# The Native Races of the Pacific States/Volume 2/Chapter 1

Chapter 1 was republished in two parts in 1875 in Popular Science Monthly, Volume 7.
THE NATIVE RACES
OF THE
PACIFIC STATES.
CIVILIZED NATIONS.
CHAPTER I.
SAVAGISM AND CIVILIZATION.
The terms Savage and Civilized, as applied to races of men, are relative and not absolute terms. At best these words mark only broad shifting stages in human progress; the one near the point of departure, the other farther on toward the unattainable end. This progress is one and universal, though of varying rapidity and extent; there are degrees in savagism and there are degrees in civilization; indeed, though placed in opposition, the one is but a degree of the other. The Haidah, whom we call savage, is as much superior to the Shoshone, the lowest of Americans, as the Aztec is superior to the Haidah, or the European to the Aztec. ​Looking back some thousands of ages, we of to-day are civilized; looking forward through the same duration of time, we are savages.
Nor is it, in the absence of fixed conditions, and amidst the many shades of difference presented by the nations along our western seaboard, an easy matter to tell where even comparative savagism ends and civilization begins. In the common acceptation of these terms, we may safely call the Central Californians savage, and the Quichés of Guatemala civilized; but between these two extremes are hundreds of peoples, each of which presents some claim for both distinctions. Thus, if the domestication of ruminants, or some knowledge of arts and metals, constitute civilization, then are the ingenious but half-torpid Hyperboreans civilized, for the Eskimos tame reindeer, and the Thlinkeets are skillful carvers and make use of copper; if the cultivation of the soil, the building of substantial houses of adobe, wood, and stone, with the manufacture of cloth and pottery, denote an exodus from savagism, then are the Pueblos of New Mexico no longer savages; yet in both these instances enough may be seen, either of stupidity or brutishness, to forbid our ranking them with the more advanced Aztecs, Mayas, and Quichés.
We know what savages are; how, like wild animals, they depend for food and raiment upon the spontaneous products of nature, migrating with the beasts and birds and fishes, burrowing beneath the ground, hiding in caves, or throwing over themselves a shelter of bark or skins or branches or boards, eating or starving as food is abundant or scarce; nevertheless, all of them have made some advancement from their original naked, helpless condition, and have acquired some aids in the procurement of their poor necessities. Primeval man, the only real point of departure, and hence the only true savage, nowhere exists on the globe to-day. Be the animal man never so low—lower in skill and wisdom than the brute, less active in obtaining food, less ingenious in building his den—the first step ​out of his houseless, comfortless condition, the first fashioning of a tool, the first attempt to cover nakedness and wall out the wind, if this endeavor spring from intellect and not from instinct, is the first step toward civilization. Hence the modern savage is not the pre-historic or primitive man; nor is it among the barbarous nations of to-day that we must look for the rudest barbarism.
Often is the question asked, What is civilization? and the answer comes, The act of civilizing; the state of being civilized. What is the act of civilizing? To reclaim from a savage or barbarous state; to educate; to refine. What is a savage or barbarous state? A wild uncultivated state; a state of nature. Thus far the dictionaries. The term civilization, then, popularly implies both the transition from a natural to an artificial state, and the artificial condition attained. The derivation of the word civilization, from civis, citizen, civitas, city, and originally from cœtus, union, seems to indicate that culture which, in feudal times, distinguished the occupants of cities from the ill-mannered boors of the country. The word savage, on the other hand, from silva, a wood, points to man primeval; silvestres homines, men of the forest, not necessarily ferocious or brutal, but children of nature. From these simple beginnings both words have gradually acquired a broader significance, until by one is understood a state of comfort, intelligence, and refinement; and by the other, humanity wild and bestial.
Guizot defines civilization as an "improved condition of man resulting from the establishment of social order in place of the individual independence and lawlessness of the savage or barbarous life;" Buckle as "the triumph of mind over external agents;" Virey as "the development more or less absolute of the moral and intellectual faculties of man united in society;" Burke as the exponent of two principles, "the spirit of a gentleman and the spirit of religion." "Whatever be the characteristics of what we call savage life," says ​John Stuart Mill, "the contrary of these, or the qualities which society puts on as it throws off these, constitute civilization;" and, remarks Emerson, "a nation that has no clothing, no iron, no alphabet, no marriage, no arts of peace, no abstract thought, we call barbarous."
Men talk of civilization and call it liberty, religion, government, morality. Now liberty is no more a sign of civilization than tyranny; for the lowest savages are the least governed of all people. Civilized liberty, it is true, marks a more advanced stage than savage liberty, but between these two extremes of liberty there is a necessary age of tyranny, no less significant of an advance on primitive liberty than is constitutional liberty an advance on tyranny. Nor is religion civilization, except in so far as the form and machinery of sacerdotal rites, and the abandonment of fetichism for monotheism become significant of intenser thought and expansion of intellect. No nation ever practiced grosser immorality, or what we of the present day hold to be immorality, than Greece during the height of her intellectual refinement. Peace is no more civilization than war, virtue than vice, good than evil. All these are the incidents, not the essence, of civilization.
That which we commonly call civilization is not an adjunct nor an acquirement of man; it is neither a creed nor a polity, neither science nor philosophy nor industry; it is rather the measure of progressional force implanted in man, the general fund of the nation's wealth, learning, and refinement, the storehouse of accumulated results, the essence of all best worth preserving from the distillations of good and the distillations of evil. It is a something between men, no less than a something within them; for neither an isolated man nor an association of brutes can by any possibility become civilized.
Further than this, civilization is not only the measure of aggregated human experiences, but it is a living ​working principle. It is a social transition; a moving forward rather than an end attained; a developing vitality rather than a fixed entity; it is the effort or aim at refinement rather than refinement itself; it is labor with a view to improvement and not improvement consummated, although it may be and is the metre of such improvement. And this accords with latter-day teachings. Although in its infancy, and, moreover, unable to explain things unexplainable, the science of evolution thus far has proved that the normal condition of the human race, as well as that of physical nature, is progressional; that the plant in a congenial soil is not more sure to grow than is humanity with favorable surroundings certain to advance. Nay, more, we speak of the progress of civilization as of something that moves on of its own accord; we may, if we will, recognize in this onward movement, the same principle of life manifest in nature and in the individual man.
To things we do not understand we give names, with which by frequent use we become familiar, when we fancy that we know all about the things themselves. At the first glance civilization appears to be a simple matter; to be well clad, well housed, and well fed, to be intelligent and cultured are better than nakedness and ignorance; therefore it is a good thing, a thing that men do well to strive for,—and that is all. But once attempt to go below this placid surface, and investigate the nature of progressional phenomena, and we find ourselves launched upon an eternity of ocean, and in pursuit of the same occult Cause, which has been sought alike by philosophic and barbaric of every age and nation; we find ourselves face to face with a great mystery, to which we stand in the same relation as to other great mysteries, such as the origin of things, the principle of life, the soul-nature. When such questions are answered as What is attraction, heat, electricity; what instinct, intellect, soul? Why are plants forced to grow and molecules to ​conglomerate and go whirling in huge masses through space?—then we may know why society moves ever onward like a river in channels predetermined. At present, these phenomena we may understand in their action partially, in their essence not at all; we may mark effects, we may recognize the same principle under widely different conditions though we may not be able to discover what that principle is. Science tells us that these things are so; that certain combinations of certain elements are inevitably followed by certain results, but science does not attempt to explain why they are so. Nevertheless, a summary of such few simple thoughts as I have been able to gather upon the subject, may be not wholly valueless.
And first, to assist our reflections, let us look for a moment at some of the primal principles in nature, not with a view to instruct in that direction, but rather to compare some of the energies of the material world with the intellectual or progressional energy in man; and of these I will mention such only as are currently accepted by latter-day science.
Within the confines of the conceivable universe one element alone is all-potential, all-pervading,—Force. Throughout the realms of space, in and round all forms of matter, binding minutest atoms, balancing systems of worlds, rioting in life, rotting in death, under its various aspects mechanical and chemical, attractive and repulsive, this mighty power is manifest; a unifying, coalescing, and flowing power, older than time, quicker than thought, saturating all suns and planets and filling to repletion all molecules and masses. Worlds and systems of worlds are sent whirling, worlds round worlds and systems round systems, in a mazy planetary dance, wherein the slightest tripping, the least excess of momentum or inertia, of tension or traction, in any part, and chaos were come again. Every conceivable entity, ponderable and imponderable, material and immaterial, is replete with force. ​By it all moving bodies are set in motion, all motionless bodies held at rest; by it the infinitesimal atom is held an atom and the mass is held concrete, vapory moisture overspreads the land, light and heat animate senseless substance; by it forms of matter change, rocks grow and dissolve, mountains are made and unmade, the ocean heaves and swells, the eternal hills pulsate, the foundations of the deep rise up, and seas displace continents.
One other thing we know, which with the first comprises all our knowledge,—Matter. Now force and matter are interdependent, one cannot exist without the other; as for example, all substance, unless held together—which term obviously implies force—would speedily dissolve into inconceivable nothingness. But no less force is required to annihilate substance than to create it; force, therefore, is alike necessary to the existence or non-existence of matter, which reduces the idea of a possible absence of either force or matter to an absurdity; or, in other words, it is impossible for the human mind to conceive of a state of things wherein there is no matter, and consequently no force.
Force has been called the soul of nature, and matter the body, for by force matter lives and moves and has its being.
Force like matter, is divisible, infinitely so, as far as human experience goes; for, though ultimates may exist, they have never yet been reached; and it would seem that all physical phenomena, endlessly varied and bewildering as they may appear, spring from a few simple incomprehensible forces, the bases of which are attraction and repulsion; which may yet, indeed, derive their origin from One Only Source. In the morphological and geometrical displays of matter these phenomena assume a multitude of phases; all are interactive and interdependent, few are original or primary,—for example, heat and electricity are the offspring of motion which is the result of attractive and repulsive force.
​What is force and what matter, whether the one is the essence of a self-conscious Creator and the other his handiwork, or whether both are the offspring of a blind chance or fate—which latter hypothesis is simply unthinkable—it is not my purpose here to consider. I propose in this analysis to take things as I find them, to study the operations rather than the origin of phenomena, to determine what man does rather than what he ought to do, and to drop the subject at the confines of transcendentalism. When, therefore, I speak of force as the life of matter, it no more implies a self-existant materialism in man, than the soul of man implies a pantheistic self-existant soul in nature. Omnipotence can as easily create and sustain a universe through the media of antagonistic and interdependent forces as through any other means, can as easily place nature and man under the governance of fixed laws as to hold all under varying arbitrary dispensations, and can reconcile these laws with man's volition. Wells of bitterness are dug by disputants under meaningless words; scientists are charged with materialism and religionists with fanaticism, in their vain attempts to fathom the ways of the Almighty and restrict his powers to the limits of our weak understanding.
It has been said that, in the beginning, the sixty and odd supposed several elements of matter were in a chaotic state; that matter and force were poised in equilibrium or rioted at random throughout space, that out of this condition of things sprang form and development; regular motion and time began; matter condensed into revolving masses and marked off the days, and months, and years; organization and organisms were initiated and intellectual design became manifest. The infinitesimal molecules, balanced by universal equilibrium of forces, which before motion and time were but chaotic matter and force, were finally supposed to have been each endowed with an innate individuality. However this may be, we now see every atom in the universe a thrill with force, and ​possessed of chemical virtues, and, under conditions, with the faculty of activity. As to the Force behind force, or how or by what means this innate energy was or is implanted in molecules, we have here nothing to do. It is sufficient for our purpose that we find it there; yet, the teachings of philosophy imply that this innate force is neither self-implanted nor self-operative; that whether, in pre-stellar times, infinitesimal particles of matter floated in space as nebulous fluid or objectless vapor without form or consistence, or whether all matter was united in one mass which was set revolving, and became broken into fragments, which were sent whirling as suns and planets in every direction; that in either case, or in any other conceivable case, matter, whether as molecules or masses, was primordially, and is, endowed and actuated by a Creative Intelligence, which implanting force, vitality, intellect, soul, progress, is ever acting, moving, mixing, unfolding, and this in every part and in all the multitudinous combinations of matter; and that all forces and vitalities must have co-existed in the mass, innate in and around every atom.
​held dormant in molecules are engendered; composition and decomposition ensue; matter assumes new and varying forms; a progressional development, which is nothing but intelligently directed motion, is initiated, and motion becomes eternal.
It is a well-established principle of physics that force cannot be created or lost. The conservation of force is not affected by the action or energies of moving bodies. Force is not created to set a body in motion, nor when expended, as we say, is it lost. The sum of all potential energies throughout the universe is always the same, whether matter is at rest or in motion. It is evident that so long as every molecule is charged with attractive force no atom can drop out into the depths of unoccupied and absolute space and become lost or annihilated; and so long as force is dependent on matter for its perceivable existence, force cannot escape beyond the confines of space and become lost in absolute void.
Not only are forces interdependent, but they are capable of being metamorphosed one into another. Thus intellectual energy invents a machine which drives a steamship across the ocean. This invention or creation of the mind is nothing else than a vitalization or setting at liberty of mechanical forces, and without this vitalization or applied intellectual force such mechanical force lies dormant as in so-called dead matter. Gravitation is employed to turn a water-wheel, caloric to drive a steam-engine, by means of either of which weights may be raised, heat, electricity, and light produced, and these new-created forces husbanded and made to produce still other forces or turned back into their original channels. And so in chemical and capillary action, the correlation of forces everywhere is found.
Between mind and matter there exists the most intimate relationship. Immateriality, in its various phases of force, life, intellect, so far as human consciousness can grasp it, is inseparable from materiality. ​The body is but part of the soil on which it treads, and the mind can receive no impressions except through the organs of the body. The brain is the seat of thought and the organ of thought; neither can exist in a normal state apart from the other. As a rule, the power of the intellect is in proportion to the size and quality of the brain. Among animals, those of lowest order have the least brains; man, the most intellectual of animals, has relatively, if not absolutely, the largest brain. True, in some of the largest animals the cerebral mass is larger than in man, but, in its chemical composition, its convolutions, shape, and quality, that in man is superior; and it is in the quality, rather than in the quantity of the nervous tissues, that their superiority consists. Intelligence enters the brain by the organs of the senses, and through the nervous system its subtle influence radiates to every part of the body. All human activities are either mental or mechanical; nor will it be denied that mental activity is produced by mechanical means, or, that mechanical activity is the result of mental force. Corporeal motion is mental force distributed to the various parts of the body.
