The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden underground, secretly making the ground green.
Thomas CarlyleRead
To me the Universe was all void of Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility; it was one huge, dead, immeasurable Steam-engine, rolling on, in its dead indifference, to grind me limb from limb. Oh vast gloomy, solitary Golgotha, and Mill of Death! Why was the living banished thither companionless, conscious? Why, if there is no Devil; nay, unless the Devil is your God?
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep existential despair and view of the universe as indifferent and hostile to human life.
In this quote, Thomas Carlyle reflects on the harsh reality of existence, portraying the universe as a vast, cruel machine devoid of meaning or purpose. He grapples with the loneliness and suffering inherent in life, questioning the nature of good and evil and suggesting that if the universe is indifferent—offering no solace—then one must confront the troubling possibility of a malevolent divine force behind it all.
In practice
In a philosophical discussion about the meaning of life, this quote could highlight the struggle against existential despair.
The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden underground, secretly making the ground green.
Thirty millions, mostly fools.
There is a great discovery still to be made in literature, that of paying literary men by the quantity they do not write.
For the superior morality, of which we hear so much, we too would desire to be thankful: at the same time, it were but blindness to deny that this superior morality is properly rather an inferior criminality, produced not by greater love of Virtue, but by greater perfection of Police; and of that far subtler and stronger Police, called Public Opinion.
Enjoying things which are pleasant; that is not the evil; it is the reducing of our moral self to slavery by them that is.
Clean undeniable right, clear undeniable might: either of these once ascertained puts an end to battle. All battle is a confused experiment to ascertain one and both of these.
He [Christ] died for me. He made His righteousness mine and made my sin His own; and if He made my sin His own, then I do not have it, and I am free.
When we become advocates of a creed, something dies; we do not believe God, we only believe our belief about Him.
Nothing causes us to so nearly resemble God as the forgiveness of injuries.
Our particular principles of religion are a subject of accountability to God alone.
As for life, it is a battle and a sojourning in a strange land; but the fame that comes after is oblivion.
What is the ideal for mental health, then? A lived, compelling illusion that does not lie about life, death, and reality; one honest enough to follow its own commandments: I mean, not to kill, not to take the lives of others to justify itself.
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