Progress

We modern Westerners seem to live in the summertime of history: 200 years of explosive growth in scientific knowledge, technological innovation, and material wealth have driven disease, poverty, and turmoil to the fringes of our civilization. We are the richest society ever, and by more significant measurements than mere per capita GDP—surely even the lavish Henry VIII would have traded one of his palaces for indoor plumbing, or refrigeration, something even our “poor” almost universally enjoy.

Of course, there are storm clouds gathering on the horizon, threatening a calamitous end to our sunny day: global warming, water shortages, depleted oil wells, food shortages from soil depletion and overpopulation, pandemics of deadly viruses, even chemical or nuclear holocausts. Facing these grim prospects, many of the most the thoughtful, earnest advocates for the West refuse to bow to bleakness, looking to a single factor—human innovation—as a kind of deus ex machina salvation. Prophets of doom have always been among us, they insist. Consider Malthus, who in the ‘20’s foretold a coming apocalypse of overpopulation—his crisis date came and passed in the ‘60’s, as the “green revolution” in agriculture caused crop yields to leap exponentially.

“American optimism” has become a cliché, but it is in fact older and deeper than our nation; as the Greeks had Prometheus, and the medievals the Holy Grail, so we have the modern myth of Progress, perhaps the single defining story for all of Western civilization since 1500. Of course, crass realists that we are, no good Western rationalist would admit to ordering his life according to certain foundational stories (the postmodernist’s metanarrative), or myths, but plot is clear enough—the light of human reason spreading forth to conquer the material realm, thus securing the inexorable improvement (and, perhaps, perfection) of the human race upon the earth. A great British sage put it thus: “You got to admit, it’s gettin’ better; it’s gettin’ better all the time.” The American Founders announced the Constitution a Novus Ordo Seclorum, a “New Order for the Ages.” In keeping with this resounding—and incredibly alluring—theme, apologists for this order clamor that—surely—we will develop alternate energy sources, cure AIDS, conserve water, and defuse the nuclear threat. Look—they cry—at what we’ve accomplished! Surely we won’t be stopped now.

Two thousand years ago, another Western superpower clung to a similar utopian dream, called the Pax Romana. The first Roman emperor, Augustus, sent couriers throughout his domain to announce that his reign would bring a thousand years of peace and prosperity. Indeed, many believed that his promises were come to life: for nearly 300 years, Rome enjoyed unprecedented peace and prosperity. Until: for, surely, the lesson of Rome must be that man’s every wonderful dream always approaches an “until.” Early in the fourth century, warfare and disease began to creep back towards the heart of the Empire. In the 400’s, the last Emperor fell, and the Pax Romana became a prayer men whispered during the tumult of the Middle Ages.

Not to sound like a hidebound Malthusian, but heart has quailed lately to remember the dream that was Rome. Really, I have the same criticism for Malthus as for the Utopians, as for all determinists—there is an unspeakable arrogance in claiming that the human intellect might pierce the veil that divides us from our fate, and divine what is to come. Determinism in every form is to me a simple lack of imagination, a determination to see the world as fixed, static, crystallized. “‘The grass withers, and the flowers fade,” says the Lord”: there is no mountain so great it cannot be thrown into the sea, no first so exalted he cannot be made last. We inhabit a fluid world, made unpredictable by its wonderful complexity. Malthus saw doom swallowing up hope because he believed that men had only appetites and anger, without the spark of creativity that makes us great. The Enlightenment rationalists see only bliss swallowing darkness because they believe that men have only appetites and innovation, without the passions and anger that make us unpredictable.

Still, I have a certain sympathy with Malthus that inspires that bowel-twisting fear I spoke of earlier. You see, there are infinite ways for something to go awry—broad and smooth is path that leads to destruction. The perfect concentration required of success need only slip for a moment, and the entire project falls apart. The myth of Progress exalts human creativity to a god-like status, and I fear our society is in for a rude awakening to the fact that men are no more gods than they are angels.

The West has dodged a number of fairly spectacular bullets in its sprint to splendor, but suppose that at some point it faltered, tripped, even fell? What if scientists don’t find a cure for AIDS, or cannot teach us to conserve water? What if an extremist group was able to detonate a nuclear device within a Western city? Particularly within a global economy, there is simply no way to anticipate every threat.

Perhaps there are applications of this sobering thought to public policy, but I am more convicted about an individual response. If we complacently go to sleep on a runaway train, we have no one to blame but ourselves when the crash comes. If we entrust ourselves wholeheartedly to Progress, praying that scientists, agencies, and corporations will fulfill us according to some new criteria of blessedness, we may find ourselves shivering among the ruins of cities, clinging to the dream of our once-great Pax Americana.