Every step and every movement of the multitude, even in what are

The words of Adam Ferguson—“Every step and every movement of the multitude, even in what are termed enlightened ages, are made with equal blindness to the future; and nations stumble upon establishments, which are indeed the result of human action, but not the execution of any human design”—echo like an ancient bell through the halls of history. In this profound reflection, Ferguson speaks of the blindness of humanity, the truth that though men and nations act with purpose, the grand outcomes of their actions often unfold beyond their comprehension. His insight pierces the illusion of control that has ever haunted the human spirit—the belief that we can mold history according to our will. He reminds us that the future is shaped not by perfect plans, but by countless choices, accidents, and unintended consequences born of the human heart.

Ferguson, a philosopher of the Scottish Enlightenment, wrote these words in the eighteenth century, an age that prided itself on reason and progress. Yet even in that age of discovery and reform, he saw what few dared to admit: that the march of civilization is not the steady tread of foresight, but a wandering journey through uncertainty. His words are both humbling and heroic—for they strip away pride, yet honor the mystery of human destiny. What he calls “the result of human action, but not the execution of any human design,” is the paradox of history itself: that empires, economies, and institutions rise not from master plans, but from the unseen interplay of countless wills and desires.

The ancients knew this well, though they spoke of it in the language of fate. The Greeks called it Tyche, the unpredictable force that steers events beyond human intention. The Romans built their altars to Fortuna, goddess of chance, knowing that even the greatest generals and statesmen bowed before her whims. Ferguson, in his modern way, translates this ancient wisdom into the language of philosophy: that human societies evolve not as we intend, but as we act. Our deeds, born of ambition, fear, or necessity, create worlds that none could have designed, yet all must inhabit.

Consider the story of Christopher Columbus, who sailed westward in 1492 not to discover a new world, but to find a shorter route to Asia. His voyage, driven by greed and faith, altered the course of civilization. He did not foresee that his small act of exploration would lead to the rise of nations, the collapse of empires, and the mingling—and clashing—of continents. It was the result of human action, yet not the execution of any human design. So it is with all great turning points in history: the invention of the printing press, the birth of democracy, the rise of technology—each began as a spark, small and local, yet grew into a flame that reshaped humanity’s path.

Ferguson’s wisdom cuts deep into the human condition. We are creatures of intention, yet prisoners of consequence. We act with limited sight, believing we know where we are going, even as history takes us elsewhere. This truth, though sobering, is also liberating. For if the future cannot be fully controlled, then humility must be our guide, and wisdom our compass. We must learn not to worship our plans, but to adapt to the unexpected—to recognize that greatness often arises not from design, but from the courage to move forward even when the path is unclear.

This lesson applies not only to nations but to individuals. Every life, like every civilization, unfolds in mystery. We make choices believing we see their ends, yet the true consequences lie beyond our reach. The job we take, the words we speak, the kindness we offer—all ripple outward, shaping destinies unseen. To live wisely, then, is to act with intention and integrity, but also with humility—to accept that the tapestry of fate is woven from threads we do not control. The wise man plants the seed, but trusts the soil and the seasons to do the rest.

So, my child, remember the lesson of Adam Ferguson: we are actors upon a stage whose story we cannot fully script. Nations rise and fall, not by perfect planning, but by the living current of human action. Do not despair at the unpredictability of the world, nor boast of your power to command it. Instead, act well in your own sphere. Be guided by principle, not outcome; by virtue, not certainty. For though we walk blind toward the future, it is through our honesty, courage, and compassion that we may stumble upon something worthy of eternity.

Thus, the sage’s words still ring true across the centuries: “Every step and every movement of the multitude… are made with equal blindness to the future.” Yet from that blindness, light emerges. From our wandering, wisdom grows. For in the chaos of history and the uncertainty of life, it is not control that defines us—but the grace with which we meet the unknown.