The action of immaterial forces on the material substances of the human body manifestly accords with the action of immaterial forces elsewhere. All the physical and mechanical actions of the human body accord with the physical and mechanical forces elsewhere displayed. Man, we are told, was the last of all created things, but in the making of man no new matter was employed; nor in setting the body in motion can we discover that any new force was invented. Thus the heart beats upon mechanical principles; the eye sees, and the voice speaks in accordance with the general laws of optics and acoustics.
To the observer, organic activity is but the product of combined inorganic forces. The same processes are at work, and in the same manner, in living and in so-called dead matter. Life, to all appearance, is but the ​result of combined chemical and mechanical processes. Assimilation, digestion, secretion, are explainable by chemistry, and by chemistry alone. The stomach is a chemical retort, the body a chemical laboratory. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, combine and separate in the body as out of the body. The blood circulates upon purely mechanical principles; all muscular action is mechanical. In the phenomena of life, the only perceptible difference is in the combinations of fundamental elements; yet chemistry and mechanics cannot produce a live body.
With the foregoing well-recognized principles before us, let us now notice some few parallelisms between mechanical and social energetics.
Man, like every other natural substance, is a compound of force and matter. "Respiration," says Liebig, "is the falling weight, the bent spring, which keeps the clock in motion; the inspirations and respirations are the strokes of the pendulum which regulates." Atoms of matter, through the instrumentality of living force, cohere and coalesce under endless complex conditions into endless varieties of form and substance; so also the activities of man, corporeal and intellectual, result in vast accumulations of experiences, which accumulations become the property of the whole society. Society, like matter, is composed of units, each possessing certain forces, attractive and repulsive; societies act upon each other, like celestial bodies, in proportion to their volume and proximity, and the power of the unit increases with the increase of the mass. In association there is a force as silent and as subtle as that which governs atoms and holds worlds in equipoise; its grosser forms are known as government, worship, fashion, and the like; its finer essence is more delicate than thought. It is this social force, attractive and repulsive, that binds men together, tears them asunder, kneads, and knits, and shapes, and evolves; it is the origin of every birth, the ultimate of every activity. Mechanical forces are manifest in machines, as the ​lever, the wheel, the inclined plane; professional force is manifest in intellectual ingenuity, literature, art, science, which are the machines of human progress.
How many of all our joys and sorrows, our loves and hates, our good and evil actions, spring from physical causes only? Even material substances display moods and affections, as when heated, electrified, decomposed, or set in motion; the sea at rest presents a different mood from the sea raging. Jean-Jacques Rousseau's idea that the soul might be governed for its good by material things working through the media of the senses, is not so extravagant after all. "The gospel according to Jean-Jacques," as Carlyle puts it, runs as follows on this point—and, indeed, the great Genevan evangelist at one time intended to devote a book to the subject under the title of La Morale Sensitive:—"The striking and numerous observations that I had collected were beyond all dispute; and, in their physical origin, they appeared to me proper for furnishing an exterior regimen, which, varied according to circumstances, should be able to place or maintain the soul in the state most favorable to virtue. How many wanderings one might save the reason, how many vices might be hindered birth, if one could but force the animal economy to favor the moral order that it troubles so often. Climates, seasons, sounds, colors, darkness, light, the elements, food, noise, silence, movement, repose, all act on our bodily frame, and, by consequence, on our soul; all offer us a thousand firm holds to govern, in their origin, those sentiments by which we allow ourselves to be dominated."
In contemplating the numerous activities by which we are surrounded, again and again we are called upon to wonder at the marvellous regularity which characterizes all their movements. So regular are these movements, so sure are certain conditions to accompany certain results, that in physics, in chemistry, in physiology, and even in society, facts are collected and classified, and from them laws are discovered as fixed ​and irrevocable as the facts themselves, which laws, indeed, are themselves facts, no less than the facts from which they are deduced.
Highly cultivated nations frame laws that provide for many contingencies, but the code of nature has yet finer provisions. There are conditions that neither political nor social laws reach, there are none not reached by physical law; in society, criminals sometimes evade the law; in nature, never. So subtle are the laws of nature, that even thought cannot follow them; when we see that every molecule, by virtue of its own hidden force, attracts every other molecule, up to a certain point, and then from the same inherent influence every atom repels every other atom; when by experiments of physicists it has been proved that in polarization, crystallization, and chemical action, there is not the slightest deviation from an almost startling regularity, with many other facts of like import, how many natural laws do we feel to be yet unrevealed and, from the exquisite delicacy of their nature, unrevealable to our present coarse understanding.
It would be indeed strange, if, when all the universe is under the governance of fixed laws—laws which regulate the motion of every molecule, no less than the revolutions of suns—laws of such subtle import, as for instance, regulate the transformations of heat, the convertibility and correlation of force; it would be strange, I say, if such laws as these, when they reached the domain of human affairs should pause and leave the world of man alone in purposeless wanderings.
To continue our analogies. As, latent in the atom, or in the mass, there are energies releasable only by heat or friction,—as in charcoal, which holds, locked up, muriatic acid gas equivalent to ninety times its volume; or in spongy platinum, which holds in like manner oxygen, equal to eight hundred times its volume; so, latent in every individual, are numberless energies, which demand the friction of society to call them out.Force comprises two elements, attraction and repulsion, ​analagous to the principles commonly called good and evil in the affairs of human society; take away from mechanical force either of these two oppugnant elements, and there could be neither organism nor life, so without both good and evil in human affairs there could be no progress.
If none of the forces of nature are dissipated or lost, and if force can no more be extinguished than matter, and like matter passes from one form into another, we may conclude that intellectual force is never dissipated or lost, but that the potential energies of mind and soul perpetually vibrate between man and nature.
Or, again, if, as we have seen, energy of every kind is clothed in matter, and when employed and expended returns again to its place in matter; and if the mind draws its forces from the body, as it appears to do, both growing, acting, and declining simultaneously; and if the body draws its energy from the earth, which is no less possible; then may not intellectual and progressional force be derived from man's environment, and return thither when expended? Every created being borrows its material from the storehouse of matter, and when uncreated restores it again; so every individual born into society becomes charged with social force, with progressional energy, which, when expended, rests with society. Winslow's opinion on this subject is, that "all electric and magnetic currents originate in—are inducted from—and radiate either directly or indirectly out of the globe as the fountain of every form and constituency of mechanical force, and that abstract immaterial mechanical energy, as we have thus far discussed and developed its dual principles, is absolutely convertible through molecular motion into every form and expansion of secondary force, passing successively from heat through electricity, magnetism, etc., and vice versa, it follows that this same mechanical energy itself, as hypostatical motive power, must proceed out of the globe also."
Thus is loaded with potential energy the universe of ​matter, generating life, mind, civilization, and hence we may conclude that whatever else it is, civilization is a force; that it is the sum of all the forces employed to drive humanity onward; that it acts on man as mechanical force acts on matter, attracting, repelling, pressing forward yet holding in equilibrium, and all under fixed and determined laws.
From all which it would appear that nothing is found in man that has not its counterpart in nature, and that all things that are related to man are related to each other; even immortal mind itself is not unlike that subtle force, inherent in, and working round every atom.
In this respect physical science is the precursor of social science. Nature produces man; man in his earlier conception of nature, that is in his gods, reproduces himself; and later, his knowledge of intrinsic self depends upon his knowledge of extrinsic agencies, so that as the laws that govern external nature are better understood, the laws that govern society are more definitely determined. The conditions of human progress can be wrought into a science only by pursuing the same course that raises into a science any branch of knowledge; that is, by collecting, classifying, and comparing facts, and therefrom discovering laws. Society must be studied as chemistry is studied; it must be analyzed, and its component parts—the solubilities, interactions, and crystallizations of religions, governments and fashions, ascertained. As in the earlier contemplations of physical nature, the action of the elements was deemed fortuitous, so in a superficial survey of society, all events appear to happen by chance; but on deeper investigation, in society as in physics, events apparently fortuitous, may be reduced to immutable law. To this end the life of mankind on the globe must be regarded as the life of one man, successions of societies as successions of days in that life; for the activities of nations are but the sum of the activities of the individual members thereof.
​ We have seen that man's organism, as far as it may be brought under exact observation, is governed by the same processes that govern elemental principles in inorganic nature. The will of man attempting to exert itself in antagonism to these laws of nature is wholly ineffectual. We are all conscious of a will, conscious of a certain freedom in the exercise of our will, but wholly unconscious as to the line of separation between volition and environment. Part of our actions arise from fixed necessity, part are the result of free will. Statistics, as they are accumulated and arranged, tend more and more to show that by far the greater part of human actions are not under individual control, and that the actions of masses are, in the main, wholly beyond the province of the human will.
Take the weather for a single day, and note the effect on the will. The direction of the wind not unfrequently governs one's train of thought; resolution often depends upon the dryness of the atmosphere, benevolence upon the state of the stomach; misfortunes, arising from physical causes, have ere now changed the character of a ruler from one of lofty self-sacrifice, to one of peevish fretfulness, whereat his followers became estranged and his empire lost in consequence. In the prosecution of an enterprise, how often we find ourselves drifting far from the anticipated goal. The mind is governed by the condition of the body, the body by the conditions of climate and food; hence it is that many of our actions, which we conceive to be the result of free choice, arise from accidental circumstances.
It is only in the broader view of humanity that general laws are to be recognized, as Dr Draper remarks: "He who is immersed in the turmoil of a crowded city sees nothing but the acts of men; and, if he formed his opinion from his experience alone, must conclude that the course of events altogether depends on the uncertainties of human volition. But he who ascends to a sufficient elevation loses sight of the passing ​conflicts, and no longer hears the contentions. He discovers that the importance of individual action is diminishing as the panorama beneath him is extending; and if he could attain to the truly philosophical, the general point of view, disengage himself from all terrestrial influences and entanglements, rising high enough to see the whole at a glance, his acutest vision would fail to discern the slightest indication of man, his free will, or his works."
Let us now glance at some of the manifestations of this progressional influence; first in its general aspects, after which we will notice its bearing on a few of the more important severalties intimately affecting humanity, such as religion, morality, government, and commerce,—for there is nothing that touches man's welfare, no matter how lightly, in all his long journey from naked wildness to clothed and cultured intelligence, that is not placed upon him by this progressional impulse.
In every living thing there is an element of continuous growth; in every aggregation of living things there is an element of continuous improvement. In the first instance, a vital actuality appears; whence, no one can tell. As the organism matures, a new germ is formed, which, as the parent stock decays, takes its place and becomes in like manner the parent of a successor. Thus even death is but the door to new forms of life. In the second instance, a body corporate appears, no less a vital actuality than the first; a social organism in which, notwithstanding ceaseless births and deaths, there is a living principle. For while individuals are born and die, families live; while families are born and die, species live; while species are born and die, organic being assumes new forms and features. Herein the all-pervading principle of life, while flitting, is nevertheless permanent, while transient is yet eternal. But above and independent of perpetual birth and death is this element of continuous ​growth, which, like a spirit, walks abroad and mingles in the affairs of men. "All our progress," says Emerson, "is an unfolding, like the vegetable bud. You have first an instinct; then an opinion, then a knowledge, as the plant has root bud and fruit."
Under favorable conditions, and up to a certain point, stocks improve; by a law of natural selection the strongest and fittest survive, while the ill-favored and deformed perish; under conditions unfavorable to development, stocks remain stationary or deteriorate. Paradoxically, so far as we know, organs and organisms are no more perfect now than in the beginning; animal instincts are no keener, nor are their habitudes essentially changed. No one denies that stocks improve, for such improvement is perceptible and permanent; many deny that organisms improve, for if there be improvement it is imperceptible, and has thus far escaped proof. But, however this may be, it is palpable that the mind, and not the body, is the instrument and object of the progressional impulse.
Man in the duality of his nature is brought under two distinct dominions; materially he is subject to the laws that govern matter, mentally to the laws that govern mind; physiologically he is perfectly made and non-progressive, psychologically he is embryonic and progressive. Between these internal and external forces, between moral and material activities there may be, in some instances, an apparent antagonism. The mind may be developed in excess and to the detriment of the body, and the body may be developed in excess and to the detriment of the mind.
The animal man is a bundle of organs, with instincts implanted that set them in motion; man intellectual is a bundle of sentiments, with an implanted soul that keeps them effervescent; mankind in the mass, society,—we see the fermentations, we mark the transitions; is there, then, a soul in aggregated humanity as there is in individual humanity?
The instincts of man's animality teach the organs ​to perform their functions as perfectly at the first as at the last; the instincts of man's intellectuality urge him on in an eternal race for something better, in which perfection is never attained nor attainable; in society, we see the constant growth, the higher and yet higher development; now in this ever-onward movement are there instincts which originate and govern action in the body social as in the body individual? Is not society a bundle of organs, with an implanted Soul of Progress, which moves mankind along in a resistless predetermined march?
Nations are born and die; they appear first in a state of infancy or savagism; many die in their childhood, some grow into manhood and rule for a time the destinies of the world; finally, by sudden extinction, or a lingering decrepitude, they disappear, and others take their place. But in this ceaseless coming and going there is somewhere a mysterious agency at work, making men better, wiser, nobler, whether they will or not. This improvement is not the effect of volition; the plant does not will to unfold, nor the immature animal to grow; neither can the world of human kind cease to advance in mind and in manners. Development is the inevitable incident of being. Nations, under normal conditions, can no more help advancing than they can throw themselves into a state of non-existence; than can the individual stop his corporeal growth, or shut out from the intellect every perception of knowledge, and become a living petrification. And in whatever pertains to intellectual man this fundamental principle is apparent. It underlies all moralities, governments, and religions, all industries, arts, and commerce; it is the mainspring of every action, the consequence of every cause; it is the great central idea toward which all things converge; it is the object of all efforts, the end of all successes; it absorbs all forces, and is the combined results of innumerable agencies, good and evil.
Before the theory of Dr von Martius and his followers, ​that the savage state is but a degeneration from something higher, can become tenable, the whole order of nature must be reversed. Races may deteriorate, civilized peoples relapse into barbarism, but such relapse cannot take place except under abnormal conditions. We cannot believe that any nation, once learning the use of iron would cast it away for stone. Driven from an iron-yielding land, the knowledge of iron might at last be forgotten, but its use would never be voluntarily relinquished. And so with any of the arts or inventions of man. Societies, like individuals, are born, mature, and decay; they grow old and die; they may pause in their progress, become diseased, and thereby lose their strength and retrograde, but they never turn around and grow backward or ungrow,—they could not if they would.
