Part 2
Although he often made weapons, he much preferred to make tools and ornaments. Among the Olympians, his strangely begotten “sister” Athene was his closest ally. Like him, she favoured the arts of peace rather than those of war, and despised the noisy and swashbuckling Ares. When Athene went to take up her abode in her Parthenon at Athens, he forsook Olympus and removed his furnaces to Lipari, off the Sicilian coast. And it was in Sicily, some centuries later, that his great disciple Archimedes was born, the man who was fitted and destined to establish the reign of Hephæstus in spite of the strenuous opposition of the Roman republic and its subsequent imperial and ecclesiastical successors.
When man was endowed with fire he received the gift without knowing whence it came or what it meant. Greek mythology, with its deep insight into unseen things, presents us Helios, the sun-god, as a friend of Hephæstus, the god of fire. We moderns express the same truth differently. We say that all fire on earth is ultimately derived from the sun. Archimedes kindled fires――preferably in Roman ships――by means of concave mirrors which condensed the heat of the sun to a focus. The fuel for the fires was also provided by the heat of the sun, absorbed by the chlorophyll of the leaves in the forest and used to build up combustible wood and other products. The firing of the wood reversed the process of accumulation of solar energy and provided light and heat by day and by night, independently of the sun, the original giver. For a hundred million years already had the sun shone on a habitable earth, pouring out its light and heat and nourishing the luxuriant vegetation which covered most of the globe. For untold ages had the plants stored up the sunlight for some unknown end. That end became manifest when Prometheus kindled the first fire and made a new realm accessible to man. Till then, mankind had undergone the annual and daily vicissitudes of heat and cold due to the days and the seasons, but he had not controlled them. When he acquired the mastery of fire, he was enabled to wander north and south and take with him in his brazier the accustomed heat of the tropics.
But there was more to come. The invention of pottery――another great epoch――enabled him to create a solar furnace on a small scale. It enabled him to create a miniature world where the heat was much greater than in his own world. He soon found that plants and animals, passed through this new world, became richer and more palatable, and in many ways better adapted to his digestive system. It must have seemed highly “unnatural” at first to accelerate the ripening of fruits and predigest animal food by plunging them into water in which no living thing could survive, but the departure from the habits of the animal world, once begun, was never arrested, and it is still proceeding in our own day.
Our remote progenitors must have looked upon the guardians of their fires with much the same awe as that which mediæval people felt for sorcerers and alchemists, and with rather more justification. For man had everything to learn about the new power placed in his hands. He was beginning to find his way about a new world in which the ordinary laws of Nature were suspended. Water was no longer cold and wet in that world. It was hot as the sun and thin as smoke. It no longer flowed but rose in the air. Salt rapidly became invisible in it, but could as rapidly be recovered by adding more fire. There was as much to learn about fire as there was about X-rays in 1895 and about “atmospherics” to-day.
The possession of fire turned winter into summer and night into day. It lengthened the life-time of its fortunate possessors. But it did much more than that. It endowed mankind with a number of gifts which must, in his primitive condition, have appeared to him as supernatural. It gave him substances which combined the hardness of stone with the toughness of wood. It enabled him to mould these substances into any desired shape by the softening action of excessive heat. Hephæstus himself cast his products in bronze, having cunningly mixed copper with tin in order to produce an alloy combining hardness with ductility. But he and his later disciples found the perfect substance in iron, which, though requiring an extreme degree of heat, yielded weapons and tools of unsurpassed power and strength.
And thus it was that Hephæstus and his human allies prepared that career of conquest which eventually swept over the earth and made all things new. The unprogressive Zeus, content with having learnt how to shake Olympus with a nod of his head, perished in the flood of new ideas from the East. Hephæstus, alone of all that shining company, had established a firm footing in the world. For the work of his hands had trained his brain and enabled it to build up a scheme of the cosmos in which every detail corresponded to some ascertained reality. And so, while Egyptian priests were speculating about the weight of a soul, while Hindu sects were vying with each other in producing the most hideous idols, and while Christian theologians were endeavouring to prove that three ones make one, Hephæstus and his followers were engaged in founding that superb edifice of knowledge which was destined to outlast the fall of empires and the dark ages which followed the eclipse of classical learning.
