Reed's Ruminations: A Blog by Dan Reed

Nature Cannot Be Fooled

If today's social media apps were wired to an old-fashioned audio VU meter, they would undoubtedly be pegged, deep in the red zone, the place where permanent hearing damage is imminent. (Insert obligatory image of an aging heavy metal rocker with hearing loss and artificial knees.) When coupled with the 24 hour news cycle, an amazing number of rumors, innuendos, retorts, memes, and yes, sometimes actual facts, buttressed by real evidence, echo and reverberate across the infosphere.

And in the "you can't make this stuff up" category, George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is now on Amazon's best seller list. One of my academic colleagues remarked wanly that he hoped it was selling as literature (doubleplusgood) and not as an instruction manual (doubleplusungood). I hope he is right.

The cacophony is enough to make one yearn for the good old days, when Uncle Walter and Huntley-Brinkley reported the news every night, and reputed Elvis and Bigfoot sightings were just supermarket tabloid fodder. D. B. Cooper and Mrs. Robinson, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you. And for those of you too young to remember either Elvis or D. B. sightings, think of them as an inside joke we played on ourselves, and take a stroll down memory lane. (See Elvis, D.B., and the Red Caddy.) Thank you, thank you very much!

Broadband Communications

Now where was I, before my shrinking attention span was seized by another shiny object? Ah yes, I was about to opine that the declining signal to noise ratio haunting our public discourse is a deeply worrisome trend that endangers us all. Narrowcasting ideas to like-minded individuals simply reinforces predispositions and stereotypes. Broadband communication, with rich information content and diverse perspectives, requires – wait for it -- broad bands. (See Contemplative Reflection and Instantaneous Communication for other thoughts on this.) More generally, the purpose of new information is to make one think, even if in my case it leads to the sound of grinding gears and the unsavory smell of burning rubber.

Complex, wicked problems are, by definition, not amenable to simple, stereotypical solutions and 15 second sound bites, no matter what anyone may tell you. Nature has a way of punishing hubris. That brings me to the parable in this little essay.

On O-Rings and the Facts

After the space shuttle Challenger exploded during launch, President Reagan convened the Rogers commission to determine the cause of the catastrophe, which had killed the crew, including a schoolteacher, on live television. It was quickly apparent that a solid rocket booster (SRB) failure was to blame, with the flexible O-rings joining the SRB sections being the primary culprit. The questions were obvious – how and why did this happen?

Ultimately, the commission determined that the risks of catastrophic failure for each space shuttle mission were much higher than initially believed; the space shuttle was not a "space truck," as had been hyped and advertised, but a complex, delicate instrument. When coupled with management problems and "go fever," mission failure and loss of life were inevitable.

The commission, as these things always do, included several notables in aerospace, engineering and management; one of them was the Nobel Prize winning Caltech physicist, Richard Feynman. Dick drove home the O-ring failure in his own, inimitable way. First, he placed a piece of the O-ring in a glass of ice water; then he waited. After the O-ring had chilled, he pulled it from the water and showed that it had lost flexibility, which would create a porous seal for the hot gases of the SRB. (Watch him explain it here.) In a classic understatement, he said this might have "some significance" for the problem.

Dick later observed, "Reality must take precedence over public relations, for nature cannot be fooled." I have never forgotten this message, and the Rogers Commission report still sits on my bookshelf as a reminder.

It's a simple, but powerful lesson – the facts do matter, and no obfuscation or doublespeak can change that. This is especially true in science and engineering. In the end, there is no spin; there is no truthiness; and there are no alternative facts. There are just the facts, something Joe Friday understood. Nature is pretty particular about that.

And one more thing – Elvis has left the building, no matter what Twitter or the tabloids may suggest.

