through the world; but not for
evil alone; philosophy and the arts, and Christianity too,
followed in their train.  Gaul and Britain mighlt have remaiiied unchristianized for ages, if they had not come within the sweep of the Roman power.
For the part which she had to act, Rome  was fitted by
her character and whole training.  She who was to spread
herself over the earth, had no hone character to begin with.
Not from quiet patriarchal hearths did she take her origin,
but from a robber's lair. Rome, at the first, was a nest of
266 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
military marauders, a refuge of renegades fromn surrounding
tribes, a colluvies, says Livy himself; a sink into which
flowed the dregs of the Latin cities around; their very
w-ives these Roman robbers tore from the Sabiniies, and the
children of this violence were Isllhmaels.  From this origin
came, not beauty nor grace, nor the liberality which coinmerce, friendly communication with the world, give; but
simple, concentrated strength. The Roman was a man of
iron nerve and firmness.  In his girding arm was a power
to hold in check those tendencies which, in Greece, had
snapped the bonds of social order. The beautiful Grecian
theories of right, with the Roman, hardened into law.  Law,
with him, as has been often observed, was morality, religion,
the only idea of right. Religion-religio, from religare, to
bind-it was simply a state bond.  Tle Roman genius is not
attractive, not beautiful to us; but it had its use. Cicero is
its fairest representative, but for spiritual beauty he does
not compare with Plato. His religion was a correct senti
inent, often noble, touching sometimes from its sadness; but
it does not freely and joyously well up from the deep fountains within, like Plato's. In short, the joyous and graceful
Grecian boy of fifteen has become, in Rome, as we sometimes see a youthl of twenty, when first touching the practical interests of life, utilitarian, selfish, grasping. It is not
beautiful.  An iron jar is not so beautiful as a porcelaiii
vase; but it may be more useful; it can better hold and
transmit what is deposited in it.
And when that iron jar was expanded to a mighty vase,
wide as the world, and then broke in pieces, we do not
lament over it; we say, it had served its purpose. Perhaps
no great empire ever fell, with so little of the sympathy of
the world, as this.  When we learn from Tacitus, that even
so early as the first century, the armies of Rome, ay, of old
military Rome, were composed whollvy of foreigners; when
we read that, in the fourth century, in a time of famine, all the teachers of youth were banished from the city,
and six thousand dancers were retained-we give up a peo
267 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
pie, who had lost all the spirit for which national existence
is worth preserving.
The dissolution of the Roman Empire opens to us the
next great scene in human affairs. The theatre is Central
and Western Europe. The political form is feudality. The
social powers are the family and individual force. The presiding genius is Christianity; sadly corrupted indeed, but
still it is Christianity. To adventure upon this restless sea
of the middle ages, with all its struggling elements, its
crossing tides and stormy winds, is of course more than I
propose; but something may be said to indicate the great
current that was bearing the world onward.
The feudal system was far freer than the despotisms
that preceded it. It was not, as I think is often supposed,
a niere relation of barons and serfs; it was a general form
of government, a political hierarchy; extending from  the
emperor or king, through successive grades, down to the
lowest subject; barons, counts, lords, kings, as wvell as serfs,
holding their power or privilege respectively of their sulperiors; and holding it on condition of certain services to be
rendered.  Thie tenure was afee; a word from the old Teutonic, or from the Latin,/jdes —fede in Italian-fe in Spanish,
i. e., a trust.  The idea involved in this tenure was that of
a duty-of the low to the high, and of the hi,ghl to the low.
It is obvious then, that the feudal system undertook to define the relations of the governing and the governed. It
recognized in both alike, certain rights and duties.  This,
if I mistake not, was a new thing in the world.  The old
Roman law minutely described the rights and duties of citizens toward one another, but not the reciprocal claims of
the government and people. That is to say, it was law, but
not a constitution. In the feudal time was first heard in
the world the word privileges. It was the faishion of the
time, so to speak, to demand them.  The religious orders,
as well as the civil, were constantly obtaining prvileges frlom
their superiors. Privileges, I repeat; it was a word of potent effect, a precedent never to be forgotten. The whole
268 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
struggle in Europe, by which political freedomn advanced,
has been a struggle for privileges-a struggle of nobles with
kings, of the people with them both.
