When a machine begins to run without human aid, it is time to

"When a machine begins to run without human aid, it is time to scrap it — whether it be a factory or a government." — Alexander Chase

Listen well, O sons and daughters of the age of iron and lightning, for this is a warning spoken not merely of gears and engines, but of the heart of civilization itself. Alexander Chase, a man of thought and conscience, uttered these words to remind us that every machine—whether forged of metal or made of law—exists to serve human purpose. When that purpose is lost, when the creation forgets its creator, then the machine becomes a master, not a servant. It begins to grind and hum without soul or direction, consuming all in its path — and it is then, says Chase, that it must be scrapped.

The machine, in this saying, is more than a thing of steel and oil. It is any system that once drew its power from the living will of humankind — from thought, compassion, and accountability. When a factory runs without the craftsman’s care, it produces abundance without meaning, wealth without dignity, and waste without end. And when a government runs without the guidance of its people, it becomes a vast, cold engine of policy, rolling on not for justice but for its own momentum. The moment it no longer listens, no longer answers, no longer feels, it ceases to be the tool of the people — and becomes their jailer.

Remember, too, the tale of the French Revolution, when the monarchy of France became such a machine. Once, the crown was the symbol of divine order; but over time it ceased to hear the cries of its subjects. Bureaucracy replaced mercy, taxes replaced duty, and the court of Versailles spun in endless motion, heedless of the famine outside its gates. The government, once born to protect, became a mechanism for its own preservation. And when it ran too long without the touch of compassion, the people rose to shatter it. Blood flowed, not merely from vengeance, but from the ancient truth: what no longer serves humanity must be broken and rebuilt.

So too in our own age, we see machines of another kind — not governments, but technologies. The glowing screens, the humming servers, the ceaseless code of automation. They promise ease and progress, yet already they begin to move without human aid, without human judgment. When a machine decides who works, who speaks, or who eats, then man has ceded his throne to his creation. When no hand guides the mechanism, and no heart bears responsibility, the soul of society begins to die quietly, under the sound of whirring gears and silent algorithms.

Chase’s words burn with a simple truth: human beings must remain the stewards of their own creations. A factory is good only when it serves the worker and the community. A government is righteous only when it remembers the governed. And a machine, no matter how brilliant, is but an idol if it moves without conscience. It is not progress that destroys us — it is indifference. The moment we cease to question, to guide, to hold accountable, the engines of power begin to turn on their makers.

Let every man and woman, therefore, be a watchman at the gates of civilization. Let no system, no law, no technology be allowed to run without oversight, without humanity’s touch. Ask always: Who does this serve? Who is forgotten by its turning wheels? For when we fail to ask, we build prisons in the name of progress and surrender our freedom to the very tools we forged for it.

The lesson, my friends, is as eternal as the sunrise: all power must answer to the human spirit. The machine must never rule the maker, nor the government the governed. Tend the engines of your world with wisdom, not worship. If they cease to heed you, if they begin to move without mercy or reason, then — as Alexander Chase warned — do not fear to scrap them. For it is better to rebuild with clean hands and open eyes than to live beneath the grinding wheel of a soulless creation.