Research, Education, Engagement and Bovine Transport

It's been said many times. The accelerating pace of change is challenging extant social structures, economic mobility in the United States is declining, and many millennials may never experience the economic success of their parents. Globalization and automation are increasing manufacturing efficiency and output while requiring fewer workers with different skills. We face continuing global population growth and demographic shifts; sectarian forces are creating a global diaspora; environmental sustainability and climate change are existential threats; health care costs continue climbing while accessibility recedes; and social justice and equality remain elusive. Unsurprisingly, people are deeply worried about their future and that of their families, regardless of political persuasion. In turn, this stress has stirred the cauldron of political rhetoric, while reasoned debate, political compromise, and purposeful, strategic action have become ever more difficult.

As states continue to grapple with revenue shortfalls and mandatory spending commitments, others are publicly questioning the value of higher education as an essential public good. Meanwhile, the great recession has accelerated the decline in state funding for public universities, limiting their ability to respond, and forcing rises in tuition to help offset declining state support. Given these challenges, how do we in academe address the wicked problems now facing our global village?

Public University Roles and the Social Compact

By analogy with William Jevons' four functions of money, let me suggest that we in research universities have three functions, each of which matters in equal measure. First, we create new knowledge; that is the essence of research and scholarship, the defining attribute of a research university, one that distinguishes it from institutions focused solely on teaching. Second, we transmit knowledge and skills to a new generation; we educate and inform, not just with long-known facts but also with fresh insights from recent scholarship. Finally, we engage society with our knowledge and expertise; at our best, we address societal issues and challenges with new found capability that enlightens, empowers and improves the lives of others.

Though basic research, by definition, often lacks immediate or obvious applications, when we fail to communicate and demonstrate the importance of research via clear and telling examples of past success or future possibility, we abrogate our support. (That indispensable smartphone rests on decades of basic research in physics and computer science.) When we fail to connect education to the needs and opportunities of our citizens, we lose our relevance. (Those pharmacists, nurses, dentists and medical doctors trained by universities serve our communities.) Most dangerously, when we fail to engage society in times of need, we sacrifice our place of honor and respect. (Our partnerships on flood management and our support for business startups help ensure the well-being and economic success of our communities.)

And the Horse You Rode in On

Polls show that professors still rank far ahead of used car salespeople and members of Congress in both respect and trust, but we have slipped a few notches in the public's eye. Sometimes, our language and mien often give credence to those who believe academics are the very embodiment of the Ben Franklin adage, "He was so learned that he could name a horse in nine languages; so ignorant that he bought a cow to ride on."

When we take umbrage (a fine academic phrase, but one not commonly heard on any street non-adjacent to a university) at public questions and criticism, denigrating it as uninformed pique, we often confirm Franklin's caricature of one possessing knowledge but lacking wisdom. We must be willing to reflect on the reasons for criticism, engage in thoughtful discussion with our critics, and respond appropriately. As that old Scot, Rabbie Burns put it,

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!

Collaborative Partnership: The Future

As academics, we must engage our stakeholders and partners in their context and address their legitimate problems and concerns, and we must do so honestly, humbly and thoughtfully. In so doing, we will help them and also help ourselves, educating one another. Solution to complex, wicked problems requires many insights, diverse perspectives, new ideas, and determined commitment. We in academia do not have all the answers, but we do have knowledge, skills and insights that are of value.

We begin by knowing ourselves, as Alexander Pope's timeless opening couplet from his Essay on Man suggests:

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of mankind is Man

We abandon academic hubris and a sense of entitlement. We talk less and listen more. We roll up our sleeves, get our hands dirty, and engage society. When we do, the true conversation begins.

Now excuse me, while I go mount my bovine steed, er horse, and head into town.

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Star Trek@50: Inspiring Discovery and Innovation

N.B.  I also write for the Communications of the ACM (CACM).  The following essay recently appeared on the CACM blog.

On September 8, 1966, fifty years ago, Star Trek premiered in the U.S. on the NBC television network. By the broadcast television standards of the day, it was not a great success.  The ratings were mediocre, the reviews were mixed, and it was canceled after three seasons, despite a fan-driven letter writing campaign.  Defying this inauspicious beginning, Star Trek has become an international cultural phenomenon, with multiple series, movies and casts since the original television premiere.

