As they develop and then age, the limbs of human society bend toward comfort. This is a fact of human existence that echoes loudly in most every prominent civilization that’s lasted beyond infancy.
Rome rose from sticks jutting from the banks of the Tiber into marble bathhouses and lavish villas. Sparta’s brief, sporadic rule over its Greek sister city-states was rejected and overthrown by an alliance of less militaristic regions desperate for cultural breathing room. The British established tea rooms in Bombay. The U.S. has literal fountains of chocolate at the unfortunately named Golden Corral. On it goes.
That that the timeline of human history invariably skews toward comfort and away from uncomfortable viscera is not a value judgment, it’s simply a thing to say over dinner in the same way you’d comment about the weather or a car payment. Life continues apace, but the thing hovers. The blood of a butchered chicken is replaced with the faint idea that the consumed item was once a living artifact, walking and breathing on this planet next to us. But it’s an idea in the same way the wind is an idea. There is no dirt under it.
What this means is that as cultures progress toward the synthetic and away from the gravel and stone and viscera, life twists in new directions. Call it the Jaded Age, perhaps, but what ultimately happens is the brick and mortar of life is slowly diminished in favor of a new plane of existence – the more comfortable realm of technology and pleasure and enjoyment and whatever else.