need to realize the truth that man is separate from and superior to
machinery. It is because, upon a practical recognition of this truth
depends the just action of all who control the interests of labor, and,
so to speak, the lives and souls of the laborers. If we should beware of
an influence that would render us _mere_ mechanics in our own higher
nature, we should likewise remove anything that makes others mere
machines, presenting for us no other consideration than the amount of
work they can perform for us, and with how little care and cost. I
cannot now enter into the great questions that spring up here concerning
the relations of capital and labor, and of the employer and the
employed. I only observe that these are among the deepest questions of
the time: questions which will be heard, which must be discussed, and
practically answered. And they who by plans and experiments, however
visionary they may seem, however abortive they may prove, are trying to
solve this problem, are much wiser in their generation than those who
content themselves with cutaneous palliatives and a stolid conservatism.
But I maintain now, that back of all these considerations stands this
truism,--that man is not a machine; that the being who toils in the
factory, the furnace, the dark mine underground, is one who needs and
hopes and suffers and dies, as sinews of iron and fabrics of brass
cannot. "The spirit of a living creature is in the wheels." A cry for
justice, for free action, for spiritual opportunity, comes not from the
roaring engine or the dizzy loom, but out from the midst of those who
are endowed with the sensitiveness and the moral possibilities that
belong to humanity, and humanity alone. Set in motion the grandest piece
of mechanism ever conceived by human genius, and still there is infinite
difference between it and the poorest drudge that bears God's
image,--between it and any human claim.
It must have been a noble spectacle, a few weeks since, to have seen
that great ship[A] sail out of port, stretching its proud beak over the
sea, and with thundering exultation trampling its sapphire floor. One
might have followed its wake with a glistening eye, and said to
himself--"There is the great symbol of human progress, there is the
consummation of man's triumph over nature! The long results of ages are
condensed in that fabric of strength and beauty. Man has compelled the
forest, and ravished the mine, and converted the stream, and chained the
fire; and now, with the eye of science and the hand of skill, he rides
in this triumphal chariot, making a swift, obedient pathway of the
deep!" But when that dark day burst upon them, and nature with one angry
sweep transformed that splendid palace into a floating death-chamber;
when ocean lifted up this triumph of man's skill, and shook it like a
toy; the interest which hung over that awful desolation--the interest to
which your hearts flow out with painful sympathy to-night--was in
nothing that man had achieved, but in humanity itself. All the
workmanship, all the material splendor, all the skill, were nothing
compared with one heart beating amidst that tempest; compared with one
groan that rose from that sea of agony, and then was silent for ever.
[Footnote A: This discourse was delivered just after the tidings
of the loss of the San Francisco, in December, 1853.]
And, again, when I consider the conduct of that gallant captain who, day
by day, rode by the side of the shuddering wreck, and in slippery peril
maintained the royalty of his manhood, and sent a brother's cheer and a
brother's help through the storm; when I think of that noble achievement
where the Stars and Stripes and the Cross of St. George were lost and
blended in the light of universal humanity; I say to myself--how does an
act like this shed light upon a thousand instances of human depravity!
What is any material triumph compared to this moral beauty! And what is
the great distinction between rags and coronets, between senates and
workshops, when in the breast of every man, and everywhere, there is the
possibility of such heroism, such charity, and such splendid
performance!
And so, my friends, turning from this specific illustration, and looking
through the wards of cities, the busy factories, the dim attics and
cellars, they all become glorious by the reflected light of the humanity
that toils and suffers within them. Man is greater than any achievement
of mechanism, any interest of capital, and all the questions which these
involve must be brought to the test of his moral capabilities, and his
spiritual as well as earthly wants.
But I observe, finally, that the words of the text suggest the
_Providential design_ and the _Divine agency_ that are involved in the
great mechanical achievements of our age. As the Divine Spirit flowed
through those living creatures and moved those wheels, so God's
influence is in the movement of humanity, and in the instruments of that
movement. We get only a narrow, and often an inexplicable conception of
things, until we behold them encircled by this horizon of a Providential
design. And if humanity, with all its claims and possibilities, is
involved in this network of mechanism, so doubtless are the processes of
Infinite Wisdom. Something more than material greatness, or ends limited
merely to this earth, is to be wrought out by it. Indications of this
appear already. The telegraph and steamship, for instance, serve not
only the interests of trade and commerce, but of liberty, and
brotherhood, and of Christian influence.
