Progressrnby Richard MoorernSlowly our lives are becoming intolerable, and before longrnmissiles may go and explodernmost of us. Some of us blamernCommunists, radicals; some curse unions, and othersrnpollution.rnCorporate insanity, sayrnsome, and the profits in arms. . .rnMaybe; but isn’t there some one obvious, odious villainrnthat we can boo at and hiss?rnFriends, I’ve a candidate rightrnhere for the office, for three mad centuries worshipped,rna hero.rnProgress, it’s you that I mean.rnPeople who praise you forgetrnmen went on in stability millions of years, till your adventrncollared them, herded them, pellmellrndown rapids of timerninto your cities of death—Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Dresden,rnTokyo . . . Bright are your works—rnDresden most brilliant of all:rnover a hundred and thirty-five thousand inhabitantsrnburned up,rnpoof, in a pillar of flame.rnEven your nuclear blastsrncan’t kill men any quicker than that. Now “numerous otherrnknown ecological imrnbalances” threaten the same:rnbirds disappearing because our insecticides flavor theirrndinners,rnbeetles destructive becausernonce they were eaten by birds.rnMonks daren’t fast any more; for the DDT in their bodies,rnstored in their fat, when the fatrndwindled, would poison their blood.rnOilwells gush at the coastline, making it sticky for swimmers;rnplankton and ducks are upset.rnPoor blacks yell in the streets.rnNo one is satisfied; old men sit on their porches and wonderrnwho can have flushed it away,rnlife as it was in their youth?rnEven in buying an old dishwasher for thirty-five dollars,rnall of our pleasure is spoiled:rnnew ones cost five times as much;rnlook, though, the model is different: they’ve added anrnadd-a-dish feature.rnMen will develop a falsernview of the world when their hotrnwater comes out of a faucet. A mammoth producer ofrnwood pulprnpromises customers: allrnbabies about to be bornrnsoon will inhabit a cheap and completely disposable cosmos:rncardboard mattresses, beds,rnpotties that fold into bags,rneverything baby can touch, taste, destined to stink in a sewer.rnIsn’t it time that we askedrnhow all this nonsense began?rnEirst you. Progress, stuck us in villages, who had been hunters;rnthough we had starved sometimes,rnstill we had kept on the move,rnfinding the thrills we can get now only by killing each other.rnWell-fed men were so bored,rnvast populations arose;rncivilizations were born, with their marvelous organizationrnpracticing death on a grandrnscale: war, noblest of arts.rnMurderous Zcnlike Achilles could sever more heads in anrninstantrnthan a computer can sum.rnWhat can you say for him? This:rnit was like primitive hunting, the same inspirations. Hernleapt rightrninto the battle, its stormrncenter, its dervish of death,rnready to perish himself as he siphoned the heat of the nations.rnYet that he spared men toornputs the computer to shame.rnAll this led to another development: specialization.rnWeek long, people can dumprngarbage cans into a truck,rnand they will still be regarded as competent citizens, makingrnlivings, engendering votes,rnbabies, begetting the laws.rnWell, if the mind grows only through contact with things thatrnit touches,rngarbage collectors enjoyrnmore stimulation than most.rnMost of us think that reality floats abstract in the ether,rnfood for the experts, toornrare for a mortal to chew.rnWhat we perceive with our unwashed eyes is irrelevant detail.rnNote what sprouts in the park.rnMiracles. Radio waves.rnEverywhere cheap pop tunes, manifested on silver receivers,rnweave unsuspected in space,rnsilently lurk in the light,rnlike a potassium cyanide crystal before it is swallowed.rnOI exaggerate! Whatrn28/CHRONICLESrnrnrn