i came out of these dark corners presently into the sunblaze of india. i was now intensely interested in the whole question of employment and engaged in preparing matter for my first book, "enterprise and india," and therein you may read how i went first to assam and then down to ceylon following up this perplexing and complicated business of human enslavement to toil, exercised by this great spectacle of human labor, and at once attracted by and stimulated by and dissatisfied with those socialist generalizations that would make all this vast harsh spectacle of productive enterprise a kind of wickedness and outrage upon humanity. and behind and about the things i was looking for were other things for which i was not looking, that slowly came into and qualified the problem. it dawned upon me by degrees that india is not so much one country as a vast spectacle of human development at every stage, in infinite variety. one ranges between naked savages and the most sophisticated of human beings. i pursued my enquiries about great modern enterprises, about railway labor, canal labor, tea-planting, across vast stretches of country where men still lived, illiterate, agricultural, unprogressive and simple, as men lived before the first stirrings of recorded history. one sees by the tanks of those mud-built villages groups of women with brass vessels who are identical in pose and figure and quality with the women modelled in tanagra figures, and the droning wall-wheel is the same that irrigated the fields of ancient greece, and the crops and beasts and all the life is as it was in greece and italy, phœnicia and judea before the very dawn of history.

by imperceptible degrees i came to realize that this matter of expropriation and enslavement and control, which bulks so vastly upon the modern consciousness, which the socialists treat as though it was the comprehensive present process of mankind, is no more than one aspect of an overlife that struggles out of a massive ancient and traditional common way of living, struggles out again and again—blindly and always so far with a disorderly insuccess....

i began to see in their proper proportion the vast enduring normal human existence, the peasant's agricultural life, unlettered, laborious and essentially unchanging on the one hand, and on the other those excrescences of multitudinous city aggregation, those stormy excesses of productive energy that flare up out of that life, establish for a time great unstable strangenesses of human living, palaces, cities, roads, empires, literatures, and then totter and fall back again into ruin. in india even more than about the mediterranean all this is spectacular. there the peasant goes about his work according to the usage of fifty thousand years. he has a primitive version of religion, a moral tradition, a social usage, closely adapted by countless years of trial and survival to his needs, and the whole land is littered with the vestiges and abandoned material of those newer, bolder, more experimental beginnings, beginnings that merely began.

it was when i was going through the panther-haunted palaces of akbar at fatehpur sikri that i first felt how tremendously the ruins of the past may face towards the future; the thing there is like a frozen wave that rose and never broke; and once i had caught that light upon things, i found the same quality in all the ruins i saw, in amber and vijayanagar and chitor, and in all that i have seen or heard of, in ancient rome and ancient verona, in pæstum and cnossus and ancient athens. none of these places was ever really finished and done with; the basilicas of cæsar and constantine just as much as the baths and galleries and halls of audience at fatehpur sikri express not ends achieved but thwarted intentions of permanence. they embody repulse and rejection. they are trials, abandoned trials, towards ends vaguely apprehended, ends felt rather than known. even so was i moved by the bruges-like emptinesses of pekin, in the vast pretensions of its forbidden city, which are like a cry, long sustained, that at last dies away in a wail. i saw the place in 1905 in that slack interval after the european looting and before the great awakening that followed the russo-japanese war. pekin in a century or so may be added in its turn to the list of abandoned endeavors. insensibly the sceptre passes.... nearer home than any of these places have i imagined the same thing; in paris it seemed to me i felt the first chill shadow of that same arrest, that impalpable ebb and cessation at the very crest of things, that voice which opposes to all the hasty ambitions and gathering eagerness of men: "it is not here, it is not yet."

only the other day as i came back from paris to this quiet place and walked across the fields from the railway station to this house, i saw an old woman, a grandmother, a bent old crone with two children playing about her as she cut grass by the wayside, and she cut it, except that her sickle was steel, exactly as old women were cutting grass before there was writing, before the dawn of history, before men laid the first stones one upon the other of the first city that ever became a ruin....

you see civilization has never yet existed, it has only continually and obstinately attempted to be. our civilization is but the indistinct twilight before the dawn. it is still only a confused attempt, a flourish out of barbarism, and the normal life of men, the toiling earthy life of the field and the byre, goes on still like a stream that at once supports and carries to destruction the experimental ships of some still imperfect inventor. india gives it all from first to last, and now the modern movement, the latest half-conscious struggle of the new thing in mankind, throws up bombay and calcutta, vast feverish pustules upon the face of the peninsula, bridges the sacred rivers with hideous iron lattice-work and smears the sky of the dusty ruin-girdled city of delhi,—each ruin is the vestige of an empire,—with the black smoke of factory chimneys.

altogether scattered over that sun-burnt plain there are the remains of five or six extinguished delhis, that played their dramas of frustration before the delhi of the great mogul. this present phase of human living—its symbol at delhi is now, i suppose, a scaffold-bristling pile of neo-georgian building—is the latest of the constructive synthetic efforts to make a newer and fuller life for mankind. who dares call it the last? i question myself constantly whether this life we live to-day, whether that too, is more than a trial of these blind constructive forces, more universal perhaps, more powerful perhaps than any predecessor but still a trial, to litter the world with rusting material when the phase of recession recurs.

but yet i can never quite think that is so. this time, surely, it is different. this time may indeed be the beginning of a permanent change; this time there are new elements, new methods and a new spirit at work upon construction that the world has never known before. mankind may be now in the dawn of a fresh phase of living altogether. it is possible. the forces of construction are proportionally gigantic. there was never so much clear and critical thought in the world as there is now, never so large a body of generally accessible knowledge and suggestion, never anything like the same breadth of outlook, the same universality of imaginative freedom. that is so in spite of infinite turmoil and confusion. moreover the effort now is less concentrated, less dramatic. there is no one vital center to the modern movement which disaster can strike or decay undermine. if paris or new york slacken and grow dull and materialist, if berlin and london conspire for a mutual destruction, tokio or baku or valparaiso or christiania or smyrna or delhi will shelter and continue the onward impetus.

and this time too it is not any one person, any one dynasty, any one cult or race which carries our destiny. human thought has begun to free itself from individual entanglements and dramatic necessities and accidental standards. it becomes a collective mind, a collective will towards achievement, greater than individuals or cities or kingdoms or peoples, a mind and will to which we all contribute and which none of us may command nor compromise by our private errors. it ceases to be aristocratic; it detaches itself from persons and takes possession of us all. we are involved as it grows free and dominant, we find ourselves, in spite of ourselves, in spite of quarrels and jealousies and conflicts, helping and serving in the making of a new world-city, a new greater state above our legal states, in which all human life becomes a splendid enterprise, free and beautiful, whose aptest symbol in all our world is a huge gothic cathedral lit to flame by the sun, whose scheme is the towering conquest of the universe, whose every little detail is the wrought-out effort of a human soul....

such were the ideas that grew together in my mind as i went about india and the east, across those vast sunlit plains, where men and women still toil in their dusty fields for a harsh living and live in doorless hovels on floors of trampled cow-dung, persecuted by a hundred hostile beasts and parasites, caught and eaten by tigers and panthers as cats eat mice, and grievously afflicted by periodic famine and pestilence, even as men and women lived before the dawn of history, for untold centuries, for hundreds of thousands of years.