In the brute creation this element of progress is wanting. The bird builds its nest, the bee its cell, the beaver its dam, with no more skill or elaboration to-day, than did the bird or bee or beaver primeval. The instinct of animals does not with time become intellect; their comforts do not increase, their sphere of action does not enlarge. By domestication, stocks may be improved, but nowhere do we see animals uniting for mutual improvement, or creating for themselves an artificial existence. So in man, whose nature comprises both the animal and the intellectual, the physical organism neither perceptibly advances nor deteriorates. The features may, indeed, beam brighter from the light of a purer intellectuality cast upon them from within, but the hand, the eye, the heart, so far as we know, is no more perfect now than in the days of Adam.
As viewed by Mr Bagehot, the body of the accomplished man "becomes, by training, different from what it once was, and different from that of the rude man, becomes charged with stored virtue and acquired faculty which come away from it unconsciously." But the body of the accomplished man dies, and the son can ​in no wise inherit it, whereas the soul of his accomplishments does not die, but lives in the air, and becomes part of the vital breath of society. And, again, "power that has been laboriously acquired and stored up as statical in one generation" sometimes, says Maudsley, "becomes the inborn faculty of the next; and the development takes place in accordance with that law of increasing speciality and complexity of adaption to external nature which is traceable through the animal kingdom; or, in other words, that law of progress, from the general to the special, in development, which the appearance of nerve force amongst natural forces and the complexity of the nervous system of man both illustrate." On the other side John Stuart Mill is just as positive that culture is not inherent. "Of all vulgar modes," he remarks, "of escaping from the consideration of the effect of social and moral influences on the human mind, the most vulgar is that of attributing the diversities of conduct and character to inherent natural differences;" and, says Mr Buckle, "we cannot safely assume that there has been any permanent improvement in the moral or intellectual faculties of man, nor have we any decisive ground for saying that those faculties are likely to be greater in an infant born in the most civilized part of Europe, than in one born in the wildest region of a barbarous country."
Whether or not the nervous system, which is the connective tissue between man's animality and his intellectuality, transmits its subtle forces from one generation to another, we may be sure that the mind acts on the nerves, and the nerves on every part of the system, and that the intelligence of the mind influences and governs the materialism of the body, and the consequences in some way are felt by succeeding generations; but that the mind becomes material, and its qualities transmitted to posterity, is an hypothesis yet unestablished.
Moreover we may safely conclude that the improvement of mankind is a phenomenon purely intellectual. ​Not that the improvement of the mind is wholly independent of the condition of the body; for, as we shall hereafter see, so intimate is the connection between the mind and the body, that the first step toward intellectual advancement cannot be taken until the demands of the body are satisfied. Nervous phenomena are dependent upon the same nutritive processes that govern physical development; and that this nerve force, through whose agency the system is charged with intellectuality, as the molecule is charged with mechanical force, does exist, is capable, to some extent, of transmitting acquirements or artificial instincts from parent to child, we have every reason to believe; but, so far as we know, intellectual force, per se, is no more a transmittable entity than is the flesh-quivering of the slain ox life.
The strangest part of it all is, that though wrought out by man as the instrument, and while acting in the capacity of a free agent, this spirit of progress is wholly independent of the will of man. Though in our individual actions we imagine ourselves directed only by our free will, yet in the end it is most difficult to determine what is the result of free will, and what of inexorable environment. While we think we are regulating our affairs, our affairs are regulating us. We plan out improvements, predetermine the best course and follow it, sometimes; yet, for all that, the principle of social progress is not the man, is not in the man, forms no constituent of his physical or psychical individual being; it is the social atmosphere into which the man is born, into which he brings nothing and from which he takes nothing. While a member of society he adds his quota to the general fund and there leaves it; while acting as a free agent he performs his part in working out this problem of social development, performs it unconsciously, willing or unwilling he performs it, his baser passions being as powerful instruments of progress as his nobler; for avarice drives on intellect as effectually as benevolence, ​hate as love, and selfishness does infinitely more for the progress of mankind than philanthropy. Thus is humanity played upon by this principle of progress, and the music sometimes is wonderful; green fields as if by magic take the place of wild forests, magnificent cities rise out of the ground, the forces of nature are brought under the dominion of man's intelligence, and senseless substances endowed with speech and action.
It is verily as Carlyle says; "under the strangest new vesture, the old great truth (since no vesture can hide it) begins again to be revealed: That man is what we call a miraculous creature, with miraculous power over men; and, on the whole, with such a Life in him, and such a World round him, as victorious Analysis, with her Physiologies, Nervous Systems, Physic and Metaphysic, will never completely name, to say nothing of explaining."
Thus, to sum up the foregoing premises: in society, between two or more individuals, there is at work a mysterious energy, not unlike that of force between molecules or life in the organism; this social energy is under intelligent governance, not fortuitous nor causeless, but reducible to fixed law, and capable of being wrought into a science; is, moreover, a vital actuality, not an incident nor an accident, but an entity, as attraction and repulsion are entities; under this agency society, perforce, develops like the plant from a germ. This energy acts on the intellect, and through the intellect on the organism; acts independently of the will, and cannot be created or destroyed by man; is not found in the brute creation, is not transmittable by generation through individuals, is wrought out by man as a free-will agent, though acting unconsciously, and is the product alike of good and evil.
As to the causes which originate progressional phenomena there are differences of opinion. One sees in the intellect the germ of an eternal unfolding; another recognizes in the soul-element the vital principle of ​progress, and attributes to religion all the benefits of enlightenment; one builds a theory on the ground-work of a fundamental and innate morality; another discovers in the forces of nature the controlling influence upon man's destiny; while yet others, as we have seen, believe accumulative and inherent nervous force to be the media through which culture is transmitted. Some believe that moral causes create the physical, others that physical causes create the moral.
Thus Mr Buckle attempts to prove that man's development is wholly dependent upon his physical surroundings. Huxley points to a system of reflex actions,—mind acting on matter, and matter on mind,—as the possible culture-basis. Darwin advances the doctrine of an evolution from vivified matter as the principle of progressive development. In the transmution of nerve-element from parents to children, Bagehot sees "the continuous force which binds age to age, which enables each to begin with some improvement on the last, if the last did itself improve; which makes each civilization not a set of detached dots, but a line of color, surely enhancing shade by shade." Some see in human progress the ever-ruling hand of a divine providence, others the results of man's skill; with some it is free will, with others necessity; some believe that intellectual development springs from better systems of government, others that wealth lies at the foundation of all culture; every philosopher recognizes some cause, invents some system, or brings human actions under the dominion of some species of law.
As in animals of the same genus or species, inhabiting widely different localities, we see the results of common instincts, so in the evolutions of the human race, divided by time or space, we see the same general principles at work. So too it would seem, whether species are one or many, whether man is a perfectly created being or an evolution from a lower form, that all the human races of the globe are formed on one ​model and governed by the same laws. In the customs, languages, and myths of ages and nations far removed from each other in social, moral, and mental characteristics, innumerable and striking analogies exist. Not only have all nations weapons, but many who are separated from each other by a hemisphere use the same weapon; not only is belief universal, but many relate the same myth; and to suppose the bow and arrow to have had a common origin, or that all flood-myths, and myths of a future life are but offshoots from Noachic and Biblical narratives is scarcely reasonable.
It is easier to tell what civilization is not, and what it does not spring from, than what it is and what its origin. To attribute its rise to any of the principles, ethical, political, or material, that come under the cognizance of man, is fallacy, for it is as much an entity as any other primeval principle; nor may we, with Archbishop Whately, entertain the doctrine that civilization never could have arisen had not the Creator appeared upon earth as the first instructor; for, unfortunately for this hypothesis, the aboriginals supposedly so taught, were scarcely civilized at all, and compare unfavorably with the other all-perfect works of creation; so that this sort of reasoning, like innumerable other attempts of man to limit the powers of Omnipotence, and narrow them down to our weak understandings, is little else than puerility.
Nor, as we have seen, is this act of civilizing the effect of volition; nor, as will hereafter more clearly appear, does it arise from an inherent principle of good any more than from an inherent principle of evil. The ultimate result, though difficult of proof, we take for granted to be good, but the agencies employed for its consummation number among them more of those we call evil than of those we call good. The isolated individual never, by any possibility, can become civilized like the social man; he cannot even speak, and without a flow of words there can be no complete flow ​of thought. Send him forth away from his fellow-man to roam the forest with the wild beasts, and he would be almost as wild and beast-like as his companions; it is doubtful if he would ever fashion a tool, but would not rather with his claws alone procure his food, and forever remain as he now is, the most impotent of animals. The intellect, by which means alone man rises above other animals, never could work, because the intellect is quickened only as it comes in contact with intellect. The germ of development therein implanted cannot unfold singly any more than the organism can bear fruit singly. It is a well-established fact that the mind without language cannot fully develop; it is likewise established that language is not inherent, that it springs up between men, not in them. Language, like civilization, belongs to society, and is in no wise a part or the property of the individual. "For strangely in this so solid-seeming World," says Carlyle, "which nevertheless is in continual restless flux, it is appointed that Sound, to appearance the most fleeting, should be the most continuing of all things." And further, as remarked by Herbert Spencer: "Now that the transformation and equivalence of forces is seen by men of science to hold not only throughout all inorganic actions, but throughout all organic actions; now that even mental changes are recognized as the correlatives of cerebral changes, which also conform to this principle; and now that there must be admitted the corollary, that all actions going on in a society are measured by certain antecedent energies, which disappear in effecting them, while they themselves become actual or potential energies from which subsequent actions arise; it is strange that there should not have arisen the consciousness that these higher phenomena are to be studied as lower phenomena have been studied—not, of course, after the same physical methods, but in conformity with the same principles."
We may hold then, a priori, that this progressional ​principle exists; that it exists not more in the man than around him; that it requires an atmosphere in which to live, as life in the body requires an atmosphere which is its vital breath, and that this atmosphere is generated only by the contact of man with man. Under analysis this social atmosphere appears to be composed of two opposing principles—good and evil—which, like attraction and repulsion, or positive and negative electricity, underlie all activities. One is as essential to progress as the other; either, in excess or disproportionately administered, like an excess of oxygen or of hydrogen in the air, becomes pernicious, engenders social disruptions and decay which continue until the equilibrium is restored; yet all the while with the progress of humanity the good increases while the evil diminishes. Every impulse incident to humanity is born of the union of these two opposing principles. For example, as I have said, and will attempt more fully to show further on, association is the first requisite of progress. But what is to bring about association? Naked nomads will not voluntarily yield up their freedom, quit their wanderings, hold conventions and pass resolutions concerning the greatest good to the greatest number; patriotism, love, benevolence, brotherly kindness, will not bring savage men together; extrinsic force must be employed, an iron hand must be laid upon them which will compel them to unite, else there can be no civilization; and to accomplish this first great good to man,—to compel mankind to take the initial step toward the amelioration of their condition,—it is ordained that an evil, or what to us of these latter times is surely an evil, come forward,—and that evil is War.
Primeval man, in his social organization, is patriarchal, spreading out over vast domains in little bands or families, just large enough to be able successfully to cope with wild beasts. And in that state humanity would forever remain did not some terrible cause force these bands to confederate. War is an evil, ​originating in hateful passions and ending in dire misery; yet without war, without this evil, man would forever remain primitive. But something more is necessary. War brings men together for a purpose, but it is insufficient to hold them together; for when the cause which compacted them no longer exists, they speedily scatter, each going his own way. Then comes in superstition to the aid of progress. A successful leader is first feared as a man, then reverenced as a supernatural being, and finally himself, or his descendant, in the flesh or in tradition, is worshiped as a god. Then an unearthly fear comes upon mankind, and the ruler, perceiving his power, begins to tyrannize over his fellows. Both superstition and tyranny are evils; yet, without war superstition and tyranny, dire evils, civilization, which many deem the highest good, never by any possibility, as human nature is, could be. But more of the conditions of progress hereafter; what I wish to establish here is, that evil is no less a stimulant of development than good, and that in this principle of progress are manifest the same antagonism of forces apparent throughout physical nature; the same oppugnant energies, attractive and repulsive, positive and negative, everywhere existing. It is impossible for two or more individuals to be brought into contact with each other, whether through causes or for purposes good or evil, without ultimate improvement to both. I say whether through causes or for purposes good or evil, for, to the all-pervading principle of evil, civilization is as much indebted as to the all-pervading principle of good. Indeed, the beneficial influences of this unwelcome element have never been generally recognized. Whatever be this principle of evil, whatever man would be without it, the fact is clearly evident that to it civilization, whatever that may be, owes its existence. "The whole tendency of political economy and philosophical history," says Lecky, "which reveal the physiology of society, is to show that the happiness and welfare ​of mankind are evolved much more from our selfish than what are termed our virtuous acts." No wonder that devil-worship obtains, in certain parts, when to his demon the savage finds himself indebted for skill not only to overthrow subordinate deities, but to cure diseases, to will an enemy to death, to minister to the welfare of departed friends, as well as to add materially to his earthly store of comforts. The world, such as it is, man finds himself destined for a time to inhabit. Within him and around him the involuntary occupant perceives two agencies at work; agencies apparently oppugnant, yet both tending to one end—improvement; and Night or Day, Love or Crime, leads all souls to the Good, as Emerson sings. The principle of evil acts as a perpetual stimulant, the principle of good as a reward of merit. United in their operation, there is a constant tendency toward a better condition, a higher state; apart, the result would be inaction. For, civilization being a progression and not a fixed condition, without incentives, that is without something to escape from and something to escape to, there could be no transition, and hence no civilization.
Had man been placed in the world perfected and sinless, obviously there would be no such thing as progress. The absence of evil implies perfect good, and perfect good perfect happiness. Were man sinless and yet capable of increasing knowledge, the incentive would be wanting, for, if perfectly happy, why should he struggle to become happier? The advent of civilization is in the appearance of a want, and the first act of civilization springs from the attempt to supply the want. The man or nation that wants nothing remains inactive, and hence does not advance; so that it is not in what we have but in what we have not that civilization consists. These wants are forced upon us, implanted within us, inseparable from our being; they increase with an increasing supply, grow hungry from what they feed on; in quick succession, aspirations, ​emulations, and ambitions spring up and chase each other, keeping the fire of discontent ever glowing, and the whole human race effervescent.
The tendency of civilizing force, like the tendency of mechanical force, is toward an equilibrium, toward a never-attainable rest. Obviously there can be no perfect equilibrium, no perfect rest, until all evil disappears, but in that event the end of progress would be attained, and humanity would be perfect and sinless.
Man at the outset is not what he may be, he is capable of improvement or rather of growth; but childlike, the savage does not care to improve, and consequently must be scourged into it. Advancement is the ultimate natural or normal state of man; humanity on this earth is destined some day to be relatively, if not absolutely, good and happy.