-Next, as MI. Guizot has remarked,* a new family culture sprang from the feudal system.  The feudal lords, the
feudal superiors of every rank, dwelt apart and alone. They
were driven by their very isolation to some culture, to some
mental resources.  And they were numerous enough to give
some tone to public sentiment.  Woman assumed a new
place, a new importance in society. The romantic poetry
of the period, and the spirit of chivalry, both afford sufficient proof of that.
But above all, individual force was developed in this period. Meli began slowly to learn and to feel that they were
mlen, that they had rights, that they had individual, yea,
and immortal interests.  Christianity inspired this feeling,
but feudalism fostered it beyond all previous systems. Service to superiors was voluntary. The serf or vassal might
choose his suzerain, and exact guarantees from him. A new
feeling of selfhood, self-consciousness, self-reliance slowly
grew up in the human breast.  It grew especially in the
cities. Commerce and mechanic art made men rich and
strong; and they were able to buy or exact from kings
and nobles, important concessions. There was much freedom in Greece, but little individual force. And when did
there ever stand upon the earth such a visible representative
of individual force as the armed knight?-clad, himself and
his good steed, in complete steel; with his plated gauntlets,
and breastplate, and shield and barred helmet; with his
double-edged falchion on one side, and poniard on the other,
and the axe at his saddlebow, and his long lance resting
upon the stirrup-a moving tower of iron, seated upon a
fire-breathling engine: our modern men dwindle into puny
citizens compared with this.
And the good knigliht must needs wage war-must wage
* Civilization in Europe, 4th lecture.
269 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
it even to the walls of Jerusalem. And what followed?
Why, he must have means-must have monley. And where
could lhe get it? Why, of the good burgesses and citizens.
And did they give it for nothing?  No, they bought privileges of knights and nobles and kings. Thus, the whole
course of things, and especially the Crusades, helped to
raise the people, to sink the rulers. The iron tower, like
the image of Nebuchadnezzar, was destined to fall, and
crumble in pieces, and disappear from the earth.
I have said that Christianity presided over this epoch.
However imperfectly understood, it did reign with absolute
sway. It was a law from which there was no appeal. The
high and the powerful, though they violated, never dared formally to set it aside. They trembled before its spiritual powers and awful retributions. And it was not only a law of
right, but a spirit of mercy. It not only awed, but softened
the hearts of men. It was an image of suffering patience and
pity that they worshipped. That one perfect life-that one
great sacrifice-think, what its appeal must have been, compared with the influence of any former religion. It espoused,
above all, the cause of the poor, the suffering, the wronged
and crushed.   The gospel was humanity, even more than
it was divinity. The light that came into the world, was
veiled in the softened shadow of human pity and gentleiless.
Still, however, the civilization of this period was extremely immature. It was full of misdirected efforts and
wild struggles. No satisfactory civil order was established,
nor proper recognition of human rights obtained.  The hlman race went en through the middle ages, like a rash and
reckless youth, when approaching his majority. It pmusued
a wild and irregular career; now rising, now falling; now
stumbling on the dark mountains of ignorance, and now
wallowing in the great Roman sink of sensuality-with
broken columns and fallen temples all around-now filled
with the fierce, hot haste of passion, and then, with the sul
len melancholy of despair. All its labors were tentative.
2O 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
The whole course of things was a series of experiments, preparing for a future and brighter day.
In that brighter day, I believe, we now stand; in the
great day of the world's manhood; not in the latter, however, but in the earlier part of that day; for I look upon
the grand agents now ill the field, as having only commenced their magnificent work.