It is beautiful to see how the most selfish agents presently become
converted to the broadest uses, and matter is transformed into the
vehicle of spirit. For God is in history. It is a Divine dispensation,
and has miracles of its own. And, because they come by natural
development let us not fail to recognize the benevolence and the
significance involved with them. Is not the effect of miracle in the
electric wire? The printing-press, is it not the gift of tongues? It is
atheistic to suppose that all these wondrous agents have only a narrow
and material purpose, and play no part in the highest scheme of the
world. Like the prophet by the river Chebar, we may behold them as the
symbols in a sublime vision. These wheels within wheels, full of eyes,
full of intelligence, and full of human destiny and vast purpose, we
know not all their meaning yet. But they have a great meaning.
Beneficent intention runs through their swift motions--voices of promise
rise in their multitudinous sounds. A living spirit is in these
wheels--the influence of God; the spirit of man. And, in due time, out
of them will evolve the incalculable issues of human welfare and the
Divine glory.
THE STRIFE FOR PRECEDENCE.
DISCOURSE III.
THE STRIFE FOR PRECEDENCE.
And if a man strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned
except he strive lawfully.--II. TIMOTHY, ii. 5.
In walking the streets of the city, there rises the interesting
question--What are the various motives which animate these restless
people, and send them to and fro? As a French author has well
observed,--"The necessaries of life do not occasion, at most, a third
part of the hurry." They are comparatively few who struggle among these
busy waves for a bare subsistence. There are others who are impelled by
some of the deepest affections of the human heart, and who toil day
after day with noble self-sacrifice for the comfort of dependent
parents, and helpless children. While others still run on errands of
mercy, and work in the harness of unrelaxing duty. But when we have
taken all these influences into the account, and made the most of them,
there remains a large quantity of activity which, as we trace it to its
spring, we shall find issuing from a desire for influence, for
notoriety, for some kind of personal distinction. The city,--in this
instance, as in many others, representing the world at large,--is
essentially a race-course, or battle-field, in which, through forms of
ambitious effort, and cunning method, and plodding labor, and
ostentation, the aspirations of thousands appear and carry on a _Strife
for Precedence_.
And, in selecting this phase of human life as the theme of the present
discourse, I observe in the first place--that the desire for precedence
is one of the _deepest_ and most _subtle_ motives in the soul of man. It
is prolific of disguises. It is not merely under the mask which we may
put on before other people, but it glides through various
transformations of self-deceit; like the evil genius in the fairy tale,
now dwindling to a mere seed, now bursting into a devouring fire. When,
with an honest purpose, we probe it and pluck at it, still we may
detect it in the lowest socket of the heart. Often it is most vital when
we feel most sure that it is vanquished. It delights in the garb of
humility, and finds its food in the profession of self-renunciation. See
its grossest expression in the desire for physical superiority--the
glory of the victor in the Grecian games, or the modern pugilist with
the champion's belt. This is the reason why men, priding themselves upon
qualities in which they are equalled by any mastiff and excelled by any
horse, will stand up and batter one another into a mass of blood and
bruises. And if we analyze the merit of some conqueror upon a hundred
battle-fields, we shall find ingredients almost as coarse. Only there
was a larger impulse, and more genius to light the way; so that _his_
combat in the ring became _achievement_, and his success _fame_. The
outside difference was in the value of the stakes; but the huzzas did
not rise much nearer to heaven in the one instance than in the other.
And when we get at the real centre of all those plaudits, we find only a
little throbbing atom, a little human heart, all on fire with the lust
for supremacy.
But these are the more palpable shapes of this desire for Precedence. It
works more covertly, but with no less energy. I need not--for I
cannot--specify all the instances in which it acts. It would constitute
a more concise statement to affirm where it does _not_ act. It is
sufficiently apparent in the scramble of the market and the parade of
the street; at the toilette of beauty; in the etiquette of the
drawing-room, where people sit as if in a cavern of icicles; in the
spurious patriotism of politics; and too often, it is to be feared, in
the highest seats of the synagogue, and where men lift holy hands of
prayer. It is the scholar's inspiration. When he comes to the steep and
rugged way, it helps him to make a foot-hold, and the thorns blossom
into roses as he climbs. Sometimes, even, it saturates the plan of the
philanthropist, and peppers the milk of his charity with an inconsistent
wrath.