The healthy body has appetites, in the gratification of which lies its chiefest enjoyment; the healthy mind has proclivities, the healthy soul intuitions, in the exercise and activities of which the happiest life is attainable; and in as far as the immaterial and immortal in our nature is superior to the material and mortal, in so far does the education and development of our higher nature contribute in a higher degree to our present benefit and our future well-being.
There is another thought in this connection well worthy our attention. In orthodox and popular parlance, labor is a curse entailed on man by vindictive justice; yet viewed as a civilizing agent, labor is man's greatest blessing. Throughout all nature there is no such thing found as absolute inertness; and, as in matter, so with regard to our faculties, no sooner do they begin to rest than they begin to rot, and even in the rotting they can obtain no rest. One of the chief objects of labor is to get gain, and Dr Johnson holds that "men are seldom more innocently employed than when they are making money."
Human experience teaches, that in the effort is greater pleasure than in the end attained; that labor is ​the normal condition of man; that in acquisition, that is progress, is the highest happiness; that passive enjoyment is inferior to the exhilaration of active attempt. Now imagine the absence from the world of this spirit of evil, and what would be the result? Total inaction. But before inaction can become more pleasurable than action, man's nature must be changed. Not to say that evil is a good thing, clearly there is a goodness in things evil; and in as far as the state of escaping from evil is more pleasurable than the state of evil escaped from, in so far is evil conducive to happiness.
The effect of well-directed labor is twofold; by exercise our faculties strengthen and expand, and at the same time the returns of that labor give us leisure in which to direct our improved faculties to yet higher aims. By continual efforts to increase material comforts, greater skill is constantly acquired, and the mind asserts more and more its independence. Increasing skill yields ever increased delights, which encourage and reward our labor. This, up to a certain point; but with wealth and luxury comes relaxed energy. Without necessity there is no labor; without labor no advancement. Corporeal necessity first forces corporeal activity; then the intellect goes to work to contrive means whereby labor may be lessened and made more productive.
The discontent which arises from discomfort, lies at the root of every movement; but then comfort is a relative term and complete satisfaction is never attained. Indeed, as a rule, the more squalid and miserable the race, the more are they disposed to settle down and content themselves in their state of discomfort. What is discomfort to one is luxury to another; "the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain"; in following the intellectual life, the higher the culture the greater the discontent; the greater the acquisition, the more eagerly do men press forward toward some higher and greater imaginary good. We ​all know that blessings in excess become the direst curses; but few are conscious where the benefit of a blessing terminates and the curse begins, and fewer still of those who are able thus to discriminate have the moral strength to act upon that knowledge. As a good in excess is an evil, so evil as it enlarges outdoes itself and tends toward self-annihilation. If we but look about us, we must see that to burn up the world in order to rid it of gross evil—a dogma held by some—is unnecessary, for accumulative evils ever tend towards reaction. Excessive evils are soonest remedied; the equilibrium of the evil must be maintained, or the annihilation of the evil ensues.
Institutions and principles essentially good at one time are essential evils at another time. The very aids and agencies of civilization become afterward the greatest drags upon progress. At one time it would seem that blind faith was essential to improvement, at another time skepticism, at one time order and morality, at another time lawlessness and rapine; for so it has ever been, and whether peace and smiling plenty, or fierce upheavals and dismemberments predominate, from every social spasm as well as fecund leisure, civilization shoots forward in its endless course. The very evils which are regarded as infamous by a higher culture were the necessary stepping-stones to that higher life. As we have seen, no nation ever did or can emerge from barbarism without first placing its neck under the yokes of despotism and superstition; therefore, despotism and superstition, now dire evils, were once essential benefits. No religion ever attained its full development except under persecution. Our present evils are constantly working out for humanity unforeseen good. All systems of wrongs and fanaticisms are but preparing us for and urging us on to a higher state.
If then civilization is a predestined, ineluctable, and eternal march away from things evil toward that which is good, it must be that throughout the world ​the principle of good is ever increasing and that of evil decreasing. And this is true. Not only does evil decrease, but the tendency is ever toward its disappearance. Gradually the confines of civilization broaden; the central principle of human progress attains greater intensity, and the mind assumes more and more its lordly power over matter.
The moment we attempt to search out the cause of any onward movement we at once encounter this principle of evil. The old-time aphorism that life is a perpetual struggle; the first maxim of social ethics 'the greatest happiness to the greatest number'; indeed, every thought and action of our lives points in the same direction. From what is it mankind is so eager to escape; with what do we wrestle; for what do we strive? We fly from that which gives pain to that which gives pleasure; we wrestle with agencies which bar our escape from a state of infelicity; we long for happiness.
Then comes the question, What is happiness? Is man polished and refined happier than man wild and unfettered; is civilization a blessing or a curse? Rousseau, we know, held it to be the latter; but not so Virey. "What!" he exclaims, "is he happier than the social man, this being abandoned in his maladies, uncared for even by his children in his improvident old age, exposed to ferocious beasts, in fear of his own kind, even of the cannibal's tooth? The civilized man, surrounded in his feebleness by affectionate attention, sustains a longer existence, enjoys more pleasure and daily comforts, is better protected against inclemencies of weather and all external ills. The isolated man must suffice for himself, must harden himself to endure any privation; his very existence depends upon his strength, and if necessity requires it of him, he must be ready to abandon wife and children and life itself at any moment. Such cruel misery is rare in social life, where the sympathies of humanity are awakened, and freely exercised."
​Continue these simple interrogatories a little farther and see where we land. Is the wild bird, forced to long migrations for endurable climates and food, happier than the caged bird which buys a daily plentiful supply for a song? Is the wild beast, oft-times hungry and hunted, happier than its chained brother of the menagerie? Is the wild horse, galloping with its fellows over the broad prairie, happier than the civilized horse of carriage, cart, or plow? May we not question whether the merchant, deep in his speculating ventures, or the man of law, poring over his brain-tearing brief, derives a keener sense of enjoyment than does the free forest-native, following the war-path or pursuing his game?
As I have attempted to show, civilization is not an end attained, for man is never wholly civilized,—but only the effort to escape from an evil, or an imaginary evil—savagism. I say an evil real or imaginary, for as we have seen, the question has been seriously discussed whether civilization is better or worse than savagism. For every advantage which culture affords, a price must be paid,—some say too great a price. The growth of the mind is dependent upon its cultivation, but this cultivation may be voluntary or involuntary, it may be a thing desired or a thing abhorred.
Every nation, every society, and every person has its or his own standard of happiness. The miser delights in wealth, the city belle in finery, the scholar in learning. The Christian's heaven is a spiritual city, where they neither marry, nor are given in marriage; the Norse-man's a Valhalla of alternate battle and wassail; the Mahometan's, a paradise of houris and lazy sensuality. The martyr at the stake, triumphant in his faith, may be happier than the man of fashion dying of ennui and gout; the savage, wandering through forest and over plain in pursuit of game, or huddled in his hut with wives and children, may be happier than the care-laden speculator or the wrangling politician. Content, the essence of all happiness, is as prevalent ​among the poor and ill-mannered, as among the rich, refined and civilized. Ubi bene, ibi patria, where it is well with me, there is my country, is the motto of the Indian,—and to be well with him signifies only to be beyond the reach of hunger and enemies. Ask the savage which is preferable, a native or a cultured state, and he will answer the former; ask the civilized man, and he will say the latter. I do not see any greater absurdity in the wild man saying to the tamed one: Give up the despotisms and diseases of society and throw yourself with me upon beauteous, bounteous nature; than in the European saying to the American: If you would find happiness, abandon your filth and naked freedom, accept Christianity and cotton shirts, go to work in a mission, rot on a reservation, or beg and starve in civilized fashion!
Of all animals, man alone has broken down the barriers of his nature in civilizing, or, as Rousseau expresses it, in denaturalizing himself; and for this denaturalization some natural good must be relinquished; to every infringement of nature's law, there is a penalty attached; for a more delicate organism the price is numberless new diseases; for political institutions the price is native freedom. With polished manners the candidate for civilization must accept affectation, social despotism; with increasing wealth, increasing wants; civilization engenders complexity in society, and in its turn is engendered thereby. Peoples the most highly cultured are moved by the most delicate springs; a finer touch, the result of greater skill, with a finer tone, the result of greater experience, produces music more and yet more exquisite.
Were man only an animal, this denaturalization and more, would be true. The tamed brute gives up all the benefits of savagism for few of the blessings of civilization; in a cultured state, as compared to a state of wild freedom, its ills are numberless, its advantages infinitesimal. But human nature is twofold, objective and subjective, the former typical of the ​savage state, the latter of the civilized. Man is not wholly animal; and by cultivating the mind, that is, by civilizing himself, he is no more denaturalized than by cultivating the body, and thereby acquiring greater physical perfection. We cannot escape our nature; we cannot re-create ourselves; we can only submit ourselves to be polished and improved by the eternal spirit of progress. The moral and the intellectual are as much constituents of human nature as the physical; civilization, therefore, is as much the natural state of man as savagism.
Another more plausible and partially correct assertion is, that by the development of the subjective part of our nature, objective humanity becomes degenerated. The intellectual cannot be wrought up to the highest state of cultivation except at the expense of the physical, nor the physical fully developed without limiting the mental. The efforts of the mind draw from the energies of the body; the highest and healthiest vigor of the body can only be attained when the mind is at rest, or in a state of careless activity. In answer to which I should say that beyond a certain point, it is true; one would hardly train successfully for a prize fight and the tripos at the same time; but that the non-intellectual savage, as a race, is physically superior, capable of enduring greater fatigue, or more skillful in muscular exercise than the civilized man is inconsistent with facts. Civilization has its vices as well as its virtues, savagism has its advantages as well as its demerits.
The evils of savagism are not so great as we imagine; its pleasures more than we are apt to think. As we become more and more removed from evils their magnitude enlarges; the fear of suffering increases as suffering is less experienced and witnessed. If savagism holds human life in light esteem, civilization makes death more hideous than it really is; if savagism is more cruel, it is less sensitive. Combatants accustomed to frequent encounter think lightly of ​wounds, and those whose life is oftenest imperiled think least of losing it. Indifference to pain is not necessarily the result of cruelty; it may arise as well from the most exalted sentiment as from the basest.
Civilization not only engenders new vices, but proves the destroyer of many virtues. Among the wealthier classes energy gives way to enjoyment, luxury saps the foundation of labor, progress becomes paralyzed, and with now and then a noble exception, but few earnest workers in the paths of literature, science, or any of the departments which tend to the improvement of mankind, are to be found among the powerful and the affluent, while the middle classes are absorbed in money-getting, unconsciously thereby, it is true, working toward the ends of civilization.
That civilization is expedient, that it is a good, that it is better than savagism, we who profess to be civilized entertain no doubt. Those who believe otherwise must be ready to deny that health is better than disease, truth than superstition, intellectual power than stupid ignorance; but whether the miseries and vices of savagism, or those of civilization are the greater, is another question. The tendency of civilization is, on the whole, to purify the morals, to give equal rights to man, to distribute more equally among men the benefits of this world, to melioriate wholesale misery and degradation, offer a higher aim and the means of accomplishing a nobler destiny, to increase the power of the mind and give it dominion over the forces of nature, to place the material in subservience to the mental, to elevate the individual and regulate society. True, it may be urged that this heaping up of intellectual fruits tends toward monopoly, toward making the rich richer and the poor poorer, but I still hold that the benefits of civilization are for the most part evenly distributed; that wealth beyond one's necessity is generally a curse to the possessor greater than the extreme of poverty, and that the true blessings of culture and refinement like air and sunshine are free to all.
​Civilization, it is said, multiplies wants, but then they are ennobling wants, better called aspirations, and many of these civilization satisfies.
If civilization breeds new vices, old ones are extinguished by it. Decency and decorum hide the hideousness of vice, drive it into dark corners, and thereby raise the tone of morals and weaken vice. Thus civilization promotes chastity, elevates woman, breaks down the barriers of hate and superstition between ancient nations and religions; individual energy, the influence of one over the many, becomes less and less felt, and the power of the people becomes stronger.
Civilization in itself can not but be beneficial to man; that which makes society more refined, more intellectual, less bestial, more courteous; that which cures physical and mental diseases, increases the comforts and luxury of life, purifies religions, makes juster governments—must surely be beneficial: it is the universal principle of evil which impregnates all human affairs, alloying even current coin, which raises the question. That there are evils attending civilization as all other benefits, none can deny, but civilization itself is no evil
If I have succeeded in presenting clearly the foregoing thoughts, enough has been said as to the nature and essence of civilization; let us now examine some of the conditions essential to intellectual development. For it must not be forgotten that, while every department of human progress is but the unfolding of a germ; while every tendency of our life, every custom and creed of our civilization finds its rudiment in savagism; while, as man develops, no new elements of human nature are created by the process; while, as the organism of the child is as complex and complete as the organism of the man, so is humanity in a savage state the perfect germ of humanity civilized,—it must not be forgotten in all this, that civilization cannot unfold except under favorable conditions. Just as the plant, ​though endowed with life which corresponds to the mind-principle in progress, requires for its growth a suitable soil and climate, so this progressional phenomenon must have soil and sunshine before it yields fruit; and this is another proof that civilization is not in the man more than around him; for if the principle were inherent in the individual, then the Hyperborean, with his half year of light and half year of underground darkness, must of necessity become civilized equally with the man born amidst the sharpening jostles of a European capital, for in all those parts that appertain solely to the intrinsic individual, the one develops as perfectly as the other. A people undergoing the civilizing process need not necessarily, does not indeed, advance in every species of improvement at the same time; in some respects the nation may be stationary, in others even retrograde. Every age and every nation has its special line of march. Literature and the fine arts reached their height in pagan Greece; monotheism among the Hebrews; science unfolded in Egypt, and government in Rome.
In every individual there is some one talent that can be cultivated more advantageously than any other; so it is with nations, every people possesses some natural advantage for development in some certain direction over every other people, and often the early history of a nation, like the precocious proclivities of the child, points toward its future; and in such arts and industries as its climate and geographical position best enable it to develop, is discovered the germ of national character. Seldom is the commercial spirit developed in the interior of a continent, or the despotic spirit on the border of the sea, or the predatory spirit in a country wholly devoid of mountains and fastnesses. It cannot be said that one nation or race is inherently better fitted for civilization than another; all may not be equally fitted for exactly the same civilization, but all are alike fitted for that civilization which, if left to itself, each will work out.
