Power to the data!
January 27, 2012
Seth Finkelstein, a long-time crusader against online censorship, made what seemed like a jaundiced comment on my recent post Piracy and Privacy. I had raised the possibility that online activists, fresh from their SOPA fight, might now come to the support of efforts to give people more control over the personal information that companies collect and trade online. Will the activists rise up again? I wondered. To which Finkelstein replied:
No. Or maybe, they will rise up AGAINST privacy, because they will be fed a line that this is going to Censor The Net.
Turns out Finkelstein wasn't being jaundiced. He was being prescient. Shortly after he made his comment, a Harvard Law School blog posted a lathery rant, under the judicious title "More Crap from the E.U.," by Jane Yakowitz, a professor at the Brooklyn Law School. Yakowitz blasted the European Commission's new proposal to strengthen online privacy protections. Europe, she wrote, has been "flailing around" with internet regulation. It has enacted "miserable" policies. The EC's reasoning is "complete and utter hogwash." Its actions are "regressive." Its proposed new directive represents "a misguided attack on the information economy." Goodness. I think Professor Yakowitz must have eaten a bad mussel in Brussels once.
Having ventilated, Yakowitz went on to make her own proposal: "Google and other major Internet companies might want to start coordinating a protest similar to the effective campaign we saw here in the states in response to SOPA. If Google makes every person with the first name 'John' ungoogleable for a day, and if online retailers refuse to access cookie data for a day, and if content providers double the amount of advertising for a day, pressure can build before the Directive comes to a vote." Observes the Register's Andrew Orlowski: "Not only is this a little presumptuous – she must think Google can turn the fury of the crowd on and off like a tap – she either forgets (or doesn't know) why people are concerned about privacy in the first place."
When you get past Yakowitz's bombast, it's not all that clear how solid her objections to the E.C.'s proposal really are, or why she would impugn the E.C.'s motives. Her main gripe is that the proposed "right to be forgotten" is too broad, and would require social networks like Facebook to track down a member's postings and pictures across the Net should that person have a change of heart and ask for the stuff to be deleted. No doubt, wiping the internet slate clean would be extraordinarily difficult as a practical matter - and, more generally, it seems unwise to offer adults a blanket protection from the consequences of their own choices, foolish or otherwise, in posting stuff publicly. But it's not clear that the proposed directive is so sweeping. It provides for several exceptions to the right to be forgotten, and its main focus is on personal data collected by companies rather than on the information that comes through the public speech of individuals. Moreover, as Ars Technica's Peter Bright notes, the new rules build on data-management requirements that are already in place. The proposed directive "is not a fundamental shift in the demands placed on data-holding organizations. They must already be able to identify personal data, they must already store it securely, and they must already be able to provide it on-demand. Doing these things requires that systems are designed appropriately, and this can certainly incur costs—but they are costs that should already exist today."
The Economist's Babbage blog makes the sensible point that, even if the EC proposal has "rough edges" that need to be ironed out, providing for a right to be forgotten is nonetheless a salutary - and overdue - goal:
Unlike biological memory, ... the digitally augmented sort can be tapped by others leaving the rememberer none the wiser. Search companies routinely store users’ queries. Social networks record interactions between people. Ad clicks are logged. Cookies track individuals' paths through the online wilderness. As a consequence, online data-mongers have unprecendented access to what are, in effect, the thoughts of hundreds of millions of consumers and citizens. They know more about people than people do about themselves. You will have trouble recalling your online searches from a few months back; Google won't.
This can, of course, be a boon to individuals. It lets them avoid continuous online-form filling or barrages of irrelevant ads, which are replaced by those tailored to their tastes. All this saves precious time and makes for a more seamless and pleasant online experience. And indeed, some people may decide that they value convenience over confidentiality. But in a liberal society those who plump for privacy have every right to expect others, including data handlers, to respect their choice ... Having figured out how to remember nearly everything, it is about time people relearned how to forget.
