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Updated: July 1, 2025
Who are these men? How do they do it? They are the Machine-Trainers. The men who understand people-machines, who understand iron machines, and who understand how to make people-machines and iron machines run softly together. There was a time once in the old simple individual days when drygoods stores could be human. They expressed, in a quiet, easy way, the souls of the people who owned them.
Perhaps a machine civilization is capable of a greater art than has ever been dreamed in the world before, the moment it stops being chased by its elephants. The question of letting the crowd be beautiful in our world of machines and crowds to-day turns on our producing Machine-Trainers.
They blame the locomotive. A better way for a man to do would be to stop blaming the locomotive, and stop running along out of breath beside it, and climb up into the cab. This is the whole issue of art in our modern civilization climbing up into the cab. First come the Machine-Trainers, or poets who can tame engines. Then the other poets.
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