But even as late as 1800 A.D., in spite of the mariner’s compass, the printing press, and gunpowder, the ground won by Hephæstus was very small. The postal services in Europe were inferior to that of the Cæsars, there was no telegraphic system equal to that of the ancient Persians, and the most stately sailing ship barely excelled the classical trireme. The fruits of the work of Newcomen and Watt and Papin had not yet blossomed. When they did come forth, things happened swiftly. Fire was made to generate steam, and steam, in the course of a century, transformed the world. The motive-power being there, it was put to a million uses. The Wheel became the most important of mechanical contrivances. Now a wheel is a thing which, in the organic world, is simply impossible. In the days when microscopes were of feeble power, it was thought that the “wheel animalcule,” called _Vorticella_, had small wheels revolving on the rim of its opening to gather in the floating food particles. But higher magnifying power showed that the appearance was an illusion created by the oscillation of the fine hairs fixed round the aperture. A wheel revolving on a shaft implies a separation which precludes all organic connection. Had it been otherwise, an animal running on its own wheels would have made its appearance on earth long ago. The shaft of the steam engine could be provided with numerous pulleys, each capable of driving a machine connected with it by a belt. Then arose that marvellous crop of mechanical combinations which brought about the age of mechanism, combinations which, in the last resort, can be reduced to sliding couples and turning couples, and can be catalogued by means of formulæ, like words in a dictionary. So numerous were these inventions, so widespread was their use, and so great their effect on the minds of those generations, that a great illusion arose which coloured the philosophies of a whole century and has left traces even in modern times. People became so accustomed to the perfect functioning of a machine or a clock, so impressed with its regularity and intelligible complexity, that they began to look upon mechanism as a primary thing capable of “explaining” many non-mechanical things, not excluding the phenomena of life. Why should not man himself, the inventor of machinery, be a machine? If any functions of his body seemed beyond explanation on mechanical lines, might this not be solely due to their great complexity?
In a recent article in _Nature_, Professor Fraser Harris puts the matter tersely as follows:
“Because the stomach ‘works’ rhythmically and predictably we may call it a machine for turning out pepsin from blood and liken it to a machine for turning out (say) newspapers, but the secretion of pepsin is not mechanical, nor is the output of newspapers vital.”
The strangest point about the materialistic or mechanistic conception of things is that every machine without exception has an inherent purpose and design. It is intended by its inventor to do certain definite things in a certain definite way. If an animal, therefore, is a machine, it must have a design and purpose, and presumably a designer. But the main idea underlying the mechanistic hypothesis was to eliminate the idea of purpose altogether, and reduce the universe to an accidental configuration of lifeless atoms.
It is difficult to see how this attempt to reverse the rôle of Potter and Pot could ever have satisfied enquiring and well-balanced minds, but it is a fact that mechanistic views of life, after a period of almost general acceptance, are still prevalent among biologists whose education in the principles of logic has been somewhat hurried.
The majority, however, have returned to the saner view that it is useless to explain the known by the less known. Human purpose is a primary fact of experience, and the embodiment of a human purpose in a tool or machine is a process which cannot be denied on any reasonable grounds. Now, a “purpose” is a datum of the mind, which cannot be reduced to any simpler elements. The purpose of a machine is the psychical element embodied in it. Briefly, we may call it the “soul of the machine.” Every machine has a psychical element, a purpose, a “soul.” It is therefore, simpler, more in accordance with sound philosophical principles, more direct and “economical” to explain machines in terms of psychology than to explain human bodies in terms of mechanism.
The victories of Hephæstus are victories of mind over matter. The “mechanical age,” which to some appears as the very negation of the soul, is, on the contrary, the age of supreme psychical achievement.
Science and invention are for ever annexing fresh regions of the universe and subjecting them to the free play of our mental faculties. The process of bringing material things into subjection to our will is a process of sublimation, which does not drag us down to the dust, but raises up dust into the realms of immortal spirit.
III
... The liquid Ore he dreind Into fit moulds prepar’d; from which he form’d First his own Tooles; then, what might be wrought Fusil or grav’n in mettle.
At the time when the first man decided to go forth into the world provided with weapons not furnished by nature (in other words, “unnatural”) the lines of development adopted by nature had ended in an _impasse_. Mere size had been found ineffective, and the giant Reptilians had disappeared from the earth. The Mammoth and the great Rorqual Whale were the largest animals then in existence, and nature had retraced her steps somewhat as shipbuilding did in the nineteenth century after the building of the _Great Eastern_. Of the countless forms of animal and vegetable life, many had disappeared entirely, being no longer suited to climatic or other changes of environment. There was no prospect of higher development unless an entirely new path could be found. We may put the situation in another way by paraphrasing an ancient tribal account of the origin of things:
“In the Beginning there was the Sun and the Earth.