Yakowitz seems to think that companies' desire to manipulate personal data should outweigh the desire of people to control the data. It's true that if people choose to withhold their data, or limit the way it's shared or processed, there will be some useful services that companies will not be able to provide to those people. And a broad movement to withhold data would mean that some useful research that draws on large online data sets would not be possible. But that simply puts the onus on companies, and other organizations, to prove to people that, first, the benefits of allowing them to use their personal data will outweigh the costs and risks, and, second, that they can be trusted to use the information wisely and securely, and not in exploitative ways. The ultimate goal of attempts to strengthen and rationalize privacy controls is not to lock data away; it's to ensure that data is used in a way that strikes the right balance among commercial benefits, economic benefits, social benefits, and personal well-being. To characterize that as a miserable, regressive attack on the information economy is to peddle FUD.
UPDATE: The FUD deepens, as Google's chief lawyer warns that the EC proposal could "break the internet." As the FT's John Gapper notes, that was "the slogan used by web companies to defeat anti-piracy legislation in the US."
Pieces of mind
January 25, 2012
In an intriguing article at The Millions, Guy Patrick Cunningham wonders whether fragmentary writing may prove a cure for fragmentary reading:
[David Shields's] Reality Hunger and [Masha Tupitsyn’s] Laconia are very different books, but they share this desire to use fragmentary writing to dramatize the act of thinking through culture (in Shields’ case mostly books, in Tupitsyn’s mostly films). Even this desire has its roots in the digital world, where culture is constantly being repackaged and analyzed. If neither work achieves the majesty of Beckett’s Texts — to be fair, an obscenely high standard — both find an approach to fragmentary writing that pushes the form in a new direction, rather than just rehashing modernism’s innovations. They manage this by drawing on digital forms — Shields by creating a “collage” that mimics the mash-up culture that dominates online media, Tupitsyn by writing her book via Twitter. In so doing, they suggest an interesting new path for both writers and readers, one that takes the clutter of the digital world and transforms it into something quieter and more thoughtful.
Words are numbers too
January 24, 2012
Stanley Fish discusses the coming of the digital humanities, and what it portends, in two nicely circuitous longforms: Longform #1 and Longform #2.
Piracy and privacy
Internet activists flexed some impressive muscle over the last couple of weeks in working to block Congress from enacting the Stop Online Privacy Act (SOPA), which would have put legal restraints and restrictions on search engines, advertising networks, internet service providers, and other online sites and services as a means of stemming the unauthorized trade of copyrighted works and other forms of intellectual property. The activists were joined in the cause by many large internet companies, including Google, Facebook, and Twitter. The motivations of the corporations and the activists overlapped to some degree, but there were also important differences. The activists were fighting for the cause of freedom; they worried that the bill would impede the flow of information online, to the detriment of people using the net. The corporations had business interests to protect. They feared a wave of litigation and other operational and legal headaches, as well as the possible rise of obstacles to the development of new products and services.
It will be interesting to watch how internet activists will deploy their considerable power in the future, and it will be particularly interesting to watch how much muscle they'll flex when their opponents on an issue are the same corporations that joined them in the fight against SOPA. We may actually get a good idea of how the "internet spring" will progress very soon - tomorrow, in fact. That's when, according to reports, the European Commission will unveil a sweeping proposal to defend people's right and ability to control the personal information that's collected about them online by internet businesses, advertising syndicates, and media companies. The proposed law, which if approved would take the place of the current hodgepodge of national privacy regulations throughout the EU, would, according to the BBC, require that companies obtain people's consent before collecting information about them, notify people when they collect data on them and explain how the data will be used and stored, allow people to easily review the data held about them, and allow people to transfer personal data from one company to another. The law also includes what's being called a "right to be forgotten," which means that companies would have to delete personal information they store when people request it. Companies would also have to divulge any breaches or losses of personal data within 24 hours.
Data-hungry companies like Google, Facebook, and Twitter have yet to weigh in on the proposal, but if history is a guide they are likely to oppose it. Their opposition will be motivated by some of the same business concerns they had about SOPA: the threat of litigation and operational headaches, and the restriction of some types of innovation, in this case ones that require the unfettered use and exchange of personal data for commercial gain. No doubt, they'll also whine about how difficult it will be, technically, to obey the law. These are companies that can build a car that can drive itself, but making data collection transparent and giving people tools to control it - well, gee, that's really hard.
