Chapter VI: Introduction (4)

Is it possible that a being so fearfully and wonderfully made as man, and animated by a spirit still more fearful and incomprehensible, was created for the brief term of a few revolutions of the planet he lives on? Shall his own physical and intellectual productions so long survive him? The massive piles of Egypt have endured for thousands of years: fluted column and sculptured architrave have stood for generations, monuments of his labor and skill. A poem of Homer, an oration of Demosthenes, an ode of Horace, a letter of Cicero, carry down to the remotest posterity the memorial of their names. Men found empires, establish constitutions, promulgate codes of laws; there have been Solons, Alexanders, Justinians, and Napoleons. There have been those justly called Fathers of their country, and benefactors of their race. Have they, too, sunk to become clods of the valley? The mind, which can look so far before and after--can subdue to its mastery the savages of the forests, and the fiercer elements of Nature--can stamp the creation of its genius upon the living canvas, or the almost breathing, speaking marble--can marshal the invisible vibrations of air into soul-stirring or soul-subduing music--can pour forth an eloquence of words, with magic power to lash the passions of many hearts into a raging whirlwind, or command them with a "peace, be still"--can make a book, a little book, which shall outlive pyramids and temples, cities and empires--can perceive and love beauty, in all its forms, and above all, moral beauty, and God, the infinite perfection of moral beauty,--no, this mind can never die. Its moral progress must go on in an unending existence, of which its life of fourscore years on earth is scarce the childhood. Let us beware then of raising these objects of ambition, wealth, learning, honor, and influence, worthy though they be, into an undue importance; nor in the too ardent pursuit of what are only means, lose sight of the great end of our being.