Much has been written about why Star Trek has lived long and prospered.  I suspect much of its enduring appeal lies in the intertwined personal relations of the three original starring characters (Kirk, Spock and McCoy), along with technological optimism and the ethical questions and conundrums posed.

Star Trek has also entered the cultural lexicon in deep ways. “Beam me up, Scotty!” and “Set phasers to stun” being just two of many examples.  The small town of Riverside, Iowa, near where I now live, even has a commemorative monument to the “future birthplace” of James T. Kirk. (Yes, Captain Kirk was born in Iowa.) More importantly, Star Trek has inspired generations to pursue science and technology careers, not a few of whom have transformed part of that television science fiction into technological and commercial fact.

Through a B&W Broadcast, Darkly

Alas, I missed the premiere and the entire original run of the Star Trek broadcasts because my family did not own a television. Today that seems incredible, given television’s nearly universal market penetration, the plethora of cable channels, and ubiquitous streaming media services. At the time, however, there were only three broadcast television networks in the U.S., and cable service was not available in many rural areas. In the 1960s, channel surfing often involved climbing on the roof to rotate the antenna while responding to guidance from an open window. Instead, it was best to pick one of the three broadcast networks and stick with the choice, particularly in winter.

When Star Trek entered syndication a few years later, I was able to watch it in B&W, and when I saw it later on color television, I was amazed by the bright, garish colors.  Whether in gray scale or color, the series immediately engaged both my teenage angst and my scientific aspirations. Mr. Spock’s stoicism and logic comforted many who felt the pain and loneliness of cultural isolation, including this geek. The series also gave hope that a better world was possible, one where we could celebrate our differences as strengths, while embracing the common core of our shared humanity. During the height of the Vietnam War and our ongoing struggle for civil rights, this was and is a powerful message of hope.

From Fiction to Reality and Back

Though one might also rightly argue convergent evolution, cellphones (communicators) and tablet computers both owe some elements of their form and function to Star Trek’s vision of ubiquitous computing and communications. The tricorder X Prize competition, to create a portable, wireless health monitoring device, is a direct homage to Star Trek. (No, he’s not dead, Jim.)

My former colleagues at Microsoft Research frequently reference the Star Trek universal translator as an inspiration for their work on real-time language translation. (Thank you, Rick Rashid.) More generally, our community’s work on deep learning and intelligent assistants is inspired not only by technical goals but by a motivating vision of artificial intelligence that runs deeply through Star Trek and the science fiction world. From weak AI to ambitions of strong AI, we yearn to build a machine that will be proud of us.

Across computing, we ponder issues of AI ethics and their instantiation in autonomous vehicles, consider the limits of silicon-based computing and quantum alternatives, and debate the future of ubiquitous sensors and digital privacy. These and hundreds of other technical challenges also inform our imaginations and our dreams of the future. This virtuous cycle of invention and imagination drives us forward.

To Boldly Go or Go Boldly: The Frontier Awaits

The original Star Trek series opened with Captain Kirk intoning that the Enterprise would “boldly go where no man has gone before.” It was powerful and inspiring message of exploratory optimism, though I have to admit that the split infinitive has always bothered me.  But, the gender-specific pronoun was the wrong message, one Captain Picard rightly corrected.

Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.

Both versions echo the enduring words of Vannevar Bush in his seminal essay, “Science: The Endless Frontier” and speak to something deep in our nature:

… without scientific progress no amount of achievement in other directions can insure our health, prosperity, and security as a nation in the modern world.

We yearn to discover. Engage. Make it so.

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Commencement Speeches and Hydration

An updated version of an essay I originally wrote in 2015, with guidance for commencement speakers, appeared in the Chronicle of Higher Education in May 2016. Entitled, Commencement Speakers: Be Cool, it reminds us that commencement events are celebrations for graduates, family and friends, not bully pulpits for speakers.

