Your help is urgently needed to decide what is the worst invention of all time.
Any man-made item, and only man-made items, are eligible. Rocks, for instance, no matter to what purpose they are put, are therefore disqualified. So is language as a category, which isn’t man-made per se, even though more harm has been done by words than by any other thing. Individual languages, however, are surely in the running. Esperanto, with its built-in Utopianism would make any list. Kingsley Amis would nominate French. In The King’s English, he gave this account of its origin:
[ROMAN] LEGIONARY (in vile Latin, [in order to communicate]): I want water. Bring me water. Aquam.
L. Aquam! Say aquam, you bloody fool. Go on—aquam.
Y. O? (To be spelt eau when they go to the writing stage centuries later.)
L. Bring it to the high cliff. The high cliff. Altum.
L. Altum! Say altum, you bumpkin. Go on—altum.
Y. O? (To be spelt haut when, etc.)
You may say weaponry if you like. Any device whose purpose is to kill, maim, or wound is certainly no kind of fun—especially, say, if you end up on the business end of an ax. On the other hand, wielding and even the mere possession of these things has produced large amounts of good, peace, and security. At best the result is mixed.
“Government” doesn’t count, because wherever two or more gather, governance spontaneously and inexorably springs into existence. Government to people is as natural as peristalsis.
Some wag will suggest books, or printing, reasoning that these creations are just as bad as language, or worse, since they can suffer from fire damage. But then we only have to remind ourselves that books bring to life men such as G.K. Chesterton. On the other hand, we must endure works such as this.
So charge up the little gray cells and submit your entry.
Here is my entry, sure to take the prize:
These excrescences are surely Satanic. As a means to induce insanity they are orders of magnitude more effective than State of the Union addresses. They are singularly useless, except in a negative sense. They are touchier than a Spanish Don. More finicky than a lady who lunches. More temperamental than a Chicago mayor.
Who anywhere when he—for the thirteenth time that day—hears a car alarm believes that a car is being stolen? Who rushes to call the cops. If you are a supporter of car alarms—that is, if you use one—tell me this statistic: How many cars of those that were stolen had car alarms? Stumped? I’ll tell you: Except perhaps for the rare and romantic filching of a Model T or a Pierce-Arrow that was once sat in by Theodore Roosevelt, every damn one of them.
This being so, it being proven that car alarms are not in place for their stated function, there must be an alternate explanation for their being. I can think of none except Forces of Darkness. Designed by Hell itself as a way to create a constant dull pain, and, even worse, anticipation of pain (if you don’t hear one now, you know you soon will). This makes us despair, which then drives us into activities we would not otherwise contemplate, like attending folk music concerts or eating only “vegan” foods.
Incidentally, car alarms are a relative of “back-beepers”, and born of the same instinct; i.e., those useless, annoying sounds which emit from ass-end of working vehicles as they are put in reverse, beep-beep-beeping even if the vehicles are not actively moving. Some garbage trucks in New York City appear to be equipped with these turned permanently on.