The industrial revolution has tended to produce everywhere great

When Irving Babbitt declared, “The Industrial Revolution has tended to produce everywhere great urban masses that seem to be increasingly careless of ethical standards,” he was not merely speaking of factories, machines, or the swelling cities of his age — he was warning of a moral transformation, a quiet erosion of the human spirit beneath the weight of progress. His words, forged in the early decades of the 20th century, speak not only to his time but to every age in which material gain begins to overshadow moral purpose. He saw in the Industrial Revolution not only the rise of engines and empires, but also the decline of restraint, reflection, and virtue — those inner disciplines that have long bound civilization to wisdom.

The origin of this quote lies in Babbitt’s lifelong struggle against what he called “the mechanization of life.” He lived at a time when the world, enchanted by its newfound power to harness nature, began to forget the nature of man. Factories rose where forests had stood, and men became cogs in systems that valued production above principle. The ancient virtues — moderation, integrity, reverence — began to fade beneath the noise of machines and the hunger for comfort. Babbitt, a scholar of classical humanism, believed that civilization’s greatness depends not upon its inventions, but upon its character. He saw that when cities grow vast and wealth multiplies, men often lose the inner compass that once guided them. The danger, he warned, was not the machine itself, but the moral sleep it might induce — the slumber of the soul in an age of abundance.

In these words, Babbitt echoes the timeless wisdom of the ancients. Plato warned that when society becomes too enamored with pleasure and ease, it breeds citizens who seek indulgence rather than virtue. Aristotle taught that man must balance his appetites with reason, lest he become a slave to his desires. The Industrial Revolution, for all its wonders, tempted humanity to abandon this balance. Where once labor had been the discipline of the body, it became the rhythm of machines; where once communities were bound by custom and conscience, they were now drawn together by commerce and necessity. The result was what Babbitt called “great urban masses” — crowds of people living side by side yet spiritually apart, surrounded by progress but bereft of purpose.

History bears witness to his concern. In the smoke-filled cities of the 19th century — London, Manchester, Chicago, Berlin — millions labored in factories, their lives governed by the clock, their worth measured by output. The pursuit of profit often came at the expense of ethics. Child labor thrived, wages were crushed, and human beings became instruments of production. Amid the iron and steam, something sacred began to fade: compassion, dignity, the sense of a shared moral order. Out of this chaos rose reformers — souls like Charles Dickens, who, through his novels, cried out for the humanity buried beneath industrial progress; and Jane Addams, who worked to heal the wounds of urban poverty. Their work, like Babbitt’s words, reminded the world that progress without virtue is not civilization, but merely machinery in motion.

Yet Babbitt’s warning extends beyond history. In our own age — the age of digital revolutions and glowing screens — his voice still resounds. For though the factory has given way to the network, the danger remains the same: the forgetting of ethical standards in the pursuit of speed, convenience, and power. The great “urban masses” of his day have become the vast online societies of ours — connected yet divided, enlightened yet distracted. And once again, we are tempted to mistake innovation for improvement, wealth for worth, and motion for meaning. The challenge, as Babbitt saw it, is to awaken the moral will in an age that dazzles the senses but dulls the soul.

From his reflection arises an eternal truth: that every age of progress must also be an age of discipline. The machine can build, but only the spirit can guide. The city can grow, but only the conscience can make it just. When we lose our moral bearings, the very forces we create for good become our undoing. The fall of ancient Rome, the corruption of mighty empires, the tragedies of modern industry — all spring from the same root: the loss of ethical restraint amid abundance. To preserve civilization, we must remember that progress is a servant, not a master.

So, my listener, take this wisdom to heart: do not let the outer world outpace your inner world. Build your character as diligently as you build your cities. Let every act of creation be guided by conscience, every pursuit of success by compassion. Seek balance, as the ancients did, between the hands that work and the heart that knows why. For if we gain all the power of the machine but lose the quiet strength of virtue, we shall build monuments that crumble from within.

In the end, Irving Babbitt’s words are not a rejection of progress, but a call to remembrance — to recall that man’s true greatness lies not in what he makes, but in what he chooses. Let every generation, standing amid its wonders, ask itself this question: “Have we advanced in wisdom as much as in power?” Only when the answer is yes shall progress be worthy of the name civilization.