Internet executives like Mark Zuckerberg like to argue that "privacy" is an outdated concern. But when people talk about privacy, what they're really talking about is freedom: the freedom to be in charge of their own information. Guaranteeing the freedom of information online entails not only questions of flow but also questions of control. Frankly, it sometimes seems like Silicon Valley is more interested in the freedom of data than in the freedom of people.
So will internet activists rise up again, this time to protect people's freedom to control their information online? If Facebook and Twitter don't get behind individual rights in this case, will activists organize boycotts of their services as they boycotted those of companies that supported SOPA? Will the Google employees who spoke out eloquently against SOPA on their personal blogs and through social network accounts speak out with equal eloquence in support of the protection of personal privacy? Will Wikipedia go dark for another day? When it comes to shaping the future of the Net, fights about privacy are at least as important as fights about piracy.
The Summers' Tale
January 22, 2012
"Before the printing press," writes Lawrence Summers in the Times's Education Life section today, "scholars had to memorize 'The Canterbury Tales' to have continuing access to them." That has to be one of the most dunderheaded sentences ever written by a former Harvard president and former Treasury secretary. The bound book was invented more than a thousand years before the printing press came along, and people were writing stuff down - on scrolls, tablets, blocks of wood - long before the book was created. In the 100 or so years between the writing of Chaucer's masterpiece and the establishment of a printing trade in England, handwritten copies of "The Canterbury Tales" were fairly abundant, particularly for those who would qualify as scholars. It was one of the most popular books of the time. If you wanted "access" to the work, you didn't have to pull Chaucer's lines from your memory; you could read them from pages that looked like this:
Maybe Summers was confusing Chaucer with Homer, and the printing press with the alphabet.
Anyway, Summers' historical howler comes, amusingly, in the service of an argument that students don't need to learn stuff anymore: "in a world where the entire Library of Congress will soon be accessible on a mobile device with search procedures that are vastly better than any card catalog, factual mastery will become less and less important." I'll leave aside the question of why Summers didn't whip out his iPhone and google "Canterbury Tales" or "printing press" or "codex" while writing his article. But this idea that knowledge can be separated from facts - that we can know without knowing - really needs to be challenged before it gains any further currency. It's wonderful beyond words that we humans can look things up, whether in books or from the web, but that doesn't mean that the contents of our memory doesn't matter. Understanding comes from context, and context comes from knowing stuff. Facts become most meaningful when, thanks to the miracle of memory, we weave them together in our minds into something much greater: personal knowledge and, if we're lucky, wisdom.
Thinking about reading
January 03, 2012
To mark its 21st birthday, Vintage Books has released a collection of essays on reading called Stop What You're Doing and Read This! Contributors include Zadie Smith, Mark Haddon, Tim Parks, and Blake Morrison. I also have a piece in the book, "The Dreams of Readers," in which I mull over my own experience as a reader and try to connect it with some of the interesting new research, by scholars like Keith Oatley at the University of Toronto, that's being done on the psychology of literary reading. Here's a short excerpt from my essay:
When we open a book, it seems that we really do enter, as far as our brains are concerned, a new world — one conjured not just out of the author’s words but out of our own memories and desires — and it is our cognitive immersion in that world that gives reading its rich emotional force. Psychologists draw a distinction between two kinds of emotions that can be inspired by a work of art. There are the “aesthetic emotions” that we feel when we view art from a distance, as a spectator: a sense of beauty or of wonder, for instance, or a feeling of awe at the artist’s craft or the work’s unity. These are the emotions that Montaigne likely had in mind when he spoke of the languid pleasure of reading. And then there are the “narrative emotions” we experience when, through the sympathetic actions of our nervous system, we become part of a story, when the distance between the attendee and the attended evaporates. These are the emotions Emerson may have had in mind when he described the spermatic, life-giving force of a “true book.” ...
A recent experiment conducted by Oatley and three colleagues suggests that the emotions stirred by literature can even alter, in subtle but real ways, people’s personalities. The researchers recruited 166 university students and gave them a standard personality test that measures such traits as extraversion, conscientiousness, and agreeableness. One group of the participants read the Chekhov short story “The Lady with the Toy Dog,” while a control group read a synopsis of the story’s events, stripped of its literary qualities. Both groups then took the personality test again. The results revealed that the people “who read the short story experienced significantly greater change in personality than the control group,” and the effect appeared to be tied to the strong emotional response that the story provoked. What was particularly interesting, Oatley says, is that the readers “all changed in somewhat different ways.” A book is rewritten in the mind of every reader, and the book rewrites each reader’s mind in a unique way, too.
