The Economist has a feature it calls “Flash Interview” in which the magazine lobs three seemingly innocent questions at some business or economic luminary. These can be insightful (see here) but particularly dangerous kinds of interviews in that they’re little more than three unforgiving sound bites, leaving no chance to elaborate—and no ability at all to recover.
On March 15 The Economist aimed its flash questions at Google’s Chief Economist, whose resume is positively spectacular but whose answers on this particular day were more like a flash fire.
The complete interview is here, though I’ve shown most of it below.
What fascinates you most about the rate of productivity today? There's a recent study out of the University of Michigan, where they had a team of students find answers to a set of questions using materials in the campus library. Then another team had to answer the same set of questions using Google. It took them 7 minutes to answer the questions on Google and 22 minutes to answer them in the library. Think about all the time saved! Thirty years ago, getting answers was really expensive, so we asked very few questions.
OK, so far so good. Answer the question by telling us Google rocks. We get that. But then. . .
Now getting answers is cheap, so we ask billions of questions a day, like “what is Jennifer Aniston having for breakfast?” We would have never asked that 30 years ago.
Huh? What just happened??
I think our economist friend called “5-ball in the side pocket” and proceeded to put the 8-ball into the far corner.
But wait. There’s still time to scratch.
Are you optimistic about the future? If you look at the history of the world, up until 1700 nothing much happened--GDP growth per capita was essentially flat. Then the wonderful Industrial Revolution happened and things took off. And now it’s easy to make predictions about the future. What rich people have now, middle class people will have in twenty years. That's good news.
So, I’m thinking suddenly the cue ball jumped the table and the cue stick tore a gash in the felt-top? Up until 1700 nothing much happened? Huh?
With apologies to Monty Python, picture a World History class of young guys dressed up like old men (and mostly old women) being taught by John Cleese. . .
Teacher: So, it’s pretty clear that up until 1700 nothing much happened. Yes? Do I see a hand?
Student 1, haltingly: The Renaissance??
Teacher: What’s that?
Student 1: The Renaissance.
Teacher: Ooooh, the Rensissance. Well, yes, I suppose we have to include that. But look, except for the Renaissance, up until 1700 nothing much happened.
Student 2, mumbling: Discovery of the Western Hemisphere?
Teacher: What??
Student 2: Discovery of the Western Hemisphere.
Teacher: Well, yes, that’s just assumed of course. And it was hardly “discovered.” But, ok, we can say “discovery of the Western Hemisphere.”
Student 3: Birth of the great world religions?
Teacher: Psawh. Everybody recognizes that. I shouldn’t have to mention it. But if you insist. Except for the Renaissance, the discovery of the Western Hemisphere and the birth of the world’s great religions, it’s safe to say that up until 1700 nothing much happened.
Look here. Do you know how long it took the bloody Roman emperor to look something up? I mean, before 1700, technology and learning were at a virtual standstill.
Student 1: The scientific method? The printing press? Algebra?
Student 2: Agriculture? Domestication of the horse? Invention of hay??
Student 3: Language? Music? Writing? Philosophy? Democracy?
Teacher: Well, ok, but we’ve got to move along. Let’s just say that except for the Renaissance, the discovery of the Western Hemisphere, the birth of the world’s great religions, the inventions of the scientific method, the printing press, algebra, language, music, writing, philosophy, democracy AND—if you insist—agriculture, domestication of the horse and invention of hay--it’s safe to say that up until 1700 nothing much happened.
I used to think what the world needed was a good essay defending a liberal arts education for business and technology majors. Just give the guys who will spend their lives dazzling us all by being 1000 feet deep that fleeting chance to also be a foot or two wide.
But when you’ve got John Cleese by your side, there’s hardly the need to write an essay at all.
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