This epoch, beginning with the sixteenth century, is
crowded with events, which are alike proofs and promises
of advancement-the birth, as a popular fact, of free religious thought in the Reformation in Germany; the great
stand for political liberty in England, and the building up
and prosperity of the American Republic; the establishment
of the inductive philosophy, and the almost entire creation
of the physical sciences; the rise of the fine arts in Italy,
and the cultivation of music, which are almost wholly within this period; the invention of the art of printing, of the
cotton gin, and of the steam engine; the introduction of the
system of common schools and the diffusion of knowledge
among the people; in fine, the unprecedented impulse given
to the iiiinds of men by the universal spirit of improvement.
All this, I need not insist, is progress. Neither can I
dwell upon these subjects in detail; nor is it necessary, perhaps, for my purpose; they speak sufficiently for themselves. I can only refer, in general, to the indications which
these agencies bear, to the sphere in which they are working, and to the encouragement, if not a more solemn feeling,
which they should inspire.
Look then at this grand array of forces. Can any one
of them stop?  Can the spirit of freedom, political or religious, die out from the hearts of men?  Have they got
hold of rights, and will they ever let them go?  Can philosophy or science stop?  Go ask the studious and enthusiastic
toilers in those enchanted fields, and they will tell you that
you might as well expect them to desire the sun to go down,
when its morning light is spread upon the mountains. Can
271 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
genius be quenched, or the fine arts dash chisel and palette
to the ground, or music, that is making the air of the world
vibrate to its melodies, die out into mournful silence?  Can
men stop printing books, or reading them?  Can they break
the steam engine in pieces?-unless they find, if that be
possible, a better power. But will they give up, after having found it, a power to bear their cars over the land, and
their ships over the sea?  Can this pestilent notion of educating the people, this universal diffusion of knowledge, by
any means have a stop put to it?  I am afraid not.  Let
Austria try.  But she does not try.  She is swept on by the
resistless current.:No, the spirit of improvement has got
hold of the world; and the exorcism to drive it out, is not
yet found, and never will be. No, the world has got beyond the waverings of its youth.  It has come of age.  It
has come to the sober thought and settled purpose of manhood; and nothing can shake that thought and purpose.
Look again at the theatre of this modern culture. It is
Western Europe and America; not an inaccessible mountain land, fit to be the fastness of mere freedom; not a vast
plain, like those of Asia, opened for the expansion of immense empires; but a tract of the earth, washed by oceans,
intersected by bays and rivers, essentially commercial; having easy communication with all the world. It is the grand
propagandist portion of the world. Its inhabitants, descending from races in whom the fullest measure of human energy has been developed, have become the most enlightened
nations of the earth-and the most rapidly growing. The
Saxon race, which two centuries ago was only 3,000,000,
now numbers 53,000,000. These countries, thus advanced
in civilization, filled with manufactories, with arts, with
books, with inventions for human comfort and improvement, possess the very advantages whichl the rest of the
world wants. And now, just when they are prepared for
this office of diffusion, is the grand instrument of diffusior
put into their hands: I mean, of course, the power of steam.
Now, at length, shall they send back to Asia and the farthest
272 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
Tartary the cultivated children descended firom their swarming colonies; and to Africea, the descendants of the captives
once torn from her bosom. It has become just as certain
that steamships and steam cars shall penetrate the solitudes
of Africa and the crowded villages of populous Asia, and
carry to them our arts, our sciences, our literature, and our
religion, as that the light which breaks upon the eastern
horizon shall spread itself through the world.
I know that dark fears are entertained by some concerning what is passing in these very countries-popular outbreaks, decline of the old reverence, signs, as they think, of
social deterioration. But it seems to me, with all due respect for their opinion, that they are looking at the little
eddyings on the stream of events, and not at the deep current.  There are popular outbreaks, but they soon pass
away. There is less respect for rank and riches-less even
than there should be-the world does not easily stop at the
right point; but is there less respect for talent, learning, and
worth? I believe that the indications, which the alarmists
constantly adduce, are the superficial ones. The movement
of things is perhaps never direct, but in circles. Rubbish
and straw are on the outside, and they are blown this way
and that way; and in the wide sweep of the elements, in
the vast gyrations of the slow revolutionary movement that
is bearing on the civilized world, things may seem to be
going backward, and may really be going backward in certain quarters-i. e., relatively going backward, while all is
actually going forward. N'ay, and the more violent are the
gusts upon the surface, the eddies upon the stream, the
more rapid and strong may be the great and onward tendencv.