Mapping Terra Incognita: An Iowa Perspective

Last week, I had the privilege and honor to deliver the University of Iowa's annual presentation on the state of research and scholarship: Mapping Terra Incognita. The video and associated slides are now available on YouTube. (I apologize for the audio quality at the beginning – the wireless microphone slipped off my necktie and I did not realize it. The audio is much better after the first minute or two.)

Although parts of the presentation were unique to the University of Iowa, much of what I discussed concerns the broader state of higher education in the United States. These topics span the often implicit – but very real – renegotiation of the higher education compact that defines societal expectations and university responses, the financial exigencies of research and scholarship, and the importance of communicating research and scholarship in language and context for broader understanding and uptake. I have touched on many of these topics before, including communicating ideas (See Research, Politics, and Policy), the econometrics of research investment (See Quantifying Innovation and Investment) and the joy and passion of creativity and discovery (See Eudora, You Got the Love?).

I began the speech by reemphasizing why we are scholars, researchers, and creative artists. All too often, I fear we fail to celebrate the reasons why discovery and creativity matter so much to our civilization and to us as individuals. In that spirit, here are my opening remarks, as prepared.

The brief, bright arc of sentience burns so briefly against the great darkness.

It drives each of us to declare, I am here! I mattered! Remember me!

This great yearning is common to all cultures and all times.

It defines us as humans; it defines our humanity

From the Lascaux cave paintings through Egyptian music, Chinese culture, Indian medicine (the Atharvaveda), Mayan science and a hundred other cultures, the themes are the same – expression, knowledge, and meaning.

Consider the great two inventions – agriculture and writing – that defined civilization …

The first allowed us to gather in stable groups across seasons and years.

As for the second, it is no exaggeration to say that writing created history.

For the first time, knowledge could be passed from generation to generation by more than oral tradition.

As scholars and researchers, each of us is connected by a chain of discovery and creativity that is older than history.

In that moment of discovery, of creativity, one can live a lifetime, but a thousand lifetimes would not be enough.

On this, William Blake was both poetic and prophetic – to hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.

It is something secular, but deeply holy.

Discovery and creativity -- they define us as humans and as scholars.

They represent all that we venerate and cherish.

I invite you to listen to the rest of the speech on YouTube.

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What I’m Reading: ‘Hieroglyph: Stories and Visions for a Better Future’

N.B. An abridged version of this essay appeared in the Chronicle of Higher Education's What I'm Reading series.

If you've read any science fiction lately, or attended any of the blockbuster movies whose storylines can be traced to science fiction, then you know that most are dominated by post-apocalyptic, dystopian futures – environmental desolation, runaway nanotechnology, AI overlords, genetic discrimination, totalitarianism and the death of privacy. What happened to the future? When did our utopian dreams stagger into an alleyway, drunk on hubris, only to be mugged by our diminished expectations?

It's enough to make one pull up the blankets, go back to sleep, and dream of a better world, one where precision medicine is ubiquitous and inexpensive, and where personal, autonomous vehicles have eliminated traffic accidents and reduced urban congestion. In that better world, intelligent digital assistants make us more productive and creative, and the Internet of Things helps us minimize our environmental footprint and mitigate climate change. Tomorowland, come back, we miss you and your hope, coupled with The Martian'sscientific and engineering "work the problem" can do spirit. (The latter made me feel proud to be a card carrying geek, though I may never look at potatoes quite the same way again.)

Fear not, there is hope. Hieroglyph is a collection of science fiction short stories, filled with positive visions of the future, and anchored in foreseeable science and technology. The collection itself is an outgrowth of Arizona State's Center for Science and the Imagination. The brainchild of noted writer, Neal Stephenson, the center is a partnership among science fiction writers, scientists, and technologists, predicated on the premise that "… if we want to create a better future, we need to start with better dreams."

Hieroglyph is a wonderful juxtaposition of call and response: speculative, hopeful fiction, followed by dispassionate, technical assessment. It is also a call to arms, encouraging us to not only dream of the future, but also to marshal our broad intellectual assets and build the better world we all yearn to see.