It seems an unhappy, as it must often be an unjust method, to attribute
any appearance of good conduct to the meanest possible motive. It is a
policy that makes a man afraid of his best friends. He feels that every
draft he makes upon human honor, or affection, is liable to be cashed
with counterfeit bills. If there were no alternative between the
cleverness that suspects everybody, and the credulity that trusts
everybody, I think I had rather be one of the dupes than one of the
oracles. For, really, there is less misery in being cheated than in that
kind of wisdom which perceives, or thinks it perceives, that all mankind
are cheats. But, while simple fact forbids our assuming either of these
extremes, we must, nevertheless, in reasoning upon the phenomena of
human conduct, allow large scope for the influence of which I am now
treating. For, as I have already intimated, we shall find it lurking
under numerous forms. In discussing the question of Slavery, for
instance, it is often said--that it is for the interest of the master to
take good care of his human as he does of his brute stock--to see that
they are well-fed, clothed, &c. And so it is for his _interest_ to do
this. But how often does the lust for supremacy over-ride interest
itself! How often does an imperious personality thrust itself forward
in the most absurd ways, damaging its own property and welfare, just as
a boy breaks his top, or a balked rider shoots his horse, or an
independent congregationalist locks his pew-door, as much as to
say--"There, the world knows one thing about me, at least. It knows that
I am _master_ and _owner_ here!"
But I observe, further, that, while this desire for Precedence is common
among men of all conditions, there are some modes of its expression
which are peculiarly excited in a democratic form of society. That which
is the open glory of a community like ours, is with many a secret
vexation and shame. People boast here of the equality of our
institutions, and then try their best to break up the social level. In a
genuine Aristocracy, where they have endeavored to preserve a
gulf-stream of noble blood in the midst of the plebeian Atlantic, and a
man holds his distinction by the color of the bark on his family tree,
and the kind of sap that circulates through it, there is no danger of
any unpleasant mistakes. The hard palm of Labor may cross the gloved
hand of Leisure, and nobody will suspect that the select is too
familiar with the vulgar. Consequently, there is a good deal of
affability and prime manliness, besides those associations of sentiment
and imagination which, if there must be an aristocracy, lend it an
artistic consistency. But here, where everybody says that all men are
equal, and everybody is afraid they _will_ be; where there are no
adamantine barriers of birth and caste; people are anxiously exclusive.
And though the forms of aristocracy flourish more gorgeously in their
native soil, the genuine _virus_ can be found in New York almost as
readily as in London, or Vienna. And the virus breaks out in the most
absurd shapes of liveries and titles. And these forms of aspiration are
not only absurd because they are inconsistent, but because they
illustrate no real ground of precedence. They are superficial and
uncertain. They do not pertain to the man but to his accidents. He gains
by them no intrinsic glory, no permanent good. To employ the language of
the text, by these he strives for masteries; but he does not strive
lawfully, and so he is not crowned. And this leads me to say something
respecting what is false, and what is legitimate, in that strife for
Precedence which is so amply illustrated in the life of the City.
