(Unknown wantlist/date)
“Those who oppose nuclear energy are the same people who would have opposed the automobile.” These words of Isaac Asimov continue to haunt me. They haunt me because I am one who would have opposed the automobile, at least I hope I would have. The odds are pretty much in my favor because I have opposed almost all the technological innovations that have occurred during my lifetime, and most of those that went before.
It isn’t that I am opposed to “progress” — it’s just that my concept of progress seems to differ somewhat from Isaac Asimov’s. For instance, is a gasoline-powered chain saw progress? Certainly it would be for a family building a homestead in the wilderness, but how can we stop it from being used to chop down the Brazilian rain forest?
My own experience, and the experience of history seems to indicate that most technological innovations tend to boomerang. Speaking of boomerang, there is an invention of which I probably would have approved, since it seems not amenable to proliferation, magnification, or application to instruments of mass destruction.
The question that I am often asked when I express my hostility to technology is — “How far back would you go?” The reductio ad absurdam (or as I see it, escalatio ad optimum) of this position is “All the way back.” Yes, Isaac, I am one of those who would have opposed the taming of fire.
* * *
My thoughts go back 100,000 years or more to the dawn of human history. We were a small tribe then, hardly much larger than the number of our fingers and toes. Our leader was my friend Ob. Ob was a natural leader — strong, good looking and charismatic. Of course I admired him, but I never knew why he admired me. It may have been because I always found ways of seeming to obey all his rules without actually doing so.
One evening, after the hunt, Ob summoned us all together at the mouth of the cave. The hunt had been unsuccessful and we had nothing to eat except the wichity grubs my wife and I had been gathering in the forest since dawn. Ob took his long bow and cut the thong from it. “Thank God,” I said to myself, “no more hunting. Now we can all concentrate on gathering and have some fruits and berries instead of wichity grubs all the time.”
Ob took an arrow from his sheaf, stuck it firmly in an old log and covered it half way with dead leaves. He took the thong of his bow and wrapped it spirally around the arrow, with one end hanging loose. An ominous hush fell upon the gathering. “What a charming ceremony,” I thought, “Ob has a poetic soul after all.”
Ob looked thoughtfully at everyone (Ob always looked thoughtfully), then seized the loose end of the thong and pulled it hard. The arrow spun and fell, and presently a thin wisp of smoke arose from where it had been. Ob blew his mighty breath upon it and it burst into flame. “FIRE!,” we all exclaimed as one, and as the tribe gazed at Ob with rapture I ran for the extinguisher.
“I can do this any time I want,” said Ob. “The question is, do I want to?” He looked at me thoughtfully. The tribe began to chant. “Noxious is our leader and fire is our Right,” (Ob’s clan was the only one that had a second name.) “Noxious is our leader and Fire is our Right.”
“Quiet, everyone,” Ob barked, and we all fell still. “Well, Art, what do you think?” “I say no,” Shouts of menacing disapproval burst from the tribe. “I said QUIET!” Ob shouted, and quiet there was.
“Why not, Art? We’ll be able to keep warm here instead of taking that long trek south in the winter time. Nore important than that, we’ll be able to cook our meat. We can eat the whole animal instead of just the pancreas and the brains.”
“That’s just it, Ob, it will institutionalize the policy of hunting. We’ll get so we can’t live without meat, and before long the saber-toothed tiger, the woolly mammoth and the auroch will disappear. Then what’ll we do?”
“Institutionalize, schminstitutionalize,” piped my wife Maggie. “I like meat. I hate wichity grubs,”
“We’ll get like THEM,” I continued, pointing my finger across the river where a cloud of thick smoke was pouring from a clearing near the shore.
“They only steal fire, they can’t make it,” Ob observed.
“Yes, and they also steal our women and cook and eat them,” I said plaintively.
“They won’t do that any more,” asseverated Ob grimly, and all heads nodded in assent. “Time for a vote,” said Ob. “All in favor of fire, please so indicate.”
“Noxious is our leader, and Fire is our Right. Noxious is our leader and Fire is our Right,” chanted the group.
Ob looked at me thoughtfully. “I’m afraid we’ll be chained to a rock if we steal this knowledge from the gods,” I moaned. “What nonsense,” said Ob, “Chained to a rock? I’m not sure what that means.”
“I’m not sure either,” I groaned, “All I know is we’ll be chained to a rock.”
I turned from Ob to the group, “Ladies and gentlemen,” I began, almost drowned out by their hoots and titters, “Fellow tribespeople.” The din was so great now I could scarcely hear myself, but Ob struck his hands together and they all fell silent with one voice.
“Fellow tribesmen, do you want to be chained to a rock for all eternity?”
“Wot’s eternity?” I heard one fellow say. “Pacifist!” someone shouted, “Vegetarian!” shouted another. “Environmentalist!” came a deep voice from the shadows.
“Look. Friends, I swear to you that I am not an environmentalist. I just want you to think about the consequences of this discovery before you let it change your whole life.”
The voices became menacing and I might have been in physical danger but Ob put his arm around my shoulders and led me off to the side. “You know, Art, I agree with you, but being their leader, what can I do but follow them?” He returned to the center of the tribal circle. “We must guard this secret with our lives. Tonight we will all stand guard. Tomorrow at dawn we will gather large rocks to build a wall and we will work on this wall until it is done.”
Already in the gathering twilight I saw Ob’s brother, Justas Noxious, rounding up the women and children, the aged and the infirm, to form a human chain to the rocks in the river. “But, Ob,” I persisted, won’t this wall serve to keep us in as well as keep THEM out? And if we use all our time and all our strength to build this wall, when will we have time to hunt, fish and gather? Not only will we lose our freedom, but our people will go hungry.”
“There is no choice,” said Ob, in his loudest and clearest voice. “We must give up our freedom in order to preserve it. We must sacrifice our food so that we may enjoy the means to cook it.”
“Not I. I’m not carrying any rocks. I’m going out in the morning and look for wichity grubs as usual.”
“All who will not work must DIE.” screamed the tribe.
“Leave,” said Ob firmly.
“DIE! DIE!” shouted the tribe.
“Leave right now,” said Ob thoughtfully.
I took the hint. I picked up my grub bag and my grub stake and looked at my wife Maggie. “Are you coming with me?”
“I like meat. I hate wichity grubs,” she said for the tenth time in nine minutes, “I’m staying.”
Ob looked at her thoughtfully. I left.