What is it about literary reading that gives it such sway over how we think and feel and perhaps even who we are? Norman Holland, a scholar at the McKnight Brain Institute at the University of Florida, has been studying literature’s psychological effects for many years, and he offers a provocative answer to that question. Although our emotional and intellectual responses to events in literature mirror, at a neuronal level, the responses that we would feel if we actually experienced those events, the mind we read with, argues Holland in his book Literature and the Brain, is a very different mind from the one we use to navigate the real world. In our day-to-day lives, we are always trying to manipulate or otherwise act on our surroundings, whether it’s by turning a car’s steering wheel or frying an egg or clicking on a link at a website. But when we open a book, our expectations and our attitudes change drastically. Because we understand that “we cannot or will not change the work of art by our actions,” we are relieved of our desire to exert an influence over objects and people and hence are able to “disengage our [cognitive] systems for initiating actions.” That frees us to become absorbed in the imaginary world of the literary work. We read the author’s words with “poetic faith,” to borrow a phrase that the psychologically astute Coleridge used two centuries ago.
“We gain a special trance-like state of mind in which we become unaware of our bodies and our environment,” explains Holland. “We are ‘transported.’” It is only when we leave behind the incessant busyness of our lives in society that we open ourselves to literature’s transformative emotional power. That doesn’t mean that reading is anti-social. The central subject of literature is society, and when we lose ourselves in a book we often receive an education in the subtleties and vagaries of human relations. Several studies have shown that reading tends to make us more empathetic, more alert to the inner lives of others. The reader withdraws in order to connect more deeply.
Stop What You're Doing and Read This! is available as a paperback in the UK and as an e-book in the US.
The industrialization of the ineffable
It dawns on me that there may be a correspondence between Steven Johnson's vision of serendipity as the output of a properly manipulated digital mechanism and Nick Bilton's belief in the scheduling of units of daydreaming as a means for the optimization of problem-solving. The Like button seems to be part of the same trend. Let's call it the Industrialization of the Ineffable.
To tweet, perchance to dream
January 02, 2012
The future, it seems, is too much for Nick Bilton. The New York Times's in-house webstud, and author of the book I Live in the Future & Here's How It Works, had something of a Joycean epiphany last week. Perched atop a rocky cliff, watching the sun dissolve majestically into the Pacific, he immediately did, he writes, "what any normal person would do in 2011": he whipped out his iPhone and started farting around with it, eager to come up with something "to share on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter."
But then a wave of self-doubt broke upon his consciousness:
Here I was, watching this magnificent sunset, and all I could do is peer at it through a tiny four-inch screen. “What’s wrong with me?” I thought. “I can’t seem to enjoy anything without trying to digitally capture it or spew it onto the Internet.” [the guy even talks to himself in stilted prose! -snarky blogger]
That gave him pause. It was like one of those moments when Pandora stops the music stream and asks you if you're still listening. And so, "after talking to people who do research on subjects like this," Bilton made a resolution for 2012: he will, he says, "spend at least 30 minutes a day without my iPhone." He is nothing if not ambitious.
Now, followers of Bilton may at this point be feeling a little shiver of deja vu running up their spines. It was just a year ago, after all, when he announced his resolution for 2011, which was - you guessed it - to spend a small amount of time offline every day. He would, he wrote back then, be "retreating just a little bit from the digital paraphernalia."
I will leave it to the addiction experts to interpret Bilton's behavior. What interests me is what he plans to do with his half hour of daily disconnectedness this coming year. He's going to devote the time, he says, to daydreaming. "Daydreams, scientists say, are imperative in solving problems," he explains.