Let us, then, consider some of the forms which this struggle assumes in
the streets and the dwellings around us. I remark, in the first place,
that it inspires much of the effort for _wealth_. I believe there are
but few, comparatively, who are anxious to make money merely for the
sake of piling it up, and counting it out. There may be a mania of this
kind, in which men become enamored of Mammon for his own sake, and hug
him to their breasts, and kiss his golden lips, with all the ardor of
lovers. Still, I suspect that the genuine miser--that is, one who loves
money for itself alone--is an exceptional man. But every man who is not
absolutely inactive and useless in the world, is moved by some kind of
passion. For, it is not correct to speak of _outliving_ our passions. We
may outlive the passion of young, fresh love, that makes the world a
May-time of blossoms and of roses. We may outlive the passion for
selfish fame, because some transcendent claim of duty snatches us up to
a sublimer level. We may change these earlier forms for the passion of
philanthropy, the passion for truth, the passion of holy conviction. But
so long as we live at all, we do not outlive passion. And with many the
most persistent desire is for that precedence which attends the
possession of wealth. That miser, as you call him, with a face like
parchment, and in whose nature all the springs of emotion seem to have
grown rusty with long disuse, is animated by a secret flame that keeps
him all a-glow. It is the consciousness of power--the mightiest power of
the present age--the power of money. Those figures which he scrawls at
his writing-desk involve a more potent magic than the cabalistic cyphers
of Doctor Dee, or Cornelius Agrippa. His hand presses the spring of an
influence that casts midnight or sunshine over the World of Traffic, and
shakes entire blocks of real estate with a speculative earthquake. It is
not the Czar or the Sultan, but the Capitalist, that makes war or
preserves peace. The destinies of the time are enacted not in Congress
or Parliament, but in the Bank of England and in Wall street. It is a
mighty power that sits on 'Change, and inspires the great movements of
the world; sending its messengers panting through the deep and feeling
around the globe with telegraphic nerves. And one may well be more
ambitious to wield a portion of this power than to speak in senates, or
to sit upon a throne. Here is something that will raise him above the
common level; will pay him for long years of sacrifice and contumely;
will hide meanness of birth, and scantiness of education, and paint over
the stains of damaged character. Here is the most feasible way of
distinction in a democracy. The doors of respectability and honor turn
on silver hinges. Gravity relaxes, fashion gives way, beauty smiles, and
talent defers, before the man of money. He may be an ignoramus, but he
possesses the golden alphabet. He may be a boor, but Plutus lends a
charm which eclipses the grace of Apollo. He may have accumulated his
wealth in a way which would make an intelligent hyena ashamed of
himself, but he _has_ accumulated it, and the past is forgotten. I do
not mean to say that, as the general rule, wealth is thus associated,
but I believe that one great motive for money-getting, is the
consciousness of the power and the distinction that accompany its
possession; and so, many a man in the thick dust of the mart--though it
may not always be clear to himself--is really engaged in a strife for
Precedence.
Again, consider the illustrations of this strife in the _Style_ of
_Living_. It is really a battle of chairs and mirrors, of plate and
equipage, and is the spring of the monstrous extravagance that
characterizes our city life. For I suppose there is no place on the
earth where people have run into such gorgeous nonsense as here--turning
home into a Parisian toy-shop, absorbing the price of a good farm in the
ornaments of a parlor, and hanging up a judge's salary in a single
chandelier. Not that I accept the standard of absolute necessity, or
agree with those who cry out--"Have nothing but what is absolutely
_useful_!" For, if the universe had been cast after their type, there
would have been no embroidery on the wings of the butterfly, and the
awful summit of Mont Blanc would have yielded fire-wood. There is an
instinct of beauty and grace implanted in our nature, which demands
elegance and even luxury, and the bare necessaries of life do _not_
answer every purpose. And, to say nothing of the employment which these
accessories of refinement afford for thousands--for I have spoken of
this in the previous series--the most sturdy utilitarian is not
consistent with his theory. He defers to the social condition around him
to such an extent that he sleeps on a bed instead of a bench, and wears
broadcloth instead of untanned sheepskin. And, therefore, others might
say, and say truly, that a good deal that is actually superfluous is the
fruit of certain social proprieties which cannot, with any consistency,
be violated. Our style of living may lawfully run from the bare
necessaries of existence, through the stages of comfort and convenience,
even into luxury, according to our condition and means. But in some of
the style of living in this very city, there is neither good taste,
social propriety, nor common sense. It is an apoplectic splendor; a
melo-dramatic glitter; in one word, a vulgar spirit of social rivalry
blossoming in lace, brocade, gilding, and fresco. It is one way of
getting a head taller than another upon this democratic level. It is a
carpet contest for the mastery in what is called "society." And if one
mourns over the exuberant selfishness that lifts its pinnacles out of
this dreary sea of hunger and despair, and wonders that so many live
wrapped in the idea that they were created merely to be gratified; he
can hardly help being amused, on the other hand, at this fashionable
strife for precedence, and the methods which it developes.
