The relationship between technical and moral progress, if there is one, is by no means easy to discern. The history of the twentieth century should be more than sufficient to disabuse anyone of the notion that man’s expanding mastery of nature is invariably accompanied by an increase in his self-mastery. It would probably be easier, in fact, to make out a case for the opposite proposition.

The Promethean bargain, however, seems to be a binding contract, from which it is impossible for man to escape. Though our experience teaches us that the good life is not to be had through any further accretion of material wealth and sophistication, yet—to change the metaphor slightly—the show must go on. And as soon as some advance has been made, we are unwilling to forego it. Today’s scientific miracle is tomorrow’s everyday tool, without which life would be inconceivable. How many of us even remember what life was like in the days before the ubiquity of personal computers?

Whenever I think of medical progress and its effects upon human existence, which are both profound and yet not quite fundamental, peptic ulcers always come to my mind. This is because much of my childhood and adolescence was dominated by peptic ulceration—my father’s, to be precise. Looking back on it, his ulcers affected the mood in our household (gloom tempered by storm), and even what we ate.

For many years, my father lived in pain or fear of recurrence of pain. His