At Iowa, we've been motivated by similar desires. Via ideation events and salon dinners, we are bringing together faculty from across the university – arts, humanities, social sciences, engineering, science and medicine – to discuss broad societal issues and collaborative actions.

Better dreams, better futures: the future begins with us. As Picard would say, let us "Make it so."

Through A Google Glass, Darkly

N.B. I also write for the Communications of the ACM (CACM). The following essay recently appeared on the CACM blog.

Whether de regueur or merely an occupational hazard, a love of technological gadgets is commonplace in computing. We know the endorphin-fueled euphoria of an early adopter, one willing to tolerate the failings of immature and possibly transient technologies.

Oh, how I loved my RIM 870, which made me a two-thumbed typist and allowed me to send email on the DataTAC network, long before the word BlackBerry conjured any vision other than breakfast jam! I wore a Microsoft SenseCam, learning that email, coffee and meetings defined my life.

My desk and closet are filled with "might have been" and "never were" technological artifacts. From a subcompact Poqet PC through an Apple Newton PDA to Ricochet network cards to a collection of bulky, CGA-based head mounted displays (HMDs), I have played with my share of bright, shiny toys. Today, Google Glass shines oh, so bright, with technological promise and cultural uncertainty.

All of which reminds me of the first time I pulled out an early Motorola cellphone in an airport terminal, after an airline canceled one of my flights. This was in the early days of AMPS service, when mobile telephones were large and bulky and roaming service had yet to appear. As I called my office to rebook travel, a group of businesspeople gathered around me in wonder at this amazing and heretofore unknown technology. Years later, I was reflecting on the societal transformation wrought by mobile telephony as I listened to a middle manager obliviously pace an airport concourse while systematically firing the unsuspecting members of some company team via cellphone. In ictu oculi, sic transit gloria mundi!

I have been wearing Google Glass (hereafter, Glass) intermittently as both a technical assessment of utility and as a social study in human dynamics and expectations. What does the future hold? Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future. Attribute the quote to whomever you choose – Yogi Berra, Niels Bohr, or Mark Twain – its veracity remains.

Technical Experiences

My first impressions of Glass were generally positive, but I expected that; I have decades of Pavlovian conditioning to embrace technology prototypes with joyful abandon. Software configuration took most of an afternoon, as I connected my social networks to Glass and configured news feeds to balance timeliness and frequency, lest breaking news of the underwater basket weaving championship interrupt my reflections on the dismal state of research funding. Not surprisingly, these networks were heavily Google-centric, though I found the inability to send images to an arbitrary email address somewhat limiting. Ok, Glass, take a picture …

Because I am sufficiently myopic that escaping a broom closet is visually challenging, I wondered if it would be practical to wear Glass in front of my normal glasses, rather than fitting it to the custom Glass frames. Pleasantly, the answer is yes, if one carefully adjusts the prism. The screen is relatively bright and unobtrusive, and the head tilt adjustment angle simplifies screen activation and menu selection.

Is Glass a substitute for a smartphone? No, but it is not intended as such. Rather, it is a social and technical experiment in digital immersion and social commerce, from instant context sharing to walkabout video conferencing. In all of those things, it succeeds.

Social Challenges

Far more interesting than the technical features of Glass have been the social reactions it has engendered. When I am in a private setting, I always inform people that I will not take photos or record video using Glass without permission. I also invite people to wear Glass and experience it for a few minutes to allay fears. In public, I use Glass with great care, with as much deliberation and clarity I would use with a camera or smartphone.

The sometimes visceral reactions to the public use of Glass are rooted in deep social concerns about privacy and cultural norms, themselves shaped by the broader worries about government surveillance, data breaches, and identity theft. Glass also occupies something of an uncanny valley of privacy, arousing primal fears that the sanctity of one's sensorium is being violated. The negative reactions have also been fueled by the annoying and sometimes foolish behavior of some Glass users. (See Google Glass "dos and don'ts," or how to avoid being a Glasshole.)

