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 What we write to-day is obsolete to-morrow.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.