​Mankind, moreover, advances spasmodically, and in certain directions only at a time, which is the greatest drawback to progress. As Lecky remarks: "Special agencies, such as religious or political institutions, geographical conditions, traditions, antipathies, and affinities, exercise a certain retarding, accelerating, or deflecting influence, and somewhat modify the normal progress." Perfect development only is permanent, and that alone is perfect which develops the whole man and the whole society equally in all its parts; all the activities, mental, moral, and physical, must needs grow in unison and simultaneously, and this alone is perfect and permanent development. Should all the world become civilized there will still be minor differences; some will advance further in one direction and some in another, all together will form the complete whole.
Civilization as an exotic seldom flourishes. Often has the attempt been made by a cultivated people to civilize a barbarous nation, and as often has it failed. True, one nation may force its arts or religion upon another, but to civilize is neither to subjugate nor annihilate; foreigners may introduce new industries and new philosophies, which the uncultured may do well to accept, but as civilization is an unfolding, and not a creation, he who would advance civilization must teach society how to grow, how to enlarge its better self; must teach in what direction its highest interests lie.
Thus it appears that, while this germ of progress is innate in every human society, certain conditions are more favorable to its development than others,—conditions which act as stimulants or impediments to progress. Often we see nations remain apparently stationary, the elements of progress evenly balanced by opposing influences, and thus they remain until by internal force, or external pressure, their system expands or explodes, until they absorb or are absorbed ​by antagonistic elements. The intrinsic force of the body social appears to demand extrinsic prompting before it will manifest itself. Like the grains of wheat in the hand of Belzoni's mummy, which held life slumbering for three thousand years, and awoke to growth when buried in the ground, so the element of human progress lies dormant until planted in a congenial soil and surrounded by those influences which provoke development.
This stimulant, which acts upon and unfolds the intellect, can be administered only through the medium of the senses. Nerve force, which precedes intellectual force, is supplied by the body; the cravings of man's corporeal nature, therefore, must be quieted before the mind can fix itself on higher things. The first step toward teaching a savage is to feed him; the stomach satisfied he will listen to instruction, not before.
Cultivation of at least the most necessary of the industrial arts invariably precedes cultivation of the fine arts; the intellect must be implanted in a satisfied body before it will take root and grow. The mind must be allowed some respite from its attendance on the body, before culture can commence; it must abandon its state of servitude, and become master; in other words, leisure is an essential of culture.
As association is the primal condition of progress, let us see how nature throws societies together or holds them asunder. In some directions there are greater facilities for intercommunication (another essential of improvement) than in other directions. Wherever man is most in harmony with nature, there he progresses most rapidly; wherever nature offers the greatest advantages, such as a sea that invites to commerce, an elevated plateau lifting its occupants above the malaria of a tropical lowland, a sheltering mountain range that wards off inclement winds and bars out hostile neighbors, there culture flourishes best.
So that humanity, in its twofold nature, is ​dependent for its development upon two distinct species of stimulants, objective and subjective. Material causations, or those forces which minister to the requirements of man's material nature but upon which his intellectual progress is dependent, are configurations of surface, soil, climate, and food. Those physical conditions which, when favorable, give to their possessors wealth and leisure, are the inevitable precursors of culture. Immaterial causations are those forces which act more directly upon man's immaterial nature, as association, religion, wealth, leisure, and government. Continuing the analysis, let us first examine physical stimulants. Admitting readily two of M. Taine's primordial humanity-moving forces, 'le milieu' or environment, and his 'le moment' or inherited impulse, we will pass over the third force 'la race';—for inherent differences in race, in the present stage of science, are purely hypothetical; it remains yet to be proved that one nation is primarily inherently inferior or superior to another nation. That man once created is moulded and modified by his environment, there can be no doubt. Even a cursory survey of the globe presents some indications favorable and unfavorable to the unfolding of the different forms of organic being.
Great continents, for instance, appear to be congenial to the development of animal life; islands and lesser continents to the growth of exuberant vegetation. Thus, in the eastern hemisphere, which is a compact oval, essentially continental, with vast areas far removed from the influence of the ocean, flourish the elephant, the hippopotamus, the rhinoceros, the courageous lion, the fierce tiger, the largest and lordliest of animal kind, while in the more oceanic western hemisphere inferior types prevail. Cold and dryness characterize the one; heat and humidity the other; in one are the greatest deserts, in the other the greatest lakes and rivers. Warm oceanic currents bathe the frosty shores of the northern extremities of the continents and render them habitable; the ​moisture-laden equatorial atmosphere clothes the adjacent islands and firm land in emerald verdure. Upon the same parallel of latitude are the great Sahara Desert of Africa, and the wilderness of luxuriant billowy foliage of the American Isthmus. In warm, moist climates, such species of animal life attain the fullest development as are dependent upon the aqueous and herbous agencies. In tropical America are seen the largest reptiles, the most gorgeous insects,—there the inhabitants of warm marshes and sluggish waters assume gigantic proportions, while only upon the broad inland prairies or upon elevated mountain ranges, away from the influences of warm waters and humid atmospheres, are found the buffalo, bear, and elk. The very complexion and temperament of man are affected by these vegetative and umbrageous elements. Unprotected from the perpendicular rays of the sun, the African is black, muscular, and cheerful; under the shadow of primeval forest, man assumes a coppery hue, lacking the endurance of the negro, and becomes in disposition cold and melancholy.
And again, if we look for the natural causes which tend to promote or retard association, we find in climates and continental configurations the chief agencies. The continent of the two Americas, in its greatest length, lies north and south, the eastern continental group extends east and west. Primitive people naturally would spread out in those directions which offered the least change of climate from that of the primitive centre. Obviously, variations of climate are greater in following a meridian than along a parallel of latitude. Thus, the tropical man passing along a meridian is driven back by unendurable cold, while a continent may be traversed on any parallel, elevations excepted, with but little variation in temperature. A savage, exposed and inexperienced, not knowing how to protect himself against severe changes of climate, could not travel far in a northerly or southerly direction without suffering severely from the cold or heat; ​hence, other things being equal, the inhabitants of a country whose greatest length lay east and west, would intermingle more readily than those whose territory extended north and south.
That the eastern hemisphere attained a higher degree of civilization than the western, may be partly due to the fact, that the former presents wider spaces of uniform climate than the latter. The climatic zones of the New World, besides being shorter, are intersected by mountain barriers, which tend to retard the intercourse that would otherwise naturally follow. Thus the Mexican table-land, the seat of Aztec civilization, is a tierra fria situated above the insalubrious tierra caliente of either coast and the healthful tierra templada of the slopes, but below the mountain ranges which rise from this table-land, forming a tierra frígida, a region of perpetual snow. To this day, the natives of the Mexican plateau cannot live on the sea-coast, though less than a day's journey distant.
Between the climatic zones which extend through Europe and Asia, there are contrasts as marked and changes as sudden, but these differences are between the different zones rather than between longitudinal sections of the same zone. Hence, in the old world, where climatic zones are separated by mountain ranges which make the transition from one to the other sudden and abrupt, we see a greater diversity of race than in America, where the natural barriers extend north and south and intersect the climatic zones, thereby bringing the inhabitants along a meridian in easier communication than those who live in the same latitude but who are separated by mountains, table-lands and large rivers. That is, if color and race are dependent on climate, America should offer greater varieties in color and race than Europe, for America traverses the most latitudes; but the mountain barriers of America extend north and south, thereby forcing its people to intermingle, if at all, in that direction, while the chief ranges of the eastern continent extend east and west, ​parallel with climatic zones, thereby forming in themselves distinctly marked lines between peoples, forcing the African to remain under his burning sun, and the northmen in their cooler latitudes; so that in the several climatic zones of the old world, we see the human race distinctly marked, Aryan, Semitic, and Turanian—white, black, and yellow—while throughout the two Americas, from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, type and color are singularly uniform.
Who can picture the mighty tide of humanity, which, while the eastern hemisphere has been developing so high a state of culture, in America has ebbed and flowed between barbarisms and civilizations? Through what long and desperate struggles, continuing age after age through the lives of nations, now advancing, now receding, have these peoples passed? Asia, from its central position and favorable climate, would seem naturally to encourage a redundant population and a spontaneous civilization; the waters of the Mediterranean invite commerce and intercommunication of nations, while the British Isles, from their insular situation and distance from hypothetical primitive centres, would seem necessarily to remain longer in a state of barbarism. In the Pacific States of North America we find the densest population north along the shores of the ocean, and south on the cordillera table-land, from the fact that the former offers the best facilities for food and locomotion until the latter is reached, when the interior presents the most favorable dwelling-place for man.
Climate affects both mental and moral endowments, the temperament of the body, and the texture of the brain; physical energy, and mental vigor. Temperate climates are more conducive to civilization, not for the reason given by Mr Harris, "as developing the higher qualities, and not invigorating the baser feelings", for the Hyperborean is as unchaste and as great a slave to passion as the sub-equatorial man—but because a ​temperate climate, while it lures to exertion, rewards the laborer.
Next, let us consider the agency of food in human development. The effect of food is to supply the body with caloric, which is essential to its life, and to repair the muscular fibres which are constantly undergoing waste in our daily activities. These two effects are produced by two different kinds of diet; carbonized food, such as animal flesh, fish, oils and fats, and oxidized food, which consists chiefly of vegetables. In hot climates, obviously, less carbonized food is required to keep up the necessary temperature of the body than in cold climates. Hence it is, that hyperborean nations subsist on whale's blubber, oil, and flesh, while the tropical man confines himself almost exclusively to a vegetable diet.
It is not my purpose here to enter into the relative effects of the different kinds of food on physiological and mental development; I desire, however, to call attention to the comparative facility with which carbonized and oxidized food is procured by man, and to note the effect of this ease or difficulty in obtaining a food supply, upon his progress. In warm, humid climates vegetation is spontaneous and abundant; a plentiful supply of food may, therefore, be obtained with the smallest expenditure of labor. The inhabitants of cold climates, however, are obliged to pursue, by land and water, wild and powerful animals, to put forth all their strength and skill in order to secure a precarious supply of the necessary food. Then, again, besides being more difficult to obtain, and more uncertain as to a steady supply, the quantity of food consumed in a cold climate is much greater than that consumed in a hot climate. Now as leisure is essential to cultivation, and as without a surplus of food and clothing there can be no leisure, it would seem to follow naturally that in those countries where food and clothing are most easily obtained culture should ​be the highest; since so little time and labor are necessary to satisfy the necessities of the body, the mind would have opportunity to expand. It would seem that a fertile soil, an exuberant vegetation, soft skies and balmy air, a country where raiment was scarcely essential to comfort, and where for food the favored inhabitant had but to pluck and eat, should become the seat of a numerous population and a high development. Is this the fact? "Wherever snow falls," Emerson remarks, "there is usually civil freedom. Where the banana grows, the animal system is indolent, and pampered at the cost of higher qualities; the man is sensual and cruel;" and we may add that where wheat grows, there is civilization, where rice is the staple, there mental vigor is relaxed.
Heat and moisture being the great vegetative stimulants, tropical lands in proximity to the sea are covered with eternal verdure. Little or no labor is required to sustain life; for food there is the perpetually ripening fruit, a few hours' planting, sometimes, being sufficient to supply a family for months; for shelter, little more than the dense foliage is necessary, while scarcely any clothing is required.
But although heat and moisture, the great vegetative stimulants, lie at the root of primitive progress, these elements in superabundance defeat their own ends, and in two ways: First, excessive heat enervates the body and prostrates the mind, languor and inertia become chronic, while cold is invigorating and prompts to activity. And in tropical climates certain hours of the day are too hot for work, and are, consequently, devoted to sleep. The day is broken into fragments; continuous application, which alone produces important results, is prevented, and habits of slackness and laxity become the rule of life. Satisfied, moreover, with the provisions of nature for their support, the people live without labor, vegetating, plant-like, through a listless and objectless life. Secondly, vegetation, stimulated by excessive heat and moisture, grows with ​such strength and rapidity as to defy the efforts of inexperienced primitive man; nature becomes domineering, unmanageable, and man sinks into insignificance. Indeed the most skillful industry of armed and disciplined civilization is unable to keep under control this redundancy of tropical vegetation. The path cleared by the pioneer on penetrating the dense undergrowth, closes after him like the waters of the sea behind a ship; before the grain has time to spring up, the plowed field is covered with rank weeds, wild flowers, and poisonous plants no less beautiful than pernicious. I have seen the very fence-posts sprouting up and growing into trees. So destructive is the vegetation of the Central American lowlands, that in their triumphal march the persistent roots penetrate the crevices of masonry, demolish strong walls, and obliterate stupendous tumuli. The people whose climate makes carbonized food a necessity, are obliged to call into action their bolder and stronger faculties in order to obtain their supplies, while the vegetable-eater may tranquilly rest on bounteous nature. The Eskimo struggles manfully with whale, and bear, and ice, and darkness, until his capacious stomach is well filled with heat-producing food, then he dozes torpidly in his den while the supply lasts; the equatorial man plucks and eats, basks in the open air, and sleeps.
Here we have a medley of heterogeneous and antagonistic elements. Leisure is essential to culture; before leisure there must be an accumulation of wealth; the accumulation of wealth is dependent upon the food-supply; a surplus of food can only be easily obtained in warm climates. But labor is also essential to development, and excessive heat is opposed to labor. Labor, moreover, in order to produce leisure must be remunerative, and excessive cold is opposed to accumulation. It appears, therefore, that an excess of labor and an excess of leisure are alike detrimental to improvement. Again, heat and moisture are essential to an abundant supply of oxidized food. But heat and moisture, ​especially in tropical climates, act as a stimulant upon other rank productions, engendering dense forests, tangled brush-wood, and poisonous shrubs, and filling miasmatic marshes with noxious reptiles. These enemies to human progress the weaponless savage is unable to overcome.
It is, therefore, neither in hot and humid countries, nor in excessively cold climates, that we are to look for a primitive civilization; for in the latter nature lies dormant, while in the former the redundancy of nature becomes unmanageable. It is true that in the tropics of America and Asia are found the seats of many ancient civilizations, but if we examine them one after the other, we shall see, in nearly every instance, some opposite or counteracting agency. Thus, the Aztecs, though choosing a low latitude in proximity to both oceans, occupied an elevated table-land, in a cool, dry atmosphere, seven or eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. The river Nile, by its periodic inundations, forced the ancient Egyptians to lay by a store of food, which is the very first step toward wealth. The rivers of India are, some of them, subject to like overflowings, while the more elevated parts are dry and fertile.