Each new technical change brings social and legal debates regarding acceptable use, debates made more pressing and contentious by the increasing rate of change. In the U.S., we are still defining the bounds of the first amendment on the right to take photographs in a public place, despite over 150 years of photographic technology experience and an abundance of case law.

One of the creators of mobile telephony once remarked to me that he was still surprised to see individuals speaking into thin air about intensely personal topics. That dystopian science fiction writer, Phillip K. Dick, favored the ancient line, "For now we see through a glass, darkly ..." I could wax on at length in a metaphorical and epistemological exegesis of this prescient juxtaposition of technology, privacy and the nature of change, but a heads up news feed on Glass has captured my attention.

Looking Forward

It is not surprising that we are struggling to delineate the bounds of privacy and normative behavior in an age of ubiquitous digital devices. Some acceptable and normative issues of wearable technology will be decided by law, some by social consensus, and still others by concurrent technological evolution and generational acceptance. In the meantime, good sense should be applied liberally.

Despite all the uncertainties, I remain an optimist. Ok, Glass, send a message to the future …

Celestial Mechanics: Why I Know Summer Will Come

My second floor office overlooks a delightful pedestrian mall lined with restaurants and shops. Strategically placed outdoor benches entice patrons and passersby to linger, converse and savor the ambience of a Midwestern college town. In the spring and fall, it is a venue filled with music, conversation and laughter.

Alas, as the continental United States remains in the ironfisted grip of a seemingly endless, harsh winter, the benches are snow covered and empty. The bundled pedestrians stride wearily forward, eyes squinted in a thousand yard stare as they seek solace from the prairie wind and cold. As Frost poetically observed, they have promises to keep, and miles to go before they sleep.

Trust the Science

Though the long past, languid days of northern latitude summer now seem like a waking dream, I have faith – grounded in science – that summer will come again. This oblate spheroid of revolution (aka a reference ellipsoid) we call planet Earth will again bring the warmth of summer to northern climes. (We can thank Isaac Newton's Principia for the proof that a rotating self-gravitating fluid body takes the form of an oblate spheroid of revolution.)

All of us are tempted to believe that seasonal variations are due to the varying distance of the Earth from the sun – its orbital eccentricity. It seems intuitive and obvious, but it is incorrect. The eccentricity of the Earth's orbit is quite small. Even more interestingly, the Earth is closest to the Sun on January 3, the periapsis of its orbit. The real cause of the seasons is the 23.5-degree axial tilt of the Earth relative to its orbital plane around the sun.

As the Earth orbits the sun, its tilted axis always points in the same direction. During part of the year, the northern hemisphere (that's us) is tilted toward the sun, yielding longer days and more direct sunlight; that is our summer. During our winter, the southern hemisphere tilts toward the sun, giving it summer and a now frigid winter to those of us in the north. As Newton showed and Einstein later expanded, in a few months, gravity and orbital mechanics will bring summer back again. A helpful NASA cartoon explains why this is the case.

STEM Education Really Matters

If you did not know the orbital cause of the seasons or had forgotten it, then you are in good company. In a famous, some might say infamous, 1987 study, a group of education researchers asked newly minted Harvard graduates to explain the cause of the seasons. As this brief video shows, most of them answered incorrectly, despite years of K-12 and college-level science and mathematics classes.

As my friend, Neil deGrasse Tyson, once wryly remarked, "The good thing about science is that it's true whether or not you believe in it." Natural processes proceed with or without our understanding, but they are discoverable via systematic application of the scientific method – formulating hypotheses and testing them via repeatable and verifiable experiments.

I am not suggesting that everyone should be a scientist or engineer. A detailed understanding of celestial mechanics will not affect your job prospects (unless you are an aspiring astronomer), but in a global economy, a working knowledge of basic science, engineering and mathematics and a systematic approach to problem solving certainly will. Equally importantly, public policy issues, whether in health care, transportation, communications or energy, increasingly rest on scientific principles and shared understanding that must inform our collective debate and decision-making.