This impression which prevails in the minds of some of
the best men, that we are in a state of social deterioration, is
no new thing in the world, and it is a very curious thing. I
have sometimes thought that it proceeds, in part, from a natural modesty; that it results, under this influence, from a
comparison very likely to be made by superior minds, and
18
273 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
not by the body of the people. Our predecessors, the lead
ing men, by whom as pillars, the world was borne up, are
venerable to us; the places they filled, the presidencies, the
mag,istracies; the parts they acted-of orators, judges, lawyers, clergy-were clothed with dignity and honor: they
were great and noble men to us; their figures loom up majestically in the dim land of the past. Xow these great
functions-these presidencies, magistracies, forums, pulpits
-have fallen into the hands of us, pigmy men; these high
places have sunk down to the level of our common and
every-day life; we are nothing to ourselves, compared with
what they were to us; we cannot believe that we equal them,
or anything near it; all is run down, we say; society is deteriorating; the world is growing more ignoble every day.
The next generation will probably make the same reflection,
when it compares itself with us.
It is no new thing in the world, as I have said; and if it
were true-if the world, according to this impression, had
been really ever growing worse, it must have come, by this
time, to a sad pass indeed. Even the old Greek Hesiod
thought that hlie was living in " an iron age," and that all
the happy ages had gone by.  Longinus, who lived in the
time of Aurelian and in the court of Zenobia, compared the
men of his day, to children, whose limbs were contracted
and cramped by bandages.* The decadence of Rome might
well justify something of this despondency.  And we can
sympathize with the noble Cicero in his sadness, who, writing, to his fiiend Atticus, from his retreat in the beautiful
island of Astura, says, " I retire in the morning to the thick
and wild wood, and do not leave it till evening. Next to
you, the dearest thing is solitude.  In this, my converse is
with letters; but tears often interrupt it. I restrain them,
as muceh as I can; but as yet, am not equal to it." t Af ore
magnanimously fought his battle with discouragement a
modern man, and in an hour no less dark. It was amidst
* De Sublimitate, chap. 43.
f Epist. ad Atticum, B. xii. 15.
2 "i4 
ON THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN DESTINY.
the horrors of the French Revolution. There, in a street in
Paris, in a house sought for hiding, and while the blood of
the innocent and noble was flowing around him, sat a man
whose quiet employment was the writing of a book.  That
man was the Miarquis de Condorcet.  And what, think you,
was the subject of the book he was writing?  It was mnan's
ce,tccn progress to liberty, vifrtte, and hIappiness.
It is certain. It is certain because it is the purpose of
Heaven. It is certain because of what it has already cost.
It is certain because all the steps of past progress are promises.  And wkat promises?  Promises earned firom ages
of toil and sorrow; promises written on the rack and the
seaffold, where patriots have died for liberty, and Christians
for truth; promises pronounced over the gloomy altars
where sorrowing nations have -been slain; ay, and sealed in
the blood of the noblest men in the world: such promises
shall niot go unfulfilled.
Ever solemn is the story of the world. A solemn thing
it is for us, the American people, to take our place in the
great procession of nations.  Whence came we; and why are
we here, but to do our part? The sorrowing ages call upon
ius to do our part. The tears and groans of long-suffering and
siglinjg humanity call upon us to do our part.  Empires
crushed under the weight of hopeless bondage-millions
that have wandered in the darkness of ignorance and amidst
thl)e terrors of superstition, address to us-to us e,peeiallythe great adjuration; and they say, O ye, a people, free,
intelligent, Christian!-who know your duty and have
liberty to perform it; O ye, a people, whose foot is set
upon an unchartered soil; whose hands are filled with the
riches of the world; whose children, partners of youreselves,
are to wander down the coining ages, through the fairest
domain that God ever gave to man; hear the voice of humanity; hear the voice that comes from earth-and that
comes from Heaven!
THE END.
275 
i