I used to think that daydreams just sort of happened, that they weren't really something you could plan ahead for, like a dentist appointment. But, I have to say, Bilton's plan sounds appealing. You schedule a 30-minute daily daydreaming slot onto your Google Calendar, and when the moment arrives you switch off the iPhone, iPad, etc., and immediately enter a fugue state in which your subsconscious is allowed to work its magic. You emerge, a half hour later, refreshed, bursting with creativity, and ready for some high-octane problem-solving.
In fact, now that I think about it, maybe this isn't a case of Bilton retreating, tail between legs, from the future. Maybe, even in taking his daily 30-minute daydream break, he will actually still be dwelling in the future. I bet when the Google Brain Plug-in finally ships, it will come with a Daydream App. For a half hour every day, your brain will automatically be switched into blue-screen mode. Disconnected from the data flow, you will be plunged into a regenerative state of unconsciousness, broken only by the occasional subliminal advertisement.
From movable type to movable text
December 30, 2011
The Review section of tomorrow's Wall Street Journal includes a brief essay by me on what I think will prove to be one of the most radical consequences of the rise of electronic books: the ability to perpetually revise a book even after it's been published. We take for granted the fixity of text in a printed book. But on a Net-connected digital reader, fixity disappears, replaced by endless malleability. Here's how the piece begins:
I recently got a glimpse into the future of books. A few months ago, I dug out a handful of old essays I'd written about innovation, combined them into a single document, and uploaded the file to Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing service. Two days later, my little e-book was on sale at Amazon's site. The whole process couldn't have been simpler.
Then I got the urge to tweak a couple of sentences in one of the essays. I made the edits on my computer and sent the revised file back to Amazon. The company quickly swapped out the old version for the new one. I felt a little guilty about changing a book after it had been published, knowing that different readers would see different versions of what appeared to be the same edition. But I also knew that the readers would be oblivious to the alterations ...
Sign of the times
December 22, 2011
Stumbled on this while surfing the web today:
I suppose it was inevitable.
The curious incident of the dog in the story-book
December 21, 2011
A new landscape for online news
December 19, 2011
Harvard's Nieman Journalism Lab is running a series this week on media trends likely to play out over the coming year. It begins today with a piece by me on how the app explosion is changing consumers' attitudes toward online media and expanding newspapers' options for creating new content bundles tailored to different groups of readers. Here's what I say:
For years now, the line between the software business and the media business has been blurring. Software applications used to take the form of packaged goods, sold through retail outlets at set prices. Today, as a result of cloud computing and other advances, applications look more and more like media products. They’re ad-supported, subscribed to, continually updated, and the content they incorporate is often as important as the functions they provide. As traditional media companies have moved to distribute their wares in digital form — as code, in other words — they’ve come to resemble software companies. They provide not only original content, but an array of online tools and functions that allow customers to view, manipulate, and add to the content in myriad ways.
During 2011, the blending of software and media accelerated greatly, thanks to what might be termed the dis-integration of the internet. The old general-purpose web, where everyone visited the same sites and saw the same stuff, is rapidly being supplanted by specialized packages of digital content geared to particular devices — iPhone, iPad, Android, BlackBerry, Kindle, Nook, Xbox — or to particular members-only sites like Facebook and Google+. Not only has the net left its Wild West days; it’s entered the era of the gated suburban subdivision. As part of this trend, the open, html-based website is being replaced, or at least supplemented, by the proprietary app. In app stores, the already blurry line between software and media disappears altogether. Apps are as much content-delivery services as they are conventional software programs. Newspapers, magazines, books, games, music albums, TV shows: all are being reimagined as apps. Appified, if you will.
Appification promises to be the major force reshaping media in general and news media in particular during 2012. The influence will be exerted directly, through a proliferation of specialized media apps, as well as indirectly, through changes in consumer attitudes, expectations, and purchasing habits. There are all sorts of implications for newspapers, but perhaps the most important is that the app explosion makes it much easier to charge for online news and other content. That’s true not only when the content is delivered through formal apps but also when it is delivered through traditional websites, which may themselves come to be viewed by customers as a form of app. In the old world of the open web, paying for online content seemed at best weird and at worst repugnant. In the new world of the app, paying for online content suddenly seems normal. What’s an app store but a series of paywalls?
