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Crossing the Line.

THE humanists and the technologists have one great talent in common: both are extremely good at analysis. After that, unfortunately, the parallel breaks down. For the technologist, when his analysis is complete, turns into a builder, while the humanist becomes a critic who mourns and exhorts. He doesn't know what else to do. Usually, if he attempts to cross the line into a region of rebuilding and construction, he begins to sound like an old-fashioned moralist, and this loses him his audience. There are a lot of reasons, some of them good, why modern man won't listen to moralists. One major complaint is that they never say anything "new." On the other hand, the technologists are always coming up with something new. When you visit the city where you were born, after, say, ten or twenty years of absence, you hardly recognize the place. Everything's new. And if you are an infrequent shopper, a trip through any large store becomes a distracting experience of commercial novelty. "Newness" is virtually the product that is being sold today, a rapid pace of change in material arrangements and trivial conveniences of life having become the superficial status quo. The fury of "production" that follows the analysis of the technologists beats on the periphery of our lives like an invading sea. You wouldn't ever call these pressures "negative," even though a kind of monotony pervades all this positive achievement. It is tiresome success in excess. Yet every once in a while one of the new gadgets turns out to be extraordinarily useful. It's like finding a technological four-leaf clover.