But enough has been said to illustrate the false element in the great
struggle for Human Precedence. This vicious principle is most
comprehensively stated in the proposition, that there is no substantial
ground of supremacy in anything that is merely accidental or external to
a man. These things may sometimes stand as symbols of true merit and
greatness, but they are not themselves proofs of precedence. A man's
wealth may be the fruit of noble energy and honest toil, and he may
exert a wide influence by virtue of that intrinsic ability of which his
good fortune is the sign. Indeed, the more I study the world the more I
acquire a respect for these kings of enterprise--these heroes of
practical effort--who, feeling that they have been sent into the world
to do something, do not fold their hands and shut their eyes in ideal
dreams, or stumble at discrepancies, but lay hold of what lies about
them--rough stone, timber, iron, brass,--and become what it is really a
noble compliment to say of any man--"the architects of their own
fortune." I have great respect for these men who drive the wheels, and
kindle the furnaces, and launch the ships, and build the edifices, and
keep this sea of every-day action perpetually agitated by the keels of
their endeavor. Their claims to precedence, however, consist not in
their wealth, but in that which accumulates the wealth. But the man who
rests merely upon what he _has_, occupies no substantial ground of
supremacy. And if this is the case with those whose claim hangs merely
upon what they are worth in the world of money, it is at least equally
so with those who set their title to precedence upon their style of
dress or living. For how uncertain are all these things! depending upon
the fickle currents of fortune; throwing the honors into our hands
to-day, and transferring them to our neighbor to-morrow! How tantalizing
this conflict, in which victory changes with the fashion, and we feel
weak or strong according to the verdict of a clique! And all these
rivalries and envies and aspirations, what a confession of personal
feebleness they really are! How slightly a true man feels them, who
knows that he is not mere silk or furniture, and never frets about his
place in the world; but just slides into it by the gravitation of his
nature, and swings there as easily as a star! But the mere leader of
fashion has no genuine claim to supremacy; at least, no abiding
assurance of it. He has embroidered his title upon his waistcoat, and
carries his worth in his watch-chain; and if he is allowed any real
precedence for this it is almost a moral swindle,--a way of obtaining
goods under false pretences. But without running into more minute
discussion, I say again--that there is no substantial ground of
supremacy in aught that is merely accidental or external; and he who
rests upon such claims stands upon a pedestal as uncertain as it is
spurious.
"If a man strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive
lawfully." This was the old rule of the Grecian games, which would not
permit the prize to be gained by any unfair or incomplete methods. It
was applied by the apostle to a specific work--the great work of the
Christian ministry. But it is a law which prevails in all human action.
And, while it suggests that spurious precedence for which there is so
much striving, it also indicates the fact that there _is_ a real
difference of degree among men, and that there are proper methods of
obtaining supremacy.
And, as I look around in the populous city, in order to illustrate the
grounds of this lawful precedence, I observe, in the first place, that
there are men who occupy the higher places by ordinance of nature so to
speak; or, more properly, by the purpose of God. It is a fact in nature
that all men are created equal, and it is also a fact in nature that
all men are not equal. All men are created equal as to the essential
rights and privileges of humanity. They have a claim to live; they have
an impartial share in the Divine Love; they have a right to liberty, to
freedom of thought and of limb, by a constitution older than any
historical document, drawn up in the court of God's decrees and
authenticated by His handwriting in the soul. Thus far all men are
_created_ equal, and, if it turns out otherwise with them, it ensues
from what is _made_ by man, not what is commanded by Heaven. But so far
as quantity of nature is concerned--original capacity and spiritual
gifts--men are not equal. And if it is asked--"Why are they not equal?"
I answer, it is by appointment of the same Sovereign Mind which has
ordained that "one star shall differ from another star in glory." But
each form of being has its own capacities, and if these are filled the
moral harmony is secured. Through all prevails the law of compensation,
balancing the vicissitudes of experience. And, among these diversities
of human capacity, some must of necessity occupy the highest place--men
whose native genius carries them up in a splendid orbit, and endows them
with control. And the world at large always acknowledges the rectitude
of this appointment. It cherishes no envy toward men of this kind, but
renders them spontaneous homage.