Thoughts Suggested by Mr. Froude's "Progress" — Reading Notes
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Produced by David Widger
THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY MR. FROUDE'S "PROGRESS"
By Charles Dudley Warner
To revisit this earth, some ages after their departure from it, is a common wish among men. We frequently hear men say that they would give so many months or years of their lives in exchange for a less number on the globe one or two or three centuries from now. Merely to see the world from some remote sphere, like the distant spectator of a play which passes in dumb show, would not suffice. They would like to be of the world again, and enter into its feelings, passions, hopes; to feel the sweep of its current, and so to comprehend what it has become.
I suppose that we all who are thoroughly interested in this world have this desire. There are some select souls who sit apart in calm endurance, waiting to be translated out of a world they are almost tired of patronizing, to whom the whole thing seems, doubtless, like a cheap performance. They sit on the fence of criticism, and cannot for the life of them see what the vulgar crowd make such a toil and sweat about. The prizes are the same dreary, old, fading bay wreaths. As for the soldiers marching past, their uniforms are torn, their hats are shocking, their shoes are dusty, they do not appear (to a man sitting on the fence) to march with any kind of spirit, their flags are old and tattered, the drums they beat are barbarous; and, besides, it is not probable that they are going anywhere; they will merely come round again, the same people, like the marching chorus in the "Beggar's Opera." Such critics, of course, would not care to see the vulgar show over again; it is enough for them to put on record their protest against it in the weekly "Judgment Days" which they edit, and by-and-by withdraw out of their private boxes, with pity for a world in the creation of which they were not consulted.
The desire to revisit this earth is, I think, based upon a belief, well-nigh universal, that the world is to make some progress, and that it will be more interesting in the future than it is now. I believe that the human mind, whenever it is developed enough to comprehend its own action, rests, and has always rested, in this expectation. I do not know any period of time in which the civilized mind has not had expectation of something better for the race in the future. This expectation is sometimes stronger than it is at others; and, again, there are always those who say that the Golden Age is behind them. It is always behind or before us; the poor present alone has no friends; the present, in the minds of many, is only the car that is carrying us away from an age of virtue and of happiness, or that is perhaps bearing us on to a time of ease and comfort and security.
Perhaps it is worth while, in view of certain recent discussions, and especially of some free criticisms of this country, to consider whether there is any intention of progress in this world, and whether that intention is discoverable in the age in which we live.
Warner opens by examining the common desire to revisit the earth in a future age, a wish he ties to a nearly universal belief in progress. He contrasts this with the posture of detached critics who view human endeavor as a cheap performance, sitting on the fence and dismissing the march of history as a pointless round. This framing immediately establishes the essay's central tension: between faith in improvement and the skepticism of intellectual elites.
The Metaphor of 'Making Pi'
Warner engages directly with Froude's dismissive definition of democracy as 'making pi'—a printer's term for broken, disintegrated type. He wryly suggests that Froude may have invented the witticism himself, then turns the metaphor on its head. For a hundred years, Warner notes, Americans have been 'making this pi,' and far from being mere chaos, it has become a 'national dish' that even ancient nations like China and Japan want to sample. The image is striking: democracy as a process of breaking down and recombining, not into disorder but into a new order that others seek to emulate.
The Case for Popular Government
Warner counters the charge that universal suffrage and diffused education are failures. He argues that class government and popular ignorance have been tried for ages and always ended in disaster. His defense is grounded in a simple principle: a man is the best guardian of his own liberty and rights, barring lunacy, stupidity, or crime. He challenges the notion that only the wise few should rule, asking pointedly how such a select class would be chosen and noting that historical ruling classes have consistently sought their own benefit over the general welfare.
The Question of Progress
Warner returns to the essay's opening theme, questioning whether progress is real or illusory. He acknowledges that the present is always friendless—the Golden Age is always behind or before us. But he insists that the expectation of something better is a persistent feature of the civilized mind. The essay does not resolve the debate; instead, it leaves the reader weighing the evidence of history against the claims of critics. Warner's tone is measured, but his commitment to the democratic experiment is clear.
A Reader's Orientation
Warner's essay is a direct response to a specific work—Froude's 'Progress'—but it also stands alone as a meditation on democracy and criticism. Readers unfamiliar with Froude will still follow the argument, as Warner supplies enough context. The essay's structure moves from a universal human desire to a specific political debate, then back to broader implications. Pay attention to Warner's use of irony and his willingness to engage with opposing views without dismissing them outright. His prose is conversational yet precise, blending personal reflection with public argument.
Warner's essay rewards attention to its rhetorical strategy: he begins with a seemingly universal longing, narrows to a pointed critique of Froude, and expands again to defend democratic principles. The excerpts show a writer who values both wit and substance, using metaphor to sharpen his argument. Readers should note how Warner balances skepticism about human nature with a stubborn faith in the capacity of ordinary people to govern themselves.
I kept returning to Warner’s notion that democracy, like making pi, needs steady hands and patience rather than perfection. That quiet faith in ordinary people lingered, and somehow it led me back to The Heroic Women of Early Indiana Methodism: An Address Delivered Before the Indiana Methodist Historical Society — A Reader’s Guide, where I found that same stubborn, unglamorous courage in quieter lives—just women, building something lasting out of daily faithfulness.
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