“And the Sun and the Earth said: Let there be Life. And the Earth covered itself with a living coat of green, fed by the Sun.
“And the Earth said: Let there be Moving Life. And Life began to Move about, fed by the Life that was green and stood still.
“And the Earth said: Let there be Man, and let him be fed by the Green Life and the Moving Life, and let him subdue all Life, and let him subdue Me and serve Me and make Me great in the Heavens.”
And so the Earth brought forth Man, her latest and greatest Experiment. For a long time he was a rather inferior animal, but when he began to throw stones and spears he launched out on his true career, a career destined to culminate in the complete mastery of his native planet and the apotheosis of the Earth.
The pre-human Animal had already learned to use the world of plants for purposes of nutrition, and to use the mineral world for dwelling purposes. Improving upon the methods of his predecessors, man made the land and sea his province, and drew from it not only nourishment but the means of extending his dominion. “He that hath, to him shall be given.” And this extension became more and more rapid. Living, as we do, in an age of continually accelerated progress, we find it difficult to realize its rapidity.
We are caught in a flood. From day to day things are changing. What we write to-day is obsolete to-morrow. The clock ticks on the mantelpiece as it did twenty years ago, but outside in the road is the roar of motor traffic. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves is no longer heard. Hephæstus has put his fires into the interior of the motor engine, and found yet another way of using sunlight accumulated in the earth millions of years ago, instead of relying upon the solar energy stored in the grass eaten by the horse.
Fire has made all things new. We are surrounded by its gifts. My pen has passed through many fires before it reached my hand. All round me are traces of machinery and mechanism. The paper on which I write is calendered in the paper mills. I am aware that it is not as lasting as “hand-made” paper, and that it will not survive centuries of use like Gutenberg’s bibles. But what matter? If there is anything worthy of survival in what I write it will survive, even though it may require to be cast in bronze. If it is good it will be _aere perennius_.
Mankind may be likened to a vast army on the march. It is preceded by:
(1) Pathfinders, called explorers, inventors, and discoverers, whose business it is to find new avenues of development and achievement.
Then come the
(2) Commanders with their staff of Organizers. These direct and co-ordinate the movements of the masses in directions judged to be for the general welfare. They are followed by
(3) The Rank and File, consisting of those who live and work along accepted and well-established lines in all grades of society, taking no risks and making no changes.
(4) The Stragglers, or those who work for themselves alone, without reference to the needs and prospects of the community. Among these must be classed the squatters and backwoodsmen, and small crofters and peasants who grow their own food and weave their own cloth. They do not belong to civilized society, though they do no harm to it and cannot quite escape its influence.
(5) The Campfollowers and Vultures, who have no regard for the welfare of the community, but prey upon it for their own ends.
Classes (1) and (2) are by far the most important and valuable constituents of the human race. They are the growing element, the “cambium,” the grey matter of the brain. Whoever has sufficient originality to strike out an original course, combined with loyalty to humanity at large or to a smaller community; whoever is capable of leadership, whether in war or peace, art or commerce, industry or politics; whoever can lead others forward and inspire them with courage to face difficulties――he belongs to the _élite_ of mankind, to whatever grade of society he may belong. Far behind his class come the rank and file of commonplace drudges, who work in a rut and submit to being led like sheep. They may be clerks, domestic servants, trade union operatives, pensioners, or small investors. They form the large, undistinguished, but useful mass of humanity. Many kings have belonged to this class.
Both the large capitalist and the trade union boss I should class among the Commanders, and I should assign them a high rank in human progressive elements. The former is often a Pathfinder in commerce and industry, and the latter often points the way to the betterment of manual workers. Both are in a position of great power, but are exposed to the temptation to abuse it. The financier may succeed in restricting the free market in an important human community for his own enrichment and aggrandizement. The trade union boss may make a “corner” in a certain form of labour and so deprive the community of some essential commodity, such as housing accommodation. When this degeneration takes place, both these types must be put into the Vulture class.
The same judgment must be passed on those who use the machinery of the medium of exchange to further objects contrary to the interests of the community, such as usurers, and purveyors of intoxicant drugs. These also are among the Vultures.