Egypt was the cradle of European development. Long before the advent of Christianity, the fertile banks of the Nile, for their pyramidal tombs, their colossi, their obelisks and catacombs and sphinxes and temples, were regarded by surrounding barbarians as a land of miracles and marvels. Thence Greece derived her earliest arts and maxims. The climate of Egypt was unchangeable, and the inundations of the Nile offered a less uncertain water-supply than the rains of many other districts, and thus agriculture, while offering to the laborer the greater part of the year for leisure, was almost certain to be remunerative. Common instincts and common efforts, uniformity of climate and identity of interests produced a homogeneous people, and forty centuries of such changeless ​coming and going could not fail to result in improvement.
Mr Buckle, in his attempt to establish a universal theory that heat and moisture inevitably engender civilization, and that without those combined agencies no civilization can arise, somewhat overreaches himself. "In America, as in Asia and Africa," he says, "all the original civilizations were seated in hot countries; the whole of Peru, proper, being within the southern tropic, the whole of Central America and Mexico within the northern tropic." The fact is, that Cuzco, the capital city of the Incas, is in the cordilleras, three hundred miles from and eleven thousand feet above the sea. For the latitude the climate is both cold and dry. The valley of Mexico is warmer and moister, but cannot be called hot and humid. Palenque and Copan approach nearer Mr Buckle's ideal than Cuzco or Mexico, being above the tierra caliente proper, and yet in a truly hot and humid climate.
The Hawaiian Islands,—an isolated group of lava piles, thrown up into the trade winds on the twentieth parallel, and by these winds deluged on one side with rain, while the other is left almost dry, with but little alluvial soil, and that little exceedingly fertile,—at the time of their discovery by Captain Cook appeared to have made no inconsiderable advance toward feudalism. Systems of land tenure and vassalage were in operation, and some works for the public weal had been constructed. Here were the essentials for a low order of improvement such as was found there, but which never, in all probability, would have risen much higher.
Again, Mr Buckle declares that, "owing to the presence of physical phenomena, the civilization of America was, of necessity, confined to those parts where alone it was found by the discoverers of the New World."—An apparently safe postulate; but, upon any conceivable hypothesis, there are very many ​places as well adapted to development as those in which it was found. Once more: "The two great conditions of fertility have not been united in any part of the continent north of Mexico." When we consider what it is, namely, heat and humidity, upon which Mr Buckle makes intellectual evolution dependent, and that not only the Mexican plateau lacked both these essentials, in the full meaning of the term, but that both are found in many places northward, as for instance, in some parts of Texas and in Louisiana, a discrepancy in his theory becomes apparent. "The peculiar configuration of the land," he continues, "secured a very large amount of coast, and thus gave to the southern part of North America the character of an island." An island, yes, but, as M. Guyot terms it, an "aerial island;" bordered on either side by sea-coast, but by such sea-coast as formed an almost impassable barrier between the table-land and the ocean.
"While, therefore," adds Mr Buckle, "the position of Mexico near the equator gave it heat, the shape of the land gave it humidity; and this being the only part of North America in which these two conditions were united it was likewise the only part which was at all civilized. There can be no doubt, that if the sandy plains of California and Southern Columbia, instead of being scorched into sterility, had been irrigated by the rivers of the east, or if the rivers of the east had been accompanied by the heat of the west, the result of either combination would have been that exuberance of soil, by which, as the history of the world decisively proves, every early civilization was preceded. But inasmuch as, of the two elements of fertility, one was deficient in every part of America north of the twentieth parallel, it followed that, until that line was passed, civilization could gain no resting place; and there never has been found, and we may confidently assert never will be found, any evidence that even a single ancient nation, in the whole of that enormous continent, was able to make much progress in the arts of life, or organize ​itself into a fixed and permanent society." This is a broad statement embodying precipitate deductions from false premises, and one which betrays singular ignorance of the country and its climate. These same "sandy plains of California" so far from being "scorched into sterility", are to-day sending their cereals in every direction—to the east and to the west—and are capable of feeding all Europe.
I have often wondered why California was not the seat of a primitive civilization; why, upon every converging line the race deteriorates as this centre is approached; why, with a cool, salubrious seaboard, a hot and healthful interior, with alternate rainy and dry seasons, alternate seasons of labor and leisure which encourage producing and hoarding and which are the primary incentives to accumulation and wealth, in this hot and cool, moist and dry, and invigorating atmosphere, with a fertile soil, a climate which in no part of the year can be called cold or inhospitable, should be found one of the lowest phases of humanity on the North American continent. The cause must be sought in periods more remote, in the convulsions of nature now stilled; in the tumults of nations whose history lies forgotten, forever buried in the past. Theories never will solve the mystery. Indeed, there is no reason why the foundations of the Aztec and Maya-Quiché civilizations may not have been laid north of the thirty-fifth parallel, although no architectural remains have been discovered there, nor other proof of such an origin; but upon the banks of the Gila, the Colorado, and the Rio Grande, in Chihuahua, and on the hot dry plains of Arizona and New Mexico, far beyond the limits of Mr Buckle's territory where "there never has been found, and we may confidently assert never will be found" any evidence of progress, are to-day walled towns inhabited by an industrial and agricultural people, whose existence we can trace back for more than three centuries, besides ruins of massive buildings of whose history nothing is known.
​Thus, that California and many other parts of North America could not have been the seat of a primitive civilization, cannot be proved upon the basis of any physical hypothesis; and, indeed, in our attempt to elucidate the principles of universal progress, where the mysterious and antagonistic activities of humanity have been fermenting all unseen for thousands of ages, unknown and unknowable, among peoples of whom our utmost knowledge can be only such as is derived from a transient glimpse of a disappearing race, it is with the utmost difficulty that satisfactory conclusions can in any instance be reached.
It is in a temperate climate, therefore, that man attains the highest development. On the peninsulas of Greece and Italy, where the Mediterranean invites intercourse; in Iran and Armenia, where the climate is cold enough to stimulate labor, but not so cold as to require the use of all the energies of body and mind in order to acquire a bare subsistence; warm enough to make leisure possible, but not so warm as to enervate and prostrate the faculties; with a soil of sufficient fertility to yield a surplus and promote the accumulation of wealth, without producing such a redundancy of vegetation as to be unmanageable by unskilled, primitive man—there it is that we find the highest intellectual culture.
It sometimes happens that, in those climates which are too vigorous for the unfolding of the tender germ, cultivation is stimulated into greater activity than in its original seats. It sometimes happens that, when the shell of savagism is once fairly broken, a people may overcome a domineering vegetation, and flourish in a climate where by no possibility could their development have originated. Even in the frozen regions of the north, as in Scandinavia, man, by the intensity of his nature, was enabled to surmount the difficulties of climate and attain a fierce, rude cultivation. The regions of Northern Europe and Northern America, notwithstanding their original opposition to man, ​are to-day the most fruitful of all lands in industrial discoveries and intellectual activities, but in the polar regions, as in the equatorial, the highest development never can be reached.
The conditions which encourage indigenous civilization are not always those that encourage permanent development, and vice versa. Thus, Great Britain in her insulation, remained barbarous long after Greece and Italy had attained a high degree of cultivation; yet when once the seed took root, that very insulation acted as a wall of defense, within which a mighty power germinated and with its influence overspread the whole earth.
Thus we have seen that a combination of physical conditions is essential to intellectual development. Without leisure, there can be no culture, without wealth no leisure, without labor no wealth, and without a suitable soil and climate no remunerative labor.
Now, throughout the material universe, there is no object or element which holds its place, whether at rest or in motion, except under fixed laws; no atom of matter nor subtle mysterious force, no breath of air, nor cloudy vapor nor streak of light, but in existing obeys a law. The Almighty fiat, Be fruitful and multiply, fruitful in increase, intellectual as well as physical, was given alike to all mankind; seeds of progress were sown broadcast throughout all the races human; some fell on stony places, others were choked with weeds, others found good soil. When we see a people in the full enjoyment of all these physical essentials to progress yet in a state of savagism, we may be sure that elements detrimental to progress have, at some period of their history, interposed to prevent natural growth. War, famine, pestilence, convulsions of nature, have nipped in the bud many an incipient civilization, whose history lies deep buried in the unrecorded past.
The obvious necessity of association as a primary condition of development leaves little to be said on ​that subject. To the manifestation of this Soul of Progress a body social is requisite, as without an individual body there can be no manifestation of an individual soul. This body social, like the body individual, is composed of numberless organs, each having its special functions to perform, each acting on the others, and all under the general government of the progressional idea. Civilization is not an individual attribute, and though the atom, man, may be charged with stored energy, yet progress constitutes no part of individual nature; it is something that lies between men and not within them; it belongs to society and not to the individual; man, the molecule of society, isolate, is inert and forceless. The isolated man, as I have said, never can become cultivated, never can form a language, does not possess in its fullness the faculty of abstraction, nor can his mind enter the realm of higher thought. All those characteristics which distinguish mankind from animal-kind become almost inoperative. Without association there is no speech, for speech is but the conductor of thought between two or more individuals; without words abstract thought cannot flow, for words, or some other form of expression, are the channels of thought, and with the absence of words the fountain of thought is in a measure sealed.
At the very threshold of progress social crystallization sets in; something there is in every man that draws him to other men. In the relationship of the sexes, this principle of human attraction reaches its height, where the husband and wife, as it were, coalesce, like the union of one drop of water with another, forming one globule. As unconsciously and as positively are men constrained to band together into societies as are particles forced to unite and form crystals. And herein is a law as palpable and as fixed as any law in nature; a law, which if unfulfilled, would result in the extermination of the race. But the law of human attraction is not perfect, does not fulfill its purpose apart from the law of human repulsion, for as we have ​seen, until war and despotism and superstition and other dire evils come, there is no progress. Solitude is insupportable, even beasts will not live alone; and men are more dependent on each other than beasts. Solitude carries with it a sense of inferiority and insufficiency; the faculties are stinted, lacking completeness, whereas volume is added to every individual faculty by union.
​of one are made known for the benefit of another, the inventions of one are added to the inventions of another; without intercommunication of ideas the intellect must lie dormant. Thus it is with individuals, and with societies it is the same. Acquisitions are eminently reciprocal. In society, wealth, art, literature, polity, and religion act and react on each other; in science a fusion of antagonistic hypotheses is sure to result in important developments. Before much progress can be made, there must be established a commerce between nations for the interchange of aggregated human experiences, so that the arts and industries acquired by each may become the property of all the rest, and thus knowledge becomes scattered by exchange, in place of each having to work out every problem for himself. Thus viewed, civilization is a partnership entered into for mutual improvement; a joint stock operation, in which the product of every brain contributes to a general fund for the benefit of all. No one can add to his own store of knowledge without adding to the general store; every invention, and discovery, however insignificant, is a contribution to civilization.
In savagism, union and coöperation are imperfectly displayed. The warriors of one tribe unite against the warriors of another; a band will coöperate in pursuing a herd of buffalo; even one nation will sometimes unite with another nation against a third, but such combinations are temporary, and no sooner is the particular object accomplished than the confederation disbands, and every man is again his own master. The moment two or more persons unite for the accomplishment of some purpose which shall tend permanently to meliorate the condition of themselves and others, that moment progress begins. The wild beasts of the forest, acting in unison, were physically able to rise up and extirpate primitive man, but could beasts in reality confederate and do this, such confederation of wild beasts could become civilized.
​ But why does primitive man desire to abandon his original state and set out upon an arduous never-ending journey? Why does he wish to change his mild paternal government, to relinquish his title to lands as broad as his arm can defend, with all therein contained, the common property of his people? Why does he wish to give up his wild freedom, his native independence, and place upon his limbs the fetters of a social and political despotism? He does not. The savage hates civilization as he hates his deadliest foe; its choicest benefits he hates more than the direst ills of his own unfettered life. He is driven to it—driven to it by extraneous influences, without his knowledge and against his will; he is driven to it by this Soul of Progress. It is here that this progressional phenomenon again appears outside of man and in direct opposition to the will of man; it is here that the principle of evil again comes in and stirs men up to the accomplishment of a higher destiny. By it Adam, the first of recorded savages, was driven from Eden, where otherwise he would have remained forever, and remained uncivilized. By it our ancestors were impelled to abandon their simple state, and organize more heterogeneous complex forms of social life. And it is a problem for each nation to work out for itself. Millions of money are expended for merely proselyting purposes, when if the first principles of civilization were well understood, a more liberal manner of teaching would prevail.
Every civilization has its peculiarities, its idiosyncrasies. Two individuals attempting the same thing differ in the performance; so civilization evolving under incidental and extraneous causes takes an individuality in every instance. This is why civilizations will not coalesce; this is why the Spaniards could make the Aztecs accept their civilization only at the point of the sword. Development engendered by one set of phenomena will not suit the developments of other circumstances. The government, religion, and customs ​of one people will not fit another people any more than the coat of one person will suit the form of another. Thought runs in different channels; the happiness of one is not the happiness of another; development springs from inherent necessity, and one species cannot be engrafted on another.
Let us now examine the phenomena of government and religion in their application to the evolution of societies, and we shall better understand how the wheels of progress are first set in motion,—and by religion I do not mean creed or credulity, but that natural cultus inherent in humanity, which is a very different thing. Government is early felt to be a need of society; the enforcement of laws which shall bring order out of social chaos; laws which shall restrain the vicious, protect the innocent, and punish the guilty; which shall act as a shield to inherent budding morality. But before government, there must arise some influence which will band men together. An early evil to which civilization is indebted is war; the propensity of man—unhappily not yet entirely overcome—for killing his fellow-man.
The human race has not yet attained that state of homogeneous felicity which we sometimes imagine; upon the surface, we yet bear many of the relics of barbarism; under cover of manners, we hide still more. War is a barbarism which civilization only intensifies, as indeed civilization intensifies every barbarism which it does not eradicate or cover up. The right of every individual to act as his own avenger; trial by combat; justice dependent upon the passion or caprice of the judge or ruler and not upon fixed law; hereditary feuds and migratory skirmishes; these and the like are deemed barbarous, while every nation of the civilized world maintains a standing army, applies all the arts and inventions of civilization to the science of killing, and upon sufficient provocation, as a disputed boundary or a fancied insult, no greater nor more important than ​that which moved our savage ancestors to like conduct, falls to, and after a respectable civilized butchery of fifty or a hundred thousand men, ceases fighting, and returns, perhaps, to right and reason as a basis for the settlement of the difficulty. War, like other evils which have proved instruments of good, should by this time have had its day, should have served its purpose. Standing armies, whose formation was one of the first and most important steps in association and partition of labor, are but the manifestation of a lingering necessity for the use of brute force in place of moral force in the settlement of national disputes. Surely, rational beings who retain the most irrational practices concerning the simplest principles of social life cannot boast of a very high order of what we are pleased to call civilization. Morality, commerce, literature, and industry, all that tends toward elevation of intellect, is directly opposed to the warlike spirit. As intellectual activity increases, the taste for war decreases, for an appeal to war in the settlement of difficulties is an appeal from the intellectual to the physical, from reason to brute force.