Appification opens to newspapers the powerful marketing and pricing strategy that the Berkeley economist (and now Google executive) Hal Varian dubs “versioning.” Long a cornerstone of the software business, versioning is the practice of creating many versions of the same underlying informational product, packaging them in different ways, and selling them at different prices to different sets of customers. A software maker, for example, may give away a bare-bones version of an application, sell a version with more features to mainstream consumers at a modest price, and offer a high-end version, perhaps combined with added services, to professional users at a premium price. As Varian explains, “the point of versioning is to get the consumers to sort themselves into different groups according to their willingness to pay. Consumers with high willingness to pay choose one version, while consumers with lower willingnesses [sic] to pay choose a different version. The producer chooses the versions so as to induce the consumers to ‘self select’ into appropriate categories.”
We already see versioning strategies at work in the “metered” programs operated by a growing number of papers, including the Financial Times, New York Times, and Minneapolis Star Tribune. Readers lacking a willingness to pay get limited access to the papers’ sites for free. Readers who value the content more highly, and hence are willing to pay for it, subscribe for a fee to gain unlimited access. And readers with the greatest willingness to pay shell out even more money to receive both the print edition and unfettered online access. Appification provides an opportunity to create many more versions of the same basic content and deliver them to different customer segments. In 2012, we’ll see versioning strategies become not only more common in the newspaper business but more intricate, sophisticated, and lucrative.
The orthodox view among online pundits has been that paywalls and subscription fees won’t work for general-interest newspapers, that people simply won’t pay for a bundle of news online. Last year, media blogger Jeff Jarvis dismissed the New York Times’s metered plan as “cockeyed economics.” Earlier this year, Nieman Lab blogger Martin Langeveld opined that “newspapers are slowly digging their graves by building paywalls.” It seems likely that 2012 will be the year when we stop hearing such gloomy proclamations. Well-designed versioning strategies, spanning various devices, formats, functions, content bundles, and access plans, will provide smart newspapers with new ways to charge for their products, in both digital and print form, without sacrificing the unique opportunities presented by online distribution. That won’t mean the end of the industry’s struggles, but it does portend a brighter future. And that’s good news.
This post is an installment in an ongoing Rough Type series on News in the Net Age. Earlier posts include:
Popping Jay Rosen's News Bubble
Raise High the Paywalls, Publishers
The serendipity machine is low on oil
December 16, 2011
It's Friday, which means it's time for the unveiling of the Official Rough Type Sentence of the Week. This one comes from Steven Johnson, and it appears at the end of a vertiginous post about mental hyperlinking:
"People who think the Web is killing off serendipity are not using it correctly."
Now, first of all, I hadn't even realized that there was a correct way to use the Web. I wish someone had explained this to me years ago, because I'm sure it would have saved me all sorts of time.
But what really drew me to Johnson's line was the way that it immediately conjured up in my mind this vision of a scene that looked like something out of a Terry Gilliam movie. There's this big, windowless room, and sprawling across it is a vast, elaborate steampunk contraption. It's got all sorts of pipes and pulleys and gears and bellows, and it's belching smoke and making loud metallic noises, and there's a sign hanging from it that reads: Serendipity Machine. A guy is running madly around it yanking levers and pulling out stops and pushing buttons and fiddling with dials. Behind him, observing, is an old man in a white lab coat, a scientist, obviously. He's stooped over, a grim expression on his face. The guy operating the machine suddenly stops, turns, and, exhausted, exclaims, "I can't get any serendipity out of this damn thing!" To which the old scientist, wagging a crooked finger, responds, in a deep Austrian accent, "You are not using it correctly!"
From hunter-gatherer to cutter-paster
December 15, 2011
Edge is running a fascinating interview with the evolutionary biologist Mark Pagel, who puts the development of human culture into a cosmic perspective. He draws a parallel between the replication of successful innovations in a society and the replication of successful genes in an environment: "Natural selection is a way of sorting among a range of genetic alternatives, and finding the best one. Social learning is a way of sifting among a range of alternative options or ideas, and choosing the best one of those."
Pagel argues that our evolution as "social learners" has likely had the effect, as it's played out through hundreds of millennia, of encouraging the development of copying skills, perhaps over the development of originality. "We like to think we're a highly inventive, innovative species," he explains. "But social learning means that most of us can make use of what other people do, and not have to invest the time and energy in innovation ourselves ... And so, we may have had strong selection in our past to be followers, to be copiers, rather than innovators."