When the first armed man transferred a method employed by nature into a new medium, and derived his armour from the outer world instead of growing it in his own organism, he took a step which led to many similar re-interpretations. One of the most important of such steps was Organization. The very word recalls its “organic” origin. The organs of the human body form an interdependent community with a common interest. The organs again are composed of tissues, and the tissues of individual cells having, as many biologists believe, a rudimentary consciousness of their own. All these――some millions of millions of millions――form a vast and closely-organized community consisting of many more distinct individuals than there are human beings on earth. The human race is such an organized community. A swarm of bees is another, but while the latter only deals with “natural” food-supplies and housing materials, the human community, thanks primarily to the use of fire, gathers its resources from realms utterly inaccessible to the ordinary animal, and establishes an unassailable superiority. Thus the human army, consisting of Pathfinders, Organizers, Rank and File, and Stragglers, with a trail of Vultures behind, presses ever forward on its victorious march of progress.
Its general procedure may be represented as follows:
The Pathfinders are in front, seeking out new avenues of advance. They may discover a new coal mine or oil well or mineral deposit; a more economical method of lighting and heating; an improved method of weaving or printing; a new medicine; a new formula for expressing numerical relations; an improved method of transmitting news; or merely a simplified method of mending socks. Whatever it may be, the new discovery is passed on to the organizers, the captains of industry, the capitalists and financiers, and the trade unions. In a well-organized community, the discovery or invention is given every opportunity of proving its value. Where vested interests and monopolies stand in the way, either in the camp of the capitalists and property holders or in the ranks of labour, much opposition may be encountered, and the community may be deprived of the advantages of the new discovery. But if there is no such opposition, the work incidental to the utilization of the discovery is distributed by the organizers among the rank and file, consisting of mechanics, clerks, and small investors. As soon as the industry is successfully established, the Vultures begin to hover round. Some of them seek to drive the industry into a corner where it can only exist by serving the interests of the Vultures. Other Vultures endeavour to corner the labour trained by the pathfinders and pioneers and hold the new industry to ransom. But in a well-organized community these nefarious activities are kept within bounds. The pathfinders, the organizers, and the rank and file are given their due credit and reward, and the community reaps the full benefit of the discovery.
And now let us examine the activities of the Pathfinders. In classical times the most audacious and renowned of these were the Phœnicians, who, armed with their shields and corselets of “oak and triple bronze,” sailed through the Pillars of Hercules out from the tideless Mediterranean into the unknown terrors of the Atlantic. Their ships were seen in the Baltic, trading woven purple garments for amber, and on the British coasts in search of tin. At the request of an Egyptian Pharao, they circumnavigated Africa, and brought back wildly improbable but, nevertheless, true stories about new constellations and the sun culminating in the north.
In Egypt itself explorers and discoverers of another kind were busy. The science of Chemistry was born there, and named after “Chem,” the native name of Egypt. In Greece and its colonies the science of Geometry attained a high standard, while Syracuse stands out as the home of Archimedes, one of the greatest mathematicians, physicists, and inventors of all time. These Pathfinders enriched humanity with priceless gifts. They surveyed the field of possible discovery from a high altitude, and their clear vision traced out the paths to higher achievement, to be trodden by their successors.
Had they lived in better-organized communities, their labours would have been turned to greater advantage, and would have benefited a greater number of their fellow men. But the day of capitalism and mass-production had not yet come. The splendid achievements of an Archimedes only served to benefit a tyrant, and his single-handed scientific fight against the Romans ended in disaster to his beloved city.
In Greek and Roman days, owing to the lop-sided organization of human society, scientific discoveries could only benefit a few powerful people. The downtrodden underlings were unaffected by the work of the Pathfinders. They had to await the dawn of the Industrial Age before they could take part in the progress of the _élite_. Yet it must be put to the credit of the Hieros, the Medicis, and the greater of the Bourbon and Stuart Kings that they fostered the advancement of science and protected the Pathfinders from the persecution of ecclesiastical and other vultures.
The invention of gunpowder laid low the chivalry of the Middle Ages. The Hobbling God triumphed over the mail-clad monopolist on horseback. The Sudden Fire armed the foot-soldier with a winged shaft of death. The stone-thrower had became the unerring sharp-shooter. The range of human power increased apace. The glass-blower with his fiery furnace produced cunning contrivances of glass which increased the range of the human eye twenty or thirty-fold. A free philosopher like Spinoza could discourse of the fundamental substance without fear or favour, since the grinding of optical glasses assured him an independent livelihood. Then came the French Revolution with its clarion call to a wider organization of humanity, which was eventually brought about, not by speeches and pamphlets, but by the harnessing of coal to inaugurate the Mechanical Age.
The nineteenth century saw the fulfilment of the dream of an organized Humanity, a human world unified, not by the spread of humanitarian philosophies, but by the material bonds of progress.