G
Guy Macon
Guest
Many ages ago our fathers were living in dens and caves.
Their bodies, their low foreheads, were covered with hair.
They were eating berries, roots, bark and vermin. They were
fond of snakes and raw fish. They discovered fire and,
probably by accident, learned how to cause it by friction.
They found how to warm themselves --- to fight the frost and
storm. They fashioned clubs and rude weapons of stone with
which they killed the larger beasts and now and then each
other. Slowly, painfully, almost imperceptibly they
advanced. They crawled and stumbled, staggered and struggled
toward the light. To them the world was unknown. On every
hand was the mysterious, the sinister, the hurtful. The
forests were filled with monsters, and the darkness was
crowded with ghosts, devils, and fiendish gods.
These poor wretches were the slaves of fear, the sport of
dreams.
Now and then, one rose a little above his fellows -- used
his senses -- the little reason that he had -- found
something new -- some better way. Then the people killed him
and afterward knelt with reverence at his grave. Then
another thinker gave his thought -- was murdered -- another
tomb became sacred -- another step was taken in advance. And
so through countless years of ignorance and cruelty -- of
thought and crime -- of murder and worship, of heroism,
suffering, and self-denial, the race has reached the heights
where now we stand.
Looking back over the long and devious roads that lie
between the barbarism of the past and the civilization of
to-day, thinking of the centuries that rolled like waves
between these distant shores, we can form some idea of what
our fathers suffered -- of the mistakes they made -- some
idea of their ignorance, their stupidity -- and some idea of
their sense, their goodness, their heroism.
It is a long road from the savage to the scientist -- from
a den to a mansion -- from leaves to clothes -- from a
flickering rush to the arc-light -- from a hammer of stone
to the modern mill -- a long distance from the pipe of Pan
to the violin -- to the orchestra -- from a floating log to
the steamship -- from a sickle to a reaper -- from a hand
loom to a Jacquard, a Jacquard that weaves fair forms and
wondrous flowers beyond Arachne's utmost dream -- from a few
hieroglyphics on the skins of beasts, on bricks of clay --
to a printing press, to a library -- a long distance from
the messenger, traveling on foot, to the electric spark --
from knives and tools of stone to those of steel -- a long
distance from sand to telescopes -- from echo to the
phonograph -- a long way from the trumpet to the telephone
-- from the dried sinews of beasts to the cables of steel --
from the oar to the propeller -- a long distance from
slavery to freedom --from appearance to fact -- from fear to
reason.
And yet this distance has been traveled by the human race.
Whom, what, should we thank?
...Knowing something of the history of man --- here on this
day that has been set apart for thanksgiving, I most
reverently thank the good men, the good women of the past, I
thank the kind fathers, the loving mothers of the savage
days.
I thank the father who spoke the first gentle word, the
mother who first smiled upon her babe. I thank the first
true friend. I thank the savages who hunted and fished that
they and their babes might live. I thank those who
cultivated the ground and changed the forests into farms --
those who built rude homes and watched the faces of their
happy children in the glow of fireside flames -- those who
domesticated horses, cattle and sheep -- those who invented
wheels and looms and taught us to spin and weave -- those
who by cultivation changed wild grasses into wheat and corn,
changed bitter things to fruit, and worthless weeds to
flowers, that sowed within our souls the seeds of art.
I thank the poets of the dawn -- the tellers of legends --
the makers of myths -- the singers of joy and grief, of hope
and love. I thank the artists who chiseled forms in stone
and wrought with light and shade the face of man. I thank
the philosophers, the thinkers, who taught us how to use our
minds in the great search for truth. I thank the astronomers
who explored the heavens, told us the secrets of the stars,
the glories of the constellations -- the geologists who
found the story of the world in fossil forms, in memoranda
kept in ancient rocks, in lines written by waves, by frost
and fire -- the anatomists who sought in muscle, nerve and
bone for all the mysteries of life -- the chemists who
unraveled Nature's work that they might learn her art....
I thank the great inventors -- those who gave us movable
type and the press, by means of which great thoughts and all
discovered facts are made immortal -- the inventors of
engines, of the great ships, of the railways, the cables and
telegraphs. I thank the great mechanics, the workers in iron
and steel, in wood and stone. I thank the inventors and
makers of the numberless things of use and luxury.
I thank the industrious men, the loving mothers, the useful
women. They are the benefactors of our race.
I thank the honest men and women who have expressed their
sincere thoughts, who have been true to themselves and have
preserved the veracity of their souls.
I thank the thinkers of Greece and Rome, Zeno and Epicurus,
Cicero and Lucretius. I thank Bruno, the bravest, and
Spinoza, the subtlest of men.
I thank Voltaire, whose thought lighted a flame in the
brain of man, unlocked the doors of superstition's cells and
gave liberty to many millions of his fellow-men. Voltaire --
a name that sheds light. Voltaire -- a star that
superstition's darkness cannot quench.