In technology-driven world, effective Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics (STEM) education is crucial for all of our students. We must do a better job of inculcating fundamental scientific principles and their practical applications, moving science and mathematics education beyond dry facts and formulas to vibrant and predictive experiential learning. Science education, when done right, is fun, filled with joy and passion for discovery and understanding. That's one of the great beauties of science; anyone can apply the scientific method and independently verify scientific claims.

Spring will come again, as surely as the Earth orbits the sun. Meanwhile, I am counting the days until the vernal equinox brings the sound of laughter back to the pedestrian mall.

Dreaming Things That Never Were

In the early 1920s, the playwright, George Bernard Shaw, wrote a now largely forgotten play, Back to Methuselah, which spans 35,000 years, from pre-history to the distant future. As an allegorical perspective on government and human nature, it combines elements of science (longevity and senescence) with a rather wistful hope for a better society. By almost any measure, it was a lesser work by an acclaimed and successful writer, doomed to mere footnote status in even the most passionate literary hagiography.

The play, or at least a single line from the play, was rescued from oblivion by a single oratorical reference, perhaps due to speechwriter Ted Sorensen's erudition. On June 28, 1963, then President John Kennedy addressed the Irish Dáil and paraphrased a line from the play, remarking,

George Bernard Shaw, speaking as an Irishman, summed up an approach to life: Other people, he said "see things and . . . say 'Why?' . . . But I dream things that never were-- and I say: 'Why not?'"

It is that quality of the Irish--that remarkable combination of hope, confidence and imagination—that is needed more than ever today. The problems of the world cannot possibly be solved by skeptics or cynics, whose horizons are limited by the obvious realities. We need men who can dream of things that never were, and ask why not.

Given that reference and its subsequent repetition, the line is almost universally associated not with Shaw, but with the former President and his brother, Robert Kennedy. C'est la vie; fame in all forms is such a fleeting and elusive chimera. For literary and cultural completeness, let me note that the actual line in the play is spoken by the Serpent to Eve in the Garden of Eden: "You see things; and you say 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say 'Why not?"

The Winds of Change Are Blowing

The poignancy and relevance of Shaw's line and Kennedy's remarks have never been timelier. These are, to use another literary reference, times that try the souls of us all. Beset by global change, continuing economic malaise and national ennui, individuals and institutions alike are struggling to chart safe passage to the future. It is no less true of us who live in the sometimes cloistered halls of academia.

Today, the social compact between research universities (particularly public ones) is being renegotiated in deep and profound ways. Expectations for higher education are shifting, driven by economic exigencies, societal needs and technological change. A 21^st century instance of the age-old educational question – the balance of the liberal arts and practical skills – is being debated anew. Economic development, applied research and development partnerships and the need for lifelong skills refresh are being pursued with renewed vigor. Finally, federal funding for basic research is at a decadal low in constant dollars, trapped by the vicissitudes of politics and sequestration, and threatening the innovation engine that that the foresight of Vannevar Bush stoked over sixty years ago.

The Future Is Bright, But Different

This is a time of questions. How do we collaboratively address societal challenges in education, the environment, quality of life, and health care? How do we more rapidly translate research insights into economic and social benefit? How do we help our citizens remain economically successful in a world of global competitors? How do we sustain an academic scholarship and research enterprise than has long been the envy of the world? How do we shape the future to our mutual benefit?

I do not know what the future holds, but I have a deep and abiding faith in the fundamental strength of the U.S. higher education system and its ability to craft a vibrant and mutually beneficial future. From the annealing, a new model will emerge, just as it has in each previous period of change. Indeed, the history of higher education is not one of stasis, but of punctuated equilibrium, with change triggered by visionary response to societal needs.

Yes, we face challenges, but the future can be bright. Shaw and Kennedy were right:

The problems of the world cannot possibly be solved by skeptics or cynics, whose horizons are limited by the obvious realities. We need men who can dream of things that never were, and ask why not.

We must reach into the future of our dreamsand pull a bit of it back to the reality of thehere and now.Now is the time to dream of things that never were and ask, why not?

