Plus ça change


Fashions, whether of mind or manners, come and go in their turn, each oblivious to the seemingly inexorable march of technological progress. Despite this underlying cyclicality, each succeeding generation likes to allow its scientific and material prowess to flatter it that its own era is truly unique and that it is, of course, the brightest and best of all the many Sons of Men. If there is one single thing which should give the lie to this particular conceit, it must be the long, inglorious

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