I thank the great poets -- the dramatists. I thank Homer
and Aeschylus, and I thank Shakespeare above them all. I
thank Burns for the heart- throbs he changed into songs, for
his lyrics of flame. I thank Shelley for this Skylark, Keats
for his Grecian Urn and Byron for his Prisoner of Chillon. I
thank the great novelists. I thank the great sculptors. I
thank the unknown man who moulded and chiseled the Venus de
Milo. I thank the great painters. I thank Rembrandt and
Corot. I thank all who have adorned, enriched and ennobled
life -- all who have created the great, the noble, the
heroic and artistic ideals.
I thank the statesmen who have preserved the rights of man.
I thank Thomas Paine whose genius sowed the seeds of
independence in the hearts of '76. I thank the founders, the
defenders, the saviors of the Republic. I thank Ericsson,
the greatest mechanic of his century, for the monitor. I
thank Lincoln for the Proclamation. I thank them all -- the
living and the dead.
I thank the great scientists -- those who have reached the
foundation, the bed-rock -- who have built upon facts.
The scientists never persecuted, never imprisoned their
fellow-men. They forged no chains, built no dungeons,
erected no scaffolds -- tore no flesh with red hot pincers
-- dislocated no joints on racks -- crushed no bones in iron
boots -- extinguished no eyes -- tore out no tongues and
lighted no fagots. They were only intelligent and honest
men. They did not appeal to force or fear. They did not
regard men as slaves to be ruled by torture, by lash and
chain, nor as children to be cheated with illusions, rocked
in the cradle of an idiot creed and soothed by a lullaby of
lies.
They did not wound -- they healed. They did not kill --
they lengthened life. They did not enslave -- they broke the
chains and made men free. They sowed the seeds of knowledge,
and many millions have reaped, are reaping, and will reap,
the harvest of joy.
I thank Humboldt and Helmholtz and Haeckel and Buchner. I
thank Lamarck and Darwin -- Darwin who revolutionized the
thought of the intellectual world. I thank Huxley and
Spencer. I thank the scientists one and all.
I thank the heroes, the destroyers of prejudice and fear --
the dethroners of savage gods -- the extinguishers of hate's
eternal fire -- the heroes, the breakers of chains -- the
heroes who fought and fell on countless fields -- the heroes
whose dungeons became shrines -- the heroes whose blood made
scaffolds sacred -- the heroes, the apostles of reason, the
disciples of truth, the soldiers of freedom -- the heroes
who held high the holy torch and filled the world with
light.
With all my heart I thank them all.
--- ROBERT G INGERSOLL, 1897
[Excerpted from Volume IV of the 12-Volume Dresden Edition
of Robert Ingersoll's writings, The Dresden Publishing
Company, New York, 1902.]
Their bodies, their low foreheads, were covered with hair.
They were eating berries, roots, bark and vermin. They were
fond of snakes and raw fish. They discovered fire and,
probably by accident, learned how to cause it by friction.
They found how to warm themselves --- to fight the frost and
storm. They fashioned clubs and rude weapons of stone with
which they killed the larger beasts and now and then each
other. Slowly, painfully, almost imperceptibly they
advanced. They crawled and stumbled, staggered and struggled
toward the light. To them the world was unknown. On every
hand was the mysterious, the sinister, the hurtful. The
forests were filled with monsters, and the darkness was
crowded with ghosts, devils, and fiendish gods.
These poor wretches were the slaves of fear, the sport of
dreams.
Now and then, one rose a little above his fellows -- used
his senses -- the little reason that he had -- found
something new -- some better way. Then the people killed him
and afterward knelt with reverence at his grave. Then
another thinker gave his thought -- was murdered -- another
tomb became sacred -- another step was taken in advance. And
so through countless years of ignorance and cruelty -- of
thought and crime -- of murder and worship, of heroism,
suffering, and self-denial, the race has reached the heights
where now we stand.
Looking back over the long and devious roads that lie
between the barbarism of the past and the civilization of
to-day, thinking of the centuries that rolled like waves
between these distant shores, we can form some idea of what
our fathers suffered -- of the mistakes they made -- some
idea of their ignorance, their stupidity -- and some idea of
their sense, their goodness, their heroism.
It is a long road from the savage to the scientist -- from
a den to a mansion -- from leaves to clothes -- from a
flickering rush to the arc-light -- from a hammer of stone
to the modern mill -- a long distance from the pipe of Pan
to the violin -- to the orchestra -- from a floating log to
the steamship -- from a sickle to a reaper -- from a hand
loom to a Jacquard, a Jacquard that weaves fair forms and
wondrous flowers beyond Arachne's utmost dream -- from a few
hieroglyphics on the skins of beasts, on bricks of clay --
to a printing press, to a library -- a long distance from
the messenger, traveling on foot, to the electric spark --
from knives and tools of stone to those of steel -- a long
distance from sand to telescopes -- from echo to the
phonograph -- a long way from the trumpet to the telephone
-- from the dried sinews of beasts to the cables of steel --
from the oar to the propeller -- a long distance from
slavery to freedom --from appearance to fact -- from fear to
reason.
And yet this distance has been traveled by the human race.
Whom, what, should we thank?
