"Automobiles are a useless nuisance." Who would say such a thing? The entire American century, its economy, freedom of mobility, military might--all of which are the envy or fear or both of nations around the world--came chugging down Main Street, horseless, on four wheels. Author Booth Tarkington put those words into the mouth of his spoiled-brat anti-hero George A. Minafer, in the 1918 novel The Magnificent Ambersons. George speaks this line to his mother's longtime suitor, an automobile magnate who responds with a thoughtful monologue on speed, visible in the link below.

Orson Welles' 1942 movie version was screened locally today. Joseph Cotten, the reliable underdog of '30s and '40s cinema delivers George Minafer this riposte, which is just as current today as it was in 1918 and 1942--if you substitute "nuclear energy," "the Internet," "genomics," or any other civilization-altering breakthrough. Technology changes. The rate of its change accelerates. But observations and spats about it do not.

From The Magnificent Ambersons, by Booth Tarkington, Chapter 19:

[George] had said nothing since entering the dining room, but now he spoke in a loud and peremptory voice, using the tone of one in authority who checks idle prattle and settles a matter forever.

"Automobiles are a useless nuisance," he said.

There fell a moment's silence.

Isabel gazed incredulously at George, colour slowly heightening upon her cheeks and temples, while Fanny watched him with a quick eagerness, her eyes alert and bright. But Eugene seemed merely quizzical, as if not taking this brusquerie to himself. The Major was seriously disturbed.

"What did you say, George?" he asked, though George had spoken but too distinctly.

"I said all automobiles were a nuisance," George answered, repeating not only the words but the tone in which he had uttered them. And he added, "They'll never amount to anything but a nuisance. They had no business to be invented."

The Major frowned. "Of course you forget that Mr. Morgan makes them, and also did his share in inventing them. If you weren't so thoughtless he might think you rather offensive."

"That would be too bad," said George coolly. "I don't think I could survive it."

Again there was a silence, while the Major stared at his grandson, aghast. But Eugene began to laugh cheerfully.

"I'm not sure he's wrong about automobiles," he said. "With all their speed forward they may be a step backward in civilization-that is, in spiritual civilization. It may be that they will not add to the beauty of the world, nor to the life of men's souls. I am not sure. But automobiles have come, and they bring a greater change in our life than most of us expect. They are here, and almost all outward things are going to be different because of what they bring. They are going to alter war, and they are going to alter peace. I think men's minds are going to be changed in subtle ways because of automobiles; Just how, though, I could hardly guess. But you can't have the immense outward changes that they will cause without some inward ones, and it may be that George is right, and that the spiritual alteration will be bad for us. Perhaps, ten or twenty years from now, if we can see the inward change in men by that time, I shouldn't be able to defend the gasoline engine, but would have to agree with him that automobiles 'had no business to be invented.'" He laughed good-naturedly, and looking at his watch, apologized for having an engagement which made his departure necessary when he would so much prefer to linger. Then he shook hands with the Major, and bade Isabel, George, and Fanny a cheerful good-night-a collective farewell cordially addressed to all three of them together-and left them at the table.