Despotism is an evil, but despotism is as essential to progress as any good. In some form despotism is an inseparable adjunct of war. An individual or an idea may be the despot, but without cohesion, without a strong central power, real or imaginary, there can be no unity, and without unity no protracted warfare. In the first stages of government despotism is as essential as in the last it is noxious. It holds society together when nothing else would hold it, and at a time when its very existence depends upon its being so held. And not until a moral inherent strength arises sufficient to burst the fetters of despotism, is a people fit for a better or milder form of government; for not until this inherent power is manifest is there sufficient cohesive force in society to hold it together without being hooped by some such band as despotism. Besides thus cementing society, war generates many virtues, such ​as courage, discipline, obedience, chivalrous bearing, noble thought; and the virtues of war, as well as its vices, help to mould national character.
Slavery to the present day has its defenders, and from the first it has been a preventive of a worse evil,—slaughter. Savages make slaves of their prisoners of war, and if they do not preserve them for slaves they kill them. The origin of the word, servus, from servare, to preserve, denotes humane thought rather than cruelty. Discipline is always necessary to development, and slavery is another form of savage discipline. Then, by systems of slavery, great works were accomplished, which, in the absence of arts and inventions, would not have been possible without slavery. And again, in early societies where leisure is so necessary to mental cultivation and so difficult to obtain, slavery, by promoting leisure, aids elevation and refinement. Slaves constitute a distinct class, devoted wholly to labor, thereby enabling another class to live without labor, or to labor with the intellect rather than with the hands.
Primordially, society was an aggregation of nomadic families, every head of a family having equal rights, and every individual such power and influence as he could acquire and maintain. In all the ordinary avocations of savage life this was sufficient; there was room for all, and the widest liberty was possessed by each. And in this happy state does mankind ever remain until forced out of it. In unity and coöperation alone can great things be accomplished; but men will not unite until forced to it. Now in times of war—and with savages war is the rule and not the exception—some closer union is necessary to avoid extinction; for other things being equal, the people who are most firmly united and most strongly ruled are sure to prevail in war. The idea of unity in order to be effectual must be embodied in a unit; some one must be made chief, and the others must obey, as in a band of wild beasts that follow the one most conspicuous for its ​prowess and cunning. But the military principle alone would never lay the foundation of a strong government, for with every cessation from hostilities there would be a corresponding relaxation of government
Another necessity for government here arises, but which likewise is not the cause of government, for government springs from force and not from utility. These men do not want government, they do not want culture; how then is an arm to be found sufficiently strong to bridle their wild passions? In reason they are children, in passion men; to restrain the strong passions of strong non-reasoning men requires a power; whence is this power to come? It is in the earlier stage of government that despotism assumes its most intense forms. The more passionate, and lawless, and cruel the people, the more completely do they submit to a passionate, lawless, and cruel prince; the more ungovernable their nature, the more slavish are they in their submission to government; the stronger the element to be governed, the stronger must be the government.
The primitive man, whoever or whatever that may be, lives in harmony with nature; that is, he lives as other animals live, drawing his supplies immediately from the general storehouse of nature. His food he plucks from a sheltering tree, or draws from a sparkling stream, or captures from a prolific forest. The remnants of his capture, unfit for food, supply his other wants; with the skin he clothes himself, and with the bones makes implements and points his weapons. In this there are no antagonisms, no opposing principles of good and evil; animals are killed not with a view of extermination, but through necessity, as animals kill animals in order to supply actual wants. But no sooner does the leaven of progress begin to work than war is declared between man and nature. To make room for denser populations and increasing comforts, forests must be hewn down, their primeval inhabitants extirpated or domesticated, and the soil ​laid under more direct contribution. Union and coöperation spring up for purposes of protection and aggression, for the accomplishment of purposes beyond the capacity of the individual. Gradually manufactures and commerce increase; the products of one body of laborers are exchanged for the products of another, and thus the aggregate comforts produced are doubled to each. Absolute power is taken from the hands of the many and placed in the hands of one, who becomes the representative power of all. Men are no longer dependent upon the chase for a daily supply of food; even agriculture no longer is a necessity which each must follow for himself, for the intellectual products of one person or people may be exchanged for the agricultural products of another. With these changes of occupation new institutions spring up, new ideas originate, and new habits are formed. Human life ceases to be a purely material existence; another element finds exercise, the other part of man is permitted to grow. The energies of society now assume a different shape; hitherto the daily struggle was for daily necessities, now the accumulation of wealth constitutes the chief incentive to labor. Wealth becomes a power and absorbs all other powers. The possessor of unlimited wealth commands the products of every other man's labor.
But in time, and to a certain extent, a class arises already possessed of wealth sufficient to satisfy even the demands of avarice, and something still better, some greater good is yet sought for. Money-getting gives way before intellectual cravings. The self-denials and labor necessary to the acquisition of wealth are abandoned for the enjoyment of wealth already acquired and the acquisition of a yet higher good. Sensual pleasure yields in a measure to intellectual pleasure, the acquisition of money to the acquisition of learning.
Where brute intelligence is the order of the day, man requires no more governing than brutes, but when ​lands are divided, and the soil cultivated, when wealth begins to accumulate and commerce and industry to flourish, then protection and lawful punishment become necessary. Like the wild horse, leave him free, and he will take care of himself; but catch him and curb him, and the wilder and stronger he is the stronger must be the curb until he is subdued and trained, and then he is guided by a light rein. The kind of government makes little difference so that it be strong enough.
Granted that it is absolutely essential to the first step toward culture that society should be strongly governed, how is the first government to be accomplished; how is one member of a passionate, unbridled heterogeneous community to obtain dominion absolute over all the others? Here comes in another evil to the assistance of the former evils, all for future good,—Superstition. Never could physical force alone compress and hold the necessary power with which to burst the shell of savagism. The government is but a reflex of the governed. Not until one man is physically or intellectually stronger than ten thousand, will an independent people submit to a tyrannical government, or a humane people submit to a cruel government, or a people accustomed to free discussion to an intolerant priesthood.
At the outset, if man is to be governed at all, there must be no division of governmental force. The cause for fear arising from both the physical and the supernatural must be united in one individual. In the absence of the moral sentiment the fear of legal and that of spiritual punishments are identical, for the spiritual is feared only as it works temporal or corporal evil. Freedom of thought at this stage is incompatible with progress, for thought without experience is dangerous, tending towards anarchy. Before men can govern themselves they must be subjected to the sternest discipline of government, and whether this government be just or humane or pleasant is of small consequence ​so that it be only strong enough. As with polity so with morality and religion; conjointly with despotism there must be an arbitrary central church government, or moral anarchy is the inevitable consequence. At the outset it is not for man to rule but to obey; it is not for savages, who are children in intellect to think and reason, but to believe.
And thus we see how wonderfully man is provided with the essentials of growth. This tender germ of progress is preserved in hard shells and prickly coverings, which, when they have served their purpose are thrown aside as not only useless but detrimental to further development. We know not what will come hereafter, but up to the present time a state of bondage appears to be the normal state of humanity; bondage, at first severe and irrational, then ever loosening, and expanding into a broader freedom. As mankind progresses, moral anarchy no more follows freedom of thought than does political anarchy follow freedom of action. In Germany, in England, in America, wherever secular power has in any measure cut loose from ecclesiastical power and thrown religion back upon public sentiment for support, a moral as well as an intellectual advance has always followed. What the mild and persuasive teachings and lax discipline of the present epoch would have been to the Christians of the fourteenth century, the free and lax government of republican America would have been to republican Rome. Therefore, let us learn to look charitably upon the institutions of the past, and not forget how much we owe to them; while we rejoice at our release from the cruelty and ignorance of mediæval times, let us not forget the debt which civilization owes to the rigorous teachings of both Church and State.
Christianity, by its exalted un-utilitarian morality and philanthropy, has greatly aided civilization. Indeed so marked has been the effect in Europe, so great the contrast between Christianity and Islamism and the polytheistic creeds in general, that Churchmen ​claim civilization as the offspring of their religion. But religion and morality must not be confounded with civilization. All these and many other activities act and react on each other as proximate principles in the social organism, but they do not, any or all of them, constitute the life of the organism. Long before morality is religion, and long after morality religion sends the pious penitent to his knees. Religious culture is a great assistant to moral culture as intellectual training promotes the industrial arts, but morality is no more religion than is industry intellect. When Christianity, as in the early settlement of Mexico and Central America, falls into the hands of unprincipled adventurers or blind zealots who stand up in deadly antagonism to liberty, then Christianity is a drag upon civilization; and therefore we may conclude that in so far as Christianity grafts on its code of pure morality the principle of intellectual freedom, in so far is civilization promoted by Christianity, but when Christianity engenders persecution, civilization is retarded thereby.
Then Protestantism sets up a claim to the authorship of civilization, points to Spain and then to England, compares Italy and Switzerland, Catholic America and Puritan America, declares that the intellect can never attain superiority while under the dominion of the Church of Rome; in other words, that civilization is Protestantism. It is true that protestation against irrational dogmas, or any other action that tends toward the emancipation of the intellect, is a great step in advance; but religious belief has nothing whatever to do with intellectual culture. Religion from its very nature is beyond the limits of reason; it is emotional rather than intellectual, an instinct and not an acquisition. Between reason and religion lies a domain of common ground upon which both may meet and join hands, but beyond the boundaries of which neither may pass. The moment the intellect attempts to penetrate the domain of the Supernatural all intellectuality vanishes, and emotion and imagination fill its place. ​There can be no real conflict between the two, for neither, by any possibility, can pass this neutral ground. Before the mind can receive Christianity, or Mahometanism, or any other creed, it must be ready to accept dogmas in the analysis of which human reason is powerless. Among the most brilliant intellects are found Protestants, Romanists, Unitarians, Deists, and Atheists; judging from the experiences of mankind in ages past, creeds and formulas, orthodoxy and heterodoxy, have no inherent power to advance or retard the intellect. Some claim, indeed, that strong doctrinal bias stifles thought, fosters superstition, and fetters the intellect; still religious thought, in some form, is inseparable from the human mind, and it would be very difficult to prove that belief is more debasing than non-belief.
Religion at first is a gross fetichism, which endows every wonder with a concrete personality. Within every appearance is a several personal cause, and to embody this personal cause in some material form is the first effort of the savage mind. Hence, images are made in representation of these imaginary supernatural powers. Man, of necessity, must clothe these supernatural powers in the elements of some lower form. The imagination cannot grasp an object or an idea beyond the realms of human experience. Unheard-of combinations of character may be made, but the constituent parts must, at some time and in some form, have had an existence in order to be conceivable. It is impossible for the human mind to array in forms of thought anything wholly and absolutely new. This state is the farthest remove possible from a recognition of those universal laws of causation toward which every department of knowledge is now so rapidly tending. Gods are made in the likeness of man and beast, endowed with earthly passions, and a sensual polytheism, in which blind fate is a prominent element, becomes the religious ideal. Religious conceptions are ​essentially material; all punishments and rewards are such as effect man as a material being; morality, the innate sense of right and wrong, lies stifled, almost dormant.
Thrown wholly upon himself, without experience to guide him, the savage must, of necessity, invest nature with his own qualities, for his mind can grasp none other. But when experience dispels the nearer illusions, objects more remote are made gods; in the sun and stars he sees his controlling destinies; the number of his gods is lessened until at last all merge into one God, the author of all law, the great and only ruler of the universe. In every mythology we see this impersonation of natural phenomena; frost and fire, earth and air and water, in their displays of mysterious powers, are at once deified and humanized. These embodiments of physical force are then naturally formed into families, and their supposed descendants worshiped as children of the gods. Thus, in the childhood of society, when incipient thought takes up its lodgment in old men's brains, shadows of departed heroes mingle with shadows of mysterious nature, and admiration turns to adoration.
Next arises the desire to propitiate these unseen powers, to accomplish which some means of communication must be opened up between man and his deities. Now, as man in his gods reproduces himself, as all his conceptions of supernatural power must, of necessity, be formed on the skeleton of human power, naturally it follows that the strongest and most cunning of the tribe, he upon whom leadership most naturally falls, comes to be regarded as specially favored of the gods. Powers supernatural are joined to powers temporal, and embodied in the chieftain of the nation. A grateful posterity reveres and propitiates departed ancestors. The earlier rulers are made gods, and their descendants lesser divinities; the founder of a dynasty, perhaps, the supreme god, his progeny subordinate deities. The priesthood and kingship thus become united; ​religion and civil government join forces to press mankind together, and the loose sands of the new strata cohere into the firm rock, that shall one day bear alone the wash of time and tide.
Hence arise divine kingship, and the divine right of kings, and with the desire to win the favor of this divine king, arise the courtesies of society, the first step toward polish of manners. Titles of respect and worship are given him, some of which are subsequently applied to the Deity, while others drop down into the common-place compliments of every-day life.
Here then, we have as one of the first essentials of progress the union of Church and State, of superstition and despotism, a union still necessarily kept up in some of the more backward civilizations. Excessive loyalty and blind faith ever march hand in hand. The very basis of association is credulity, blind loyalty to political powers and blind faith in sacerdotal terrors. In all mythologies at some stage temporal and spiritual government are united, the supernatural power being incarnated in the temporal chief; political despotism and an awful sanguinary religion,—a government and a belief, to disobey which was never so much as thought possible.
See how every one of these primary essentials of civilization becomes, as man advances, a drag upon his progress; see how he now struggles to free himself from what, at the outset, he was led by ways he knew not to endure so patiently. Government, in early stages always strong and despotic, whether monarchical, oligarchical, or republican, holding mankind under the dominion of caste, placing restrictions upon commerce and manufactures, regulating social customs, food, dress,—how men have fought to break loose these bonds! Religion, not that natural cultus instinctive in humanity, the bond of union as well under its most disgusting form of fetichism, as under its latest, loveliest form of Christianity; but those forms and dogmas of sect and creed which stifle thought ​and fetter intellect,—how men have lived lives of sacrifice and self-denial as well as died for the right to free themselves from unwelcome belief!