What that also means is that as the scope of our potential copying broadens, through advances in communication and networking, we have ever less incentive to be creative. We become ever more adept at cutting and pasting. The internet and social networking, observes Pagel, may mark the culmination of this long evolutionary trend:
As our societies get bigger, and rely more and more on the Internet, fewer and fewer of us have to be very good at these creative and imaginative processes. And so, humanity might be moving towards becoming more docile, more oriented towards following, copying others, prone to fads, prone to going down blind alleys, because part of our evolutionary history that we could have never anticipated was leading us towards making use of the small number of other innovations that people come up with, rather than having to produce them ourselves.
The interesting thing with Facebook is that, with 500 to 800 million of us connected around the world, it sort of devalues information and devalues knowledge. And this isn't the comment of some reactionary who doesn't like Facebook, but it's rather the comment of someone who realizes that knowledge and new ideas are extraordinarily hard to come by. And as we're more and more connected to each other, there's more and more to copy. We realize the value in copying, and so that's what we do.
And we seek out that information in cheaper and cheaper ways. We go up on Google, we go up on Facebook, see who's doing what to whom. We go up on Google and find out the answers to things. And what that's telling us is that knowledge and new ideas are cheap. And it's playing into a set of predispositions that we have been selected to have anyway, to be copiers and to be followers. But at no time in history has it been easier to do that than now. ...
What's happening is that we might, in fact, be at a time in our history where we're being domesticated by these great big societal things, such as Facebook and the Internet. We're being domesticated by them, because fewer and fewer and fewer of us have to be innovators to get by. And so, in the cold calculus of evolution by natural selection, at no greater time in history than ever before, copiers are probably doing better than innovators. Because innovation is extraordinarily hard. My worry is that we could be moving in that direction, towards becoming more and more sort of docile copiers.
This gives a whole new twist to Mark Zuckerberg's promotion of "frictionless sharing."
UPDATE: David Brin is dubious.
May I toot my own horn?
December 13, 2011
Two nice notices of The Shallows appeared out of the online blue today, and doggone it if I'm not going to share them. At Paste, Kurt Armstrong reviewed the book, calling it "essential":
It lays out a sweeping portrait of the thing we’re moving too quickly to see. It’s easy for someone like me to piece together opinions or carve rhetorically charged rants about the deleterious effects of our growing technological dependency. In contrast, Carr’s book bursts with research — from neuroscientists, cognitive psychologists and sociologists — and careful analysis. And anxious as Carr might be about what the Internet is doing to our brains, his writing isn’t shrill or self-righteous. It’s intelligent, deeply researched, articulate and, much to my dismay, most likely prophetic: “The great danger we face as we become more intimately involved with our computers … is that we’ll begin to lose our humanness, to sacrifice the very qualities that separate us from machines.”
And at The Millions, novelist Jonathan Safran Foer pegged The Shallows as "the best book I read last year":
Carr persuasively — and with great subtlety and beauty — makes the case that it is not only the content of our thoughts that are radically altered by phones and computers, but the structure of our brains — our ability to have certain kinds of thoughts and experiences. And the kinds of thoughts and experiences at stake are those that have defined our humanity. Carr is not a proselytizer, and he is no techno-troglodyte. He is a profoundly sharp thinker and writer — equal parts journalist, psychologist, popular science writer, and philosopher. I have not only given this book to numerous friends, I actually changed my life in response to it.
Suddenly, I'm in the mood to go out and do some caroling.
Now in paperback:
Pulitzer Prize Finalist
"Unceasingly interesting" -The Sunday Times
"Riveting" -San Francisco Chronicle
"Rewarding" -Financial Times
"Revelatory" -Booklist
The Cloud, demystified:
"Future Shock for the web-apps era" -Fast Company
"Ominously prescient" -Kirkus Reviews
"Riveting stuff" -New York Post
Greatest hits
Avatars consume as much electricity as Brazilians
The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock's avatar
Flight of the wingless coffin fly
Other writing
The end of corporate computing
Nick's first book:
Order from Amazon
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