Originally written for the Society of the Literati

I offer the most profound and welcoming greetings to you all. It is rather difficult to begin these one-sided conversations, so pardon me if I am forced to imagine your responses. I like to think that I am addressing living, sentient beings, rather than a blank void of microchips and the like. Now, shall we progress?

Progress. Is that not a pretty word? Progress. At the risk of taxing your short attention span, I do believe that it is necessary to define that word “progress.” It has far too many meanings for me to throw it around in every direction. An acquaintance of mine has defined progress, loosely, as “our faith in the idea that we as a society will improve morally and intellectually.” My, my. That’s a bit strong, isn’t it? For the faithless ones among us—muself included, of course—I believe I shall be forced to rely on a more detached source. I’ve found Webster’s to be occasionally reliable in these situations. Shall we hear what he has to say? Goodness, there are many definitions. I’ll choose the one I deem most appropriate: “gradual betterment; esp: the progressive development of mankind......to develop to a higher, better, or more advanced stage.”

That’s a bit strong as well, isn’t it? All raise their hands who believe that we are living in an age of progress. I imagine quite a few hands just leapt skyward. After all, that’s what this is, isn’t it? In our world, everyone is striving four our lives to be easier, more interesting, in a word, better. And isn’t modern living better than it ever has been? Think of all the magics mankind has developed in the past century alone. A man standing in the streets of New York can talk to his sister in China. Indeed, he can visit her in a matter of hours, perhaps half a day, flying through the air. Computers have the ability to connect individuals the world over with the touch of a button or two. On a grander scale, our species has journeyed the ocean depths, visited the moon. In many cities, massive abodes of granite, steel, concrete, and glass seem to scrape the sky. Life is becoming more comfortable. Professions the ancients never even dreamed of make young men and women rich every day. This is progress, correct? What else could it be?

But is this really better? Happiness does not come cheap, nowadays. And a lot of the mystery and magic in the world are gone. Imagine, if you will, ancient man, falling to his knees in awe and wonder in the midst of a rainstorm. Try to picture the world through his eyes. Water, falling from the sky? It must be a miracle! How could such a feat come about? Surely someone, something must direct it. There must be a God—how else could water, which belongs on the earth, suddenly appear from the clouds? We, as a people, have lost the awe, the reverence that rain could inspire. There are scientific explanations for the means by which water falls from the sky—indeed, rather simple, straightforward ones. Rain is hardly miraculous now.

Very little, in fact, remains miraculous. There is an accurate, dispassionate reason for nearly everything. There is even a name for this “philosophy that...stresses an individual’s dignity and worth and capacity for self-realization through reason.” Humanism. That was Webster’s speaking again, by the way. As far as I can see, the dictionary itself is the very proof of humanism: it is thorough, detached, leaves nothing unexplained. A miraculous world we live in, indeed, when there is nothing that is allowed to be miraculous, but only cold, hard facts.

Am I sounding too harsh? I apologize. After all, even having lost some sense of awe, plenty among us still cling to religion, to the faith that there remains something higher to lead our lives forward. “Clinging” is a rather apt term. Time was that we didn’t have to fight to hold on to religion; it just was. And visit an old church, or cathedral, or mosque, or synagogue, sometime. Specify old. Then stand inside, and look around you. Whether religious or not, how can you feel anything but awe as your gaze travels throughout the massive structure? The creators of these magnificent houses of worship managed to bring a tiny piece of what they felt for their God into their work, and the effect is astounding. Even in small country churches, the air positively hums with wonder, no matter how simple or poor the people who built it were. Now, no disregard meant, but something is missing from newer architecture. The components are all correct—stained glass, smooth wooden polish, what have you. But I’ve always gotten a sense that it was too neat, too refined. I simply do not feel that these buildings are erected for the glory of God any more, but for the glory of those who claim to worship Him.

I feel a bit silly, going on and on about religion, when I myself can hardly be classified as a religious person. But I can’t help feeling a bit regretful that the time and circumstances I live in have never prompted me to turn my heart heavenwards. I’m almost wistful of what people a few hundred years ago had. Faith. Wonder. And the ability to recognize and cherish beauty.

It may be that our lives are “better” now. But it was because life wasn’t clinically “better” then that mankind turned to something irrevocably divine, and drew a source of strength and comfort from that. What is our comfort now? That we will all live long, healthy lives. If a person dies of cancer at forty, we are aghast at how young they were, how much life was wasted by their early death. Five hundred years ago, if a person died of a “wasting disease” at forty, their children would have thanked God for the long, bountiful life of their father or mother. Times sure have changed. Diverging a little, a result of these lengthened and healthier life spans is overpopulation. To the extreme.

Which brings me neatly to my next point. I’m sure our planet greatly appreciates all this “betterment” of our lives. Aren’t we treating her well? The human race swarms over most of the land area, displacing other forms of life everywhere we go. The purity of water and air is infected by our presence, and we take the perfect, moist, growing earth in our hands and turn it to useless dust. Those who know me beyond a keyboard are often incited by my apparent lack of awareness and interest when it comes to environmental affairs. I beg to differ. I am both aware and interested, but I merely have taken the viewpoint that it is a losing battle, and there is nothing left for me but to stand back and watch the terrible drama unfold before me, a twisted and bitter smile on my face. I reflect, as I watch, upon the miracles of medicine which are hard at work to eradicate disease so that many more of my species can swarm over and continue to quietly murder the world that brought us to life.

I believe I shall step back from my writings now. Thinking of the topics I had originally intended to address and seeing how far I have gone down a previously untravelled path within me, I begin to wonder about the current state of affairs. If I were more myself, I would desperately continue along a twisted road through politics and education on Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary until, crowing with triumph, I reached the ultimate contradiction which would disprove progress to my complete satisfaction. Instead, I leave you with only the ravings of an un-authority to brush off at will. I cheerfully allow you to ignore all that I have said. My last thought for you is a conclusion I have been pondering, being that life has progressed but is no longer better.

What is there to ponder in my personal, unproven conclusion, you ask?

Simple. In it lies the contradiction I sought.