In primeval ages, government and religion lay lightly on the human race; ethnology, as well as history, discloses the patriarchal as the earliest form of government, and a rude materialism as the earliest religious ideal; these two simple elements, under the form of monsters, became huge abortions, begotten of ignorance, that held the intellect in abject slavery for thousands of years, and from these we, of this generation, more than any other, are granted emancipation. Even wealth, kind giver of grateful leisure, in the guise of avarice becomes a hideous thing, which he who would attain the higher intellectual life, must learn to despise.
Government, as we have seen, is not an essential element of collective humanity. Civilization must first be awakened, must even have passed the primary stages before government appears. Despotism, feudalism, divine kingship, slavery, war, superstition, each marks certain stages of development, and as civilization advances all tend to disappear; and, as in the early history of nations the state antedates the government, so the time may come in the progress of mankind when government will be no longer necessary. Government always grows out of necessity; the intensity of government inevitably following necessity. The form of government is a natural selection; its several phases always the survival of the fittest. When the federalist says to the monarchist, or the monarchist to the federalist: My government is better than yours, it is as if the Eskimo said to the Kaffir: My coat, my house, my food, is better than yours.
The government is made for the man, and not the man for the government. Government is as the prop for the growing plant; at first the young shoot stands alone, then in its rapid advancement for a time it requires support, after which it is able again to stand ​alone. What we term the evils of government are rather its necessities, and are, indeed, no evils at all. The heavy bit which controls the mouth of an untamed horse is to that horse an evil, yet to the driver a necessity which may be laid aside as the temper of the animal is subdued. So despotism, feudalism, slavery, are evils to those under their dominion, yet are they as necessary for the prevention of anarchy, for the restraint of unbridled passions, as the powerful bit to the horse, and will as surely be laid aside when no longer required. Shallow-minded politicians talk of kingcraft, arbitrary rule, tyrants, the down-trodden masses, the withholding of just rights; as though the government was some independent, adverse element, wholly foreign to the character of the people; as though one man was stronger than ten thousand; as though, if these phases of society were not the fittest, they would be tolerated for a moment. The days of rigorous rule were ever the best days of France and Spain, and so it will be until the people become stronger than the strength of rulers. Republicanism is as unfit for stupid and unintellectual populations, as despotism would be for the advanced ideas and liberal institutions of Anglo-Saxon America. The subject of a liberal rule sneeringly crying down to the subject of an absolute rule his form of government, is like the ass crying to the tiger: Leave blood and meat; feed on grass and thistles, the only diet fit for civilized beasts! Our federal government is the very best for our people, when it is not so it will speedily change; it fits the temper of American intelligence, but before it can be planted in Japan or China the traditions and temper of the Asiatics must change.
We of to-day are undergoing an important epoch in the history of civilization. Feudalism, despotism, and fanaticism have had each its day, have each accomplished its necessary purpose, and are fast fading away. Ours is the age of democracy, of scientific investigation, and freedom of religious thought; what these may ​accomplish for the advancing intellect remains to be seen. Our ancestors loved to dwell upon the past, now we all look toward the future.
The sea of ice, over which our forefathers glided so serenely in their trustful reliance, is breaking up. One after another traditions evaporate; in their application to proximate events they fail us, history ceases to repeat itself as in times past. Old things are passing away, all things are becoming new; new philosophies, new religions, new sciences; the industrial spirit springs up and overturns time-honored customs; theories of government must be reconstructed. Thus, says experience, republicanism, as a form of government, can exist only in small states; but steam and electricity step in and annihilate time and space. The Roman republic, from a lack of cohesive energy, from failure of central vital power sufficient to send the blood of the nation from the heart to the extremities, died a natural death. The American republic, covering nearly twice the territory of republican Rome in her palmiest days, is endowed with a different species of organism; in its physiological system is found a new series of veins and arteries—the railway, the telegraph, and the daily press,—through which pulsates the life's blood of the nation, millions inhaling and exhaling intelligence as one man. By means of these inventions all the world, once every day, are brought together. By telegraphic wires and railroad iron men are now bound as in times past they were bound by war, despotism, and superstition. The remotest corners of the largest republics of to-day, are brought into closer communication than were the adjoining states of the smallest confederations of antiquity. A united Germany, from its past history held to be an impossibility, is, with the present facilities of communication, an accomplished fact. England could as easily have possessed colonies in the moon, as have held her present possessions, three hundred years ago. Practically, San Francisco is nearer Washington ​than was Philadelphia when the foundations of the Capitol were laid. What is to prevent republics from growing, so long as intelligence keeps pace with extension? The general of an army may now sit before his maps, and manœuvre half a score of armies a hundred or a thousand miles apart, know hourly the situation of every division, the success of every battle, order an advance or a retreat, lay plots and make combinations, with more exactness than was once possible in the conduct of an ordinary campaign.
A few words about morals, manners, and fashion, will further illustrate how man is played upon by his environment, which here takes the shape of habit. In their bearing on civilization, these phenomena all come under the same category; and this, without regard to the rival theories of intuition and utility in morals. Experience teaches, blindly at first yet daily with clearer vision, that right conduct is beneficial, and wrong conduct detrimental; that the consequences of sin invariably rest on the evil-doer; that for an unjust act, though the knowledge of it be forever locked in the bosom of the offender, punishment is sure to follow; yet there are those who question the existence of innate moral perceptions, and call it all custom and training. And if we look alone to primitive people for innate ideas of morality and justice I fear we shall meet with disappointment. Some we find who value female chastity only before marriage, others only after marriage,—that is, after the woman and her chastity both alike become the tangible property of somebody. Some kindly kill their aged parents, others their female infants; the successful Apache horse-thief is the darling of his mother, and the hero of the tribe; often these American Arabs will remain from home half-starved for weeks, rather than suffer the ignominy of returning empty-handed. Good, in the mind of the savage, is when he steals wives; bad, is when his own wives are stolen. Where it is that inherent ​morality in savages first makes its appearance, and in what manner, it is often difficult to say; the most hideous vices are everywhere practiced with unblushing effrontery.
Take the phenomena of Shame. Go back to the childhood of our race, or even to our own childhood, and it will be hard to discover any inherent quality which make men ashamed of one thing more than another. Nor can the wisest of us give any good and sufficient reason why we should be ashamed of our body any more than of our face. The whole man was fashioned by one Creator, and all parts equally are perfect and alike honorable. We cover our person with drapery, and think thereby to hide our faults from ourselves and others, as the ostrich hides its head under a leaf, and fancies its body concealed from the hunter. What is this quality of shame if it be not habit? A female savage will stand unblushingly before you naked, but strip her of her ornaments and she will manifest the same appearance of shame, though not perhaps so great in degree, that a European woman will manifest if stripped of her clothes. It is well known how civilized and semi-civilized nations regard this quality of propriety. Custom, conventional usage, dress and behavior, are influences as subtle and as strong as any that govern us, weaving their net-work round man more and more as he throws off allegiance to other powers; and we know but little more of their origin and nature than we do of the origin and nature of time and space, of life and death, of origin and end.
Every age and every society has its own standard of morality, holds up some certain conduct or quality as a model, saying to all, Do this, and receive the much-coveted praise of your fellows. Often what one people deem virtue is to another vice; what to one age is religion is to another superstition; but underlying all this are living fires, kindled by Omnipotence, and destined to burn throughout all time. In the Spartan ​and Roman republics the moral ideal was patriotism; among mediæval Churchmen it took the form of asceticism; after the elevation of woman the central idea was female chastity.
In this national morality, which is the cohesive force of the body social, we find the fundamental principle of the progressional impulse, and herein is the most hopeful feature of humanity; mankind must progress, and progress in the right direction. There is no help for it until God changes the universal order of things; man must become better in spite of himself; it is the good in us that grows and ultimately prevails.
As a race we are yet in our nonage; fearful of the freedom given us by progress we cling tenaciously to our leading-strings; hugging our mother, Custom, we refuse to be left alone. Liberty and high attainments must be meted out to us as we are able to receive them, for social retchings and vomitings inevitably follow over-feedings. Hence it is, that we find ourselves escaped from primeval and mediæval tyrannies only to fall under greater ones; society is none the less inexorable in her despotisms because of the sophistry which gives her victims fancied freedom. For do we not now set up forms and fashions, the works of our own hands, and bow down to them as reverently as ever our heathen ancestors did to their gods of wood and stone? Who made us? is not the first question of our catechism, but What will people say?
Of all tyrannies, the tyranny of fashion is the most implacable; of all slaveries the slavery to fashion is the most abject; of all fears the fear of our fellows is the most overwhelming; of all the influences that surround and govern man the forms and customs which he encounters in society are the most domineering. It is the old story, only another turn of the wheel that grinds and sharpens and polishes humanity—at the first a benefit, now a drag. Forms and fashions are essential; we cannot live without them. If we ​have worship, government, commerce, or clothes, we must have forms; or if we have them not we still must act and do after some fashion; costume, which is but another word for custom, we must have, but is it necessary to make the form the chief concern of our lives while we pay so little heed to the substance? and may we not hope while rejoicing over our past emancipations, that we shall some day be free from our present despotisms?
Dress has ever exercised a powerful influence on morals and on progress; but this vesture-phenomenon is a thing but imperfectly understood. Clothes serve as a covering to the body of which we are ashamed, and protect it against the weather, and these, we infer, are the reasons of our being clothed. But the fact is, aboriginally, except in extreme cases, dress is not essential to the comfort of man until it becomes a habit, and as for shame, until told of his nakedness, the primitive man has none. The origin of dress lies behind all this; it is found in one of the most deep-rooted elements of our nature, namely, in our love of approbation. Before dress is decoration. The successful warrior, proud of his achievement, besmears his face and body with the blood of the slain, and straightway imitators, who also would be thought strong and brave, daub themselves in like manner; and so painting and tattooing become fashionable, and pigments supply the place of blood. The naked, houseless Californian would undergo every hardship, travel a hundred miles, and fight a round with every opposing band he met, in order to obtain cinnabar from the New Almaden quicksilver mine. So when the hunter kills a wild beast, and with the tail or skin decorates his body as a trophy of his prowess, others follow his example, and soon it is a shame to that savage who has neither paint, nor belt, nor necklace of bears' claws. And so follow head-flattenings, and nose-piercings, and lip-cuttings, and, later, chignons, and breast-paddings, and bustles. Some say that jealousy prompted the ​first Benedicks to hide their wives' charms from their rivals, and so originated female dress, which, from its being so common to all aborigines, is usually regarded as the result of innate modesty. But whatever gave us dress, dress has given much to human progress. Beneath dress arose modesty and refinement, like the courtesies that chivalry threw over feudalism, covering the coarse brutality of the barons, and paving the way to real politeness.
From the artificial grimaces of fashion have sprung many of the natural courtesies of life; though here, too, we are sent back at once to the beginning for the cause. From the ages of superstition and despotism have descended the expressions of every-day politeness. Thus we have sir, from sieur, sire, seigneur, signifying ruler, king, lord, and aboriginally father. So madam, ma dame, my lady, formerly applied only to women of rank. In place of throwing ourselves upon the ground, as before a god or prince, we only partially prostrate ourselves in bowing, and the hat which we touch to an acquaintance we take off on entering a church in token of our humility. Again, the captive in war is made a slave, and as such is required to do obeisance to his master, which forms of servility are copied by the people in addressing their superiors, and finally become the established usage of ordinary intercourse. Our daily salutations are but modified acts of worship, and our parting word a benediction; and from blood, tomahawks, and senseless superstitions we turn and find all the world of humanity, with its still strong passions and subtle cravings, held in restraint by a force of which its victims are almost wholly unconscious,—and this force is Fashion. In tribunals of justice, in court and camp etiquette, everywhere these relics of barbarism remain with us. Even we of this latter-day American republicanism, elevate one of our fellows to the chieftainship of a federation or state, and call him Excellency; we set a man upon the bench and plead our cause before him; we send a loafer to a legislature, ​and straightway call him Honorable,—such divinity doth hedge all semblance of power.
Self-denial and abstinence lie at the bottom of etiquette and good manners. If you would be moral, says Kant, you must "act always so that the immediate motive of thy will may become a universal rule for all intelligent beings," and Goethe teaches that "there is no outward sign of courtesy that does not rest on a deep, moral foundation."
Fine manners, though but the shell of the individual, are, to society, the best actions of the best men crystallized into a mode; not only the best thing, but the best way of doing the best thing. Good society is, or ought to be, the society of the good; but fashion is more than good society, or good actions; it is more than wealth, or beauty, or genius, and so arbitrary in its sway that, not unfrequently, the form absorbs the substance, and a breach of decorum becomes a deadly sin.
Thus we see in every phase of development the result of a social evolution; we see men coming and going, receiving their leaven from the society into which by their destiny they are projected, only to fling it back into the general fund interpenetrated with their own quota of force. Meanwhile, this aggregation of human experiences, this compounding of age with age, one generation heaping up knowledge upon another; this begetting of knowledge by knowledge, the seed so infinitesimal, the tree now so rapidly sending forth its branches, whither does it tend? Running the eye along the line of progress, from the beginning to the end, the measure of our knowledge seems nearly full; resolving the matter, experience assures us that, as compared with those who shall come after us, we are the veriest barbarians. The end is not yet; not until infinity is spanned and eternity brought to an end, will mankind cease to improve.
Out of this conglomeration of interminable ​relationships concordant and antagonistic laws are ever evolving themselves. Like all other progressional phenomena, they wait not upon man; they are self-creative, and force themselves upon the mind age after age, slowly but surely, as the intellect is able to receive them; laws without law, laws unto themselves, gradually appearing as from behind the mists of eternity. At first, man and his universe appear to be regulated by arbitrary volitions, by a multitude of individual minds; each governs absolutely his own actions; every phenomenon of nature is but the expression of some single will. As these phenomena, one after another, become stripped of their mystery, there stands revealed not a god, but a law; seasons come and go, and never fail; sunshine follows rain, not because a pacified deity smiles, but because the rain-clouds have fallen and the sun cannot help shining. Proximate events first are thus made godless, then the whole host of deities is driven farther and farther back. Finally the actions of man himself are found to be subject to laws. Left to his own will, he wills to do like things under like conditions.
As to the nature of these laws, the subtle workings of which we see manifest in every phase of society, I cannot even so much as speak. An infinite ocean of phenomena awaits the inquirer—an ocean bottomless, over whose surface spreads an eternity of progress, and beneath whose glittering waves the keenest intellect can scarcely hope to penetrate far. The universe of man and matter must be anatomized; the functions of innumerable and complex organs studied; the exercise and influence of every part on every other part ascertained, and events apparently the most capricious traced to natural causes;—then, when we know all, when we know as God knoweth, shall we understand what it is, this Soul of Progress.