...Knowing something of the history of man --- here on this
day that has been set apart for thanksgiving, I most
reverently thank the good men, the good women of the past, I
thank the kind fathers, the loving mothers of the savage
days.
I thank the father who spoke the first gentle word, the
mother who first smiled upon her babe. I thank the first
true friend. I thank the savages who hunted and fished that
they and their babes might live. I thank those who
cultivated the ground and changed the forests into farms --
those who built rude homes and watched the faces of their
happy children in the glow of fireside flames -- those who
domesticated horses, cattle and sheep -- those who invented
wheels and looms and taught us to spin and weave -- those
who by cultivation changed wild grasses into wheat and corn,
changed bitter things to fruit, and worthless weeds to
flowers, that sowed within our souls the seeds of art.
I thank the poets of the dawn -- the tellers of legends --
the makers of myths -- the singers of joy and grief, of hope
and love. I thank the artists who chiseled forms in stone
and wrought with light and shade the face of man. I thank
the philosophers, the thinkers, who taught us how to use our
minds in the great search for truth. I thank the astronomers
who explored the heavens, told us the secrets of the stars,
the glories of the constellations -- the geologists who
found the story of the world in fossil forms, in memoranda
kept in ancient rocks, in lines written by waves, by frost
and fire -- the anatomists who sought in muscle, nerve and
bone for all the mysteries of life -- the chemists who
unraveled Nature's work that they might learn her art....
I thank the great inventors -- those who gave us movable
type and the press, by means of which great thoughts and all
discovered facts are made immortal -- the inventors of
engines, of the great ships, of the railways, the cables and
telegraphs. I thank the great mechanics, the workers in iron
and steel, in wood and stone. I thank the inventors and
makers of the numberless things of use and luxury.
I thank the industrious men, the loving mothers, the useful
women. They are the benefactors of our race.
I thank the honest men and women who have expressed their
sincere thoughts, who have been true to themselves and have
preserved the veracity of their souls.
I thank the thinkers of Greece and Rome, Zeno and Epicurus,
Cicero and Lucretius. I thank Bruno, the bravest, and
Spinoza, the subtlest of men.
I thank Voltaire, whose thought lighted a flame in the
brain of man, unlocked the doors of superstition's cells and
gave liberty to many millions of his fellow-men. Voltaire --
a name that sheds light. Voltaire -- a star that
superstition's darkness cannot quench.
I thank the great poets -- the dramatists. I thank Homer
and Aeschylus, and I thank Shakespeare above them all. I
thank Burns for the heart- throbs he changed into songs, for
his lyrics of flame. I thank Shelley for this Skylark, Keats
for his Grecian Urn and Byron for his Prisoner of Chillon. I
thank the great novelists. I thank the great sculptors. I
thank the unknown man who moulded and chiseled the Venus de
Milo. I thank the great painters. I thank Rembrandt and
Corot. I thank all who have adorned, enriched and ennobled
life -- all who have created the great, the noble, the
heroic and artistic ideals.
I thank the statesmen who have preserved the rights of man.
I thank Thomas Paine whose genius sowed the seeds of
independence in the hearts of '76. I thank the founders, the
defenders, the saviors of the Republic. I thank Ericsson,
the greatest mechanic of his century, for the monitor. I
thank Lincoln for the Proclamation. I thank them all -- the
living and the dead.
I thank the great scientists -- those who have reached the
foundation, the bed-rock -- who have built upon facts.
The scientists never persecuted, never imprisoned their
fellow-men. They forged no chains, built no dungeons,
erected no scaffolds -- tore no flesh with red hot pincers
-- dislocated no joints on racks -- crushed no bones in iron
boots -- extinguished no eyes -- tore out no tongues and
lighted no fagots. They were only intelligent and honest
men. They did not appeal to force or fear. They did not
regard men as slaves to be ruled by torture, by lash and
chain, nor as children to be cheated with illusions, rocked
in the cradle of an idiot creed and soothed by a lullaby of
lies.
They did not wound -- they healed. They did not kill --
they lengthened life. They did not enslave -- they broke the
chains and made men free. They sowed the seeds of knowledge,
and many millions have reaped, are reaping, and will reap,
the harvest of joy.
I thank Humboldt and Helmholtz and Haeckel and Buchner. I
thank Lamarck and Darwin -- Darwin who revolutionized the
thought of the intellectual world. I thank Huxley and
Spencer. I thank the scientists one and all.
I thank the heroes, the destroyers of prejudice and fear --
the dethroners of savage gods -- the extinguishers of hate's
eternal fire -- the heroes, the breakers of chains -- the
heroes who fought and fell on countless fields -- the heroes
whose dungeons became shrines -- the heroes whose blood made
scaffolds sacred -- the heroes, the apostles of reason, the
disciples of truth, the soldiers of freedom -- the heroes
who held high the holy torch and filled the world with
light.
With all my heart I thank them all.
--- ROBERT G INGERSOLL, 1897
[Excerpted from Volume IV of the 12-Volume Dresden Edition
of Robert Ingersoll's writings, The Dresden Publishing
Company, New York, 1902.]
Sounds classy