Part 2

When the sceptical man had a chance of life, his advance towards civilisation was rapid. The sceptical mind investigated; new discoveries were made; the printing press increased in usefulness and power; new forms of industry were started, and a higher happiness made possible for the masses of the people. The art of agriculture steadily improved; and the shipping of merchandise from one nation to another was greatly facilitated by improved skill in navigation.

Great, however, as were the strides towards civilisation in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, they were all eclipsed in the early part of the nineteenth century by the utilisation of steam-power, electricity, and other great natural forces, which had the effect of greatly increasing the wealth-producing power of those nations that adopted them. Nor was this all; for immediately following, machinery, which saved an enormous amount of labor, was introduced. Food and clothing became cheaper. The people multiplied rapidly, and with this increase of population grew a proportionate demand for food and labor.

In a short time the struggle for existence was manifestly keener than it had ever been before; the rich became richer and richer, while among the poor the tendency was to get poorer and more poor. Uncomplainingly the people devoted themselves to the labor of each day. Theology they set aside for six days of the week, and concerned themselves about the gods on Sunday. Though they did not often say so, the majority of men thought it was far better for them to be diligent workmen, performing all the secular duties of daily life--building houses, making clothes, machinery, writing books; acting the part of good husbands, fathers, or citizens--than to have the most orthodox belief it was possible for a being to entertain. And this sentiment grew stronger and stronger, and proved of immense importance to mankind.

For hundreds of years theologians had talked about the importance of saving men's souls; and those who possessed the smallest seemed to make the most fuss about them. But now the aspect of things was changed. Men began to talk about looking after their bodies; and some ventured to suggest that if they had souls in their bodies it would, perhaps, be no disadvantage to them if their bodies were well fed, well clothed, and their whole being well trained.

Necessity forced all but a small minority into the labor market. And after years of labor the earth was converted from a howling wilderness into a home fit for habitation. Here let me distinctly affirm that all that is admirable in civilised life--the comfort of home, the pleasure of education, the fascination of the drama, the beauty of painting or sculpture, the usefulness of scientific acquirements--owe their value to the secular labor of mankind.

Theology deserves no credit in respect to these things. Theology did not help man to supersede the sailing vessel by the steamship, the old coach by the railroad, the reaping machine by the scythe (vice versa, DW), nor the fastest locomotion by the telegraph wires. The theologian did not discover the telephone, nor did he learn how to light--with a brilliancy previously unknown to man--our streets and great public buildings by means of electricity.

One Stephenson is worth a thousand theologians; one Edison of more value to the world than all the gods that men's imagination have ever pictured.

But see what additional wonders the secular laborer has accomplished. He has removed forests of trees and converted them into houses, the hides of cattle he turned into boots and shoes, the wool of sheep he has transformed into robes of beauty and utility. He has bedecked our walls with paintings, put books upon our shelves, and with sweet music gladdened our hearts. To accomplish all this he has had to rely solely upon his reason. Yet theologians call this splendid attribute _carnal reason,_ and declare that it is no safe guide to man. It has been man's only guide; and when he has trusted it he has been more often in the right than otherwise. Even his errors have assisted hint in future labors. Faith he has had, but it has always been secular faith. Experience has been his guide, science a lamp unto his feet. Even when he has walked down the wrong path he has done so with his eyes open.

Theological faith is sightless. It allures you to the brink of a precipice and precipitates you to the earth beneath. It is a ship without a rudder; the tempestuous waves toss it about recklessly, the wind drives it savagely against the rocks, and to-day this ship called "Theological Faith" is a dreary wreck.

But reason grows stronger and clearer as the ages roll on. Man has discovered that he can trust it; that he can use it; that he can assist himself and others by the employment of it. In other words, he can do his own thinking, reason out his own principles, act his own life. He can be a man. And it is better for an individual to be a bad original than a good copy of somebody else. Man is civilised to-day. He has fought a good fight, he has conquered a foe; but better than all, he has converted an enemy into a friend.

What is man's future policy? Is there not still plenty of labor for him to perform? Is there not an ocean of enigmas yet to be fathomed, a gold-mine of knowledge yet to be explored? Is there not poverty to be remedied, pain to be alleviated, ignorance to be removed? The reformer has yet something to inspire his fervid soul; the philanthropist plenty to touch his generous heart. Why even now the wealthy rogue struts pompously upon the stage of life in grand attire, and fares sumptuously every day; while honest poverty in rags lies hungry and fainting at his door. Even now the rich own all the land, and many poor have not where to lay their head. Even now all men are not equal in the sight of the law; and one man gets pensioned for work for which another is incarcerated in gaol. Even now our sisters are outraged and turned adrift upon the world to be the playthings of vicious men for evermore. Even now our workhouses are filled with men and women who are able to work for an honest living--if they could get it--but cannot because labor is cheap, and there are too many waiting to perform it. Even now our gaols are filled with society-made criminals, that education and better circumstances might have rescued from a life of misery and crime. Even now youth is stunted and starved, and men and women pine away, racked with some terrible disease which thoughtless and careless parents have transmitted to them.

Reformers abate not your enthusiasm, but work bravely on. Through the world diffuse the glorious light of knowledge, let men learn that all crime is a mistake, that effects always follow causes, and that a good effect never follows from a bad cause in a nation that is governed on the principles of truth and justice.

Remove poverty by sound advice to the poor and by strenuous efforts to improve men's surroundings. Stay the drunkard in his downward course, and assist unceasingly all social and political progress. Popularity you may never attain; even praise for your unselfish labor may be denied you while you live. But good work must leave its influence in the world; and your children's children will assuredly profit by it. For as Carlyle truly says: "Beautiful it is to see and understand that no worth, or known or unknown, can die even on this earth. The work an unknown good man has done is like a hidden vein of water flowing underground, secretly making the ground green. It flows and flows; it joins itself with other veins and veinlets, and one day it will start forth as a visible perennial well."