Arctotherium is a frequently brilliant writer, but this article exposes a blind spot in his approach. The idea of progress is a late-stage rationalist artifact of the Faustian West, and the form that generated it is approaching exhaustion. To speak of restarting progress is like asking a tree in winter to reason itself back into bloom. The paradigm this essay adopts has already expired. And when the myth of progress no longer commands belief, survival demands a different myth.