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A Conversation on Designing the Future

A Conversation on Designing the Future

Update:  The audio from our conversation is now posted on YouTube.

Recently I had the pleasure to participate in a public conversation with science fiction author Bruce Sterling. The occasion was the inaugural event of the Obermann Center's yearlong series, Designing the Future, at the University of Iowa. The conversation took place on the stage of the Englert Theater, a great vaudeville era theater that has been restored to its original grandeur. That juxtaposition of past and future was not lost on me, nor was the gentle irony of seeing the names of geeks on the same marquee as a musical act.

For those of you who do not know him, Bruce has won multiple Hugo awards, one of science fiction's highest honors, for his fiction. He is also an active blogger for Wired, a consultant on several projects, and generally a cool dude. Bruce is also well known for coining neologisms, those linguist viruses that infect our imaginations. From "major consensus narrative" (aka, "the truth") to "Wexelblat disaster" (aka, "a secondary disaster triggered by nature's interaction with human technology"), they are the linguistic legerdemain of a gifted storyteller.

Futurists as Grief Counselors

Bruce and I began by addressing the future and ways to think about change and disruption. We ranged quickly across current and potential disruptions – post-genomic biology and medicine, nanotechnology and personalized manufacturing, cognitive radio and the Internet of Things, autonomous vehicles and grand AI, and privacy and information flow in the digital age – but spent most of our time discussing the cultural aspects of Clayton Christensen's innovator's dilemma. Technological nuances, though sometimes daunting, are rarely the most difficult aspects of change. Rather, it is organizational and culture hysteresis that limits technology uptake. It is here that understanding the human condition – in all its historical and cultural context – really matters.

When change comes – and it always does -- all of us find it organizationally and culturally difficult to abandon cherished beliefs, especially when some of those beliefs have been overrun and obviated by new truths. At these points, a futurist is both grief counselor and cheerleader. As grief counselor, one must help others through Kübler-Ross's stages of grief, reaching acceptance as quickly as possible; lingering in anger and denial only invites further loss. As cheerleader, one must highlight the opportunities afforded by the new technology and encourage rapid adoption and adaptation to capture first mover advantage.

Change is never easy. It is why few corporations survive and prosper for more than a few decades. One need only compare the constituents of today's Dow Jones Industrial Average with those of fifty years ago. Have you traded any Victor Talking Machine stock lately?

Humility – innate or imposed – is the handmaiden of change. Why do I hear the echo of Shelley's Ozymandias here?

Advice to a Young Student

As this was a university-dominated audience, it was not surprising that Bruce and I were asked if we had any advice for students about how to face and embrace the future. Though I would not presume the wisdom of P.B. Medawar in Advice to A Young Scientist, I did offer three maxims:

• Hang out with people not like yourself. They will stretch your intellectual and social boundaries and challenge your belief system. They are also valuable partners with skills complementary to your own. So, if you are a science and technology geek, make some friends with the arts and humanities crowd. If you are an entrepreneurial type, socialize with those who build things and understand social memes. If I learned anything over the years, it is that successful individuals, whatever their domain of endeavor, find and partner with people of complementary expertise. Together, the group can do things the individuals could never do separately.
• Take some risks. If you cannot take risks at age twenty-five, you never will. This is the time to stretch your wings and try new things. You are young enough to recover from failure and try, try again. Most importantly, understand that failing to take risks is itself a risk. Nothing in life is certain. As for that "death and taxes" notion, well, taxes do change, though I remain circumspect about the proximity of the singularity.

   

• Make new and original mistakes. Experience is an excellent teacher, far better than success, in fact. However, experience should not be your only teacher; the tuition cost is very high in the school of experience and hard knocks. Instead, understand what has succeeded and failed before, build on successful approaches, but do new and different things. As Linus Pauling wryly noted, the best way to have a good idea is to have lots of ideas.

Here's to the future, that delightfully unpredictable and endlessly fascinating mirage that retreats before us with each step. Still we strive, as Blake reflected:

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

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