Yesterday, Ed considered the idea that there may be “a point of diminishing returns where more capacity doesn’t improve the user’s happiness.†It’s a provocative concept, and one that I want to probe a bit further.
One observation that seems germane is that such thoughts have a pedigree. Henry L. Ellsworth, , in his 1843 report to Congress, wrote that “the advancement of the arts, from year to year, taxes our credulity and seems to presage the arrival of that period when human improvement must end.â€
It seems to me that the idea of diminishing marginal returns is most at home in settings where the task or process under consideration has well-defined boundaries. For example, making steel: Larger steel mills, up to a point, are more efficient that smaller ones. Larger furnaces reduce capital costs per unit of output, and secondary functions like logistics, training and bookkeeping can be spanned across larger amounts of steel without commensurate increases in their cost. But consolidating an industry, and replacing small production facilities with a larger one, does not necessarily involve any fundamental advancement in the state of the art. (It may, of course.)
Innovation—which is the real wellspring of much of human progress—tends not to follow such predictable patterns. Science textbooks like to present sanitized stories of incremental, orderly advancement, but as Thomas Kuhn famously argued, history actually abounds with disjointed progress, serendipitous accidents, and unanticipated consequences, both good and bad.
There are areas in which incremental improvement is the norm: shaving razors, compression algorithms, mileage per gallon. But in each of these areas, the technology being advanced is task-specific. Nobody is going to use their car to shave or their Mach 3 to commute to the office.
But digital computers—Turing machines—are different. It’s an old saw that a digital computer can be used to change or analyze literally any information. When it comes to computers, advancement means faster Turing machines with larger memories, in smaller physical footprints and with lower costs (including, e.g., manufacturing expense and operational electricity needs).
Ed’s observation yesterday that there is an ultimate limit to the bandwidth leading into the human brain is well taken. But in terms of all transmission of digital content globally, the “last hop†from computer to human is already a very small part of the total traffic. Mostly, traffic is among nodes on end-to-end computer networks, among servers in a Beowulf cluster or similar setup, or even traffic among chips on a motherboard or cores in the same chip. Technologies that advance bandwidth capabilities are useful primarily because of the ways they change what computers can do (at the human time scale). The more they advance, the more things, and the more kinds of things, computers will be capable of. It’s very unlikely we’ve thought of them all.
It is also striking how far our capability to imagine new uses for digital technology has lagged behind the advancement of the technology itself. Blogs like this one were effectively possible from the dawn of the World Wide Web (or even before), and they now seem to be a significant part of what the web can most usefully be made to do. But it took years, after the relevant technologies were available, for people to recognize and take advantage of this possibility. Likewise, much of “web 2.0†has effectively meant harnessing relatively old technologies, such as Javascript, in new and patently unanticipated ways.
The literature of trying to imagine far-out implications of technological advancement is at once both exciting and discouraging: Exciting because it shows that much of what we can imagine probably will happen eventually, and discouraging because it shows that the future is full of major shifts, obvious in retrospect, to which we were blind up until their arrival.
I occasionally try my hand at the “big picture†prognostication game, and enjoy reading the efforts of others. But in the end I’m left feeling that the future, though bright, is mysterious. I can’t imagine a human community, even in the distant future, that has exhausted its every chance to create, innovate and improve its surroundings.
