Invention and Innovation

Invention and Innovation Plot Summary

Introduction

Throughout human history, our relationship with technology has followed a peculiar pattern. We eagerly embrace new inventions that promise to solve our problems, only to discover later that some create entirely new difficulties we never anticipated. From leaded gasoline that powered our vehicles while slowly poisoning our children, to revolutionary refrigerants that damaged the Earth's protective ozone layer, the story of human innovation is filled with both triumph and unexpected consequences. This fascinating journey through the rise and fall of key inventions reveals that technological progress rarely follows a straight line. Some innovations we believed would dominate our future – like giant hydrogen-filled airships crossing continents or supersonic passenger jets – eventually became historical footnotes rather than the inevitable next step. Other technologies we've chased for generations, like controlled nuclear fusion or vacuum tube transportation, remain tantalizingly out of reach despite repeated promises of imminent breakthroughs. By examining these patterns across diverse technologies, we gain valuable perspective on our current technological enthusiasm and the exaggerated claims often accompanying new innovations. Whether you're a technology enthusiast, a skeptical observer of "disruption," or simply curious about how society adopts and sometimes abandons technologies, these historical lessons offer a more nuanced understanding of invention's complex role in shaping human civilization.

Chapter 1: The Illusion of Technical Infallibility

The evolution of human technology represents a remarkable story of ingenuity and adaptation. From simple stone tools crafted by our bipedal ancestors to sophisticated machines that define modern civilization, invention has been humanity's constant companion. This process accelerated dramatically with the Industrial Revolution and reached unprecedented heights during the twentieth century. By the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, the pace of innovation – particularly in electronics and computing – seemed to be accelerating exponentially, leading many to believe that technical progress was not only inevitable but constantly speeding up. This belief in ever-faster innovation has become one of the most commonly recited mantras of our time. The evidence appears compelling: patent applications granted by the US Patent and Trademark Office skyrocketed from just 911 during the 1800s' first decade to nearly 1,653,000 in the 1990s – a nearly 2,000-fold increase in two hundred years. Each new breakthrough seemed to arrive more quickly than the last, with technologies moving from laboratory curiosities to commercial products at unprecedented speed. Modern inventions now carry the promise of brilliant solutions to every problem we face – environmental, social, or technical – and these advances are often described as "disruptive," "transformative," or "revolutionary." The narrative of accelerating technological progress has profound implications. If innovation is truly exponential, then the future holds possibilities beyond our imagination. Some theorists even suggest we're approaching a "Singularity" – a point where technological change becomes so rapid and profound that human life will be irreversibly transformed. Why shouldn't we eliminate food shortages entirely through synthetic nutrition? Why not double human life expectancy through genetic manipulation? Why not travel at supersonic speeds in vacuum tubes crossing continents? The math of exponential growth makes such dreams seem not just possible but inevitable. Yet this techno-optimistic view glosses over a more complex reality. Many seemingly revolutionary inventions have followed troubling trajectories: eagerly embraced, widely deployed, then eventually recognized as harmful. Others were confidently expected to dominate their fields yet failed to realize their promise. Still others remain perpetually just beyond our reach despite decades of research and billions in investment. These patterns suggest that technological development is neither as straightforward nor as uniformly accelerating as we often imagine. Instead, it follows more unpredictable paths, with setbacks, diversions, and unforeseen consequences accompanying every major advance. Understanding these patterns provides valuable perspective on current claims of technological revolution and helps us maintain a more realistic view of what innovation can and cannot achieve.

Chapter 2: When Promising Solutions Become Problems (1920-1960)

The period from the 1920s through the 1960s witnessed the rise and eventual fall of three remarkable inventions that initially seemed perfect solutions to important technical problems. Tetraethyl lead in gasoline, DDT for insect control, and chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) for refrigeration were all hailed as breakthrough innovations when introduced. Each became widely adopted worldwide, only to be later recognized as harmful and ultimately banned from their original uses. Their trajectories offer profound lessons about the unexpected consequences of technological innovation. Leaded gasoline emerged as an elegant solution to engine knocking – the premature ignition of fuel in internal combustion engines that caused efficiency losses and potential damage. In 1921, after years of research at General Motors, Thomas Midgley Jr. discovered that adding tetraethyl lead to gasoline effectively eliminated knocking. This allowed engines to operate with higher compression ratios, increasing efficiency and power. By 1923, leaded gasoline was commercially available, marketed under the deliberately misleading name "ethyl gasoline" to avoid mentioning the toxic metal. Despite early warnings from leading health scientists about lead's known neurotoxicity, industry leaders framed it as essential for America's progress – with one executive from Ethyl Corporation even calling it "an apparent gift of God" for conserving oil. DDT followed a similar path of initial enthusiasm. After Paul Hermann Müller discovered the insecticidal properties of dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane in 1939, it quickly became a weapon against disease-carrying insects during World War II. The US military used it extensively to combat malaria and typhus, saving countless lives. When it became commercially available to the public in 1945, DDT seemed miraculous – a compound that could protect crops from insect pests while also eliminating disease vectors. In 1948, Müller received the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, with the citation noting that DDT had already "preserved the life and health of hundreds of thousands." Chlorofluorocarbons represented the third major innovation that would later prove problematic. In 1928, the same Thomas Midgley who developed leaded gasoline led a team that formulated dichlorodifluoromethane (sold as Freon-12), the first commercially successful CFC. Unlike previous refrigerants like ammonia or sulfur dioxide, CFCs were non-toxic, non-flammable, non-corrosive, and highly effective. Their introduction revolutionized refrigeration and air conditioning, enabling the rapid adoption of household refrigerators. By the 1970s, CFCs were used in everything from aerosol propellants to foam production and electronics manufacturing. The eventual recognition of these innovations' harmful effects came gradually. For leaded gasoline, despite early poisoning incidents at processing plants in the 1920s, widespread usage continued for decades. Only in the 1970s, when the US needed to implement catalytic converters to reduce smog (which were poisoned by lead), did the phaseout begin. With DDT, Rachel Carson's 1962 book Silent Spring catalyzed public awareness about its environmental impacts, particularly its role in thinning bird eggshells and disrupting ecosystems. For CFCs, the discovery came even later – not until 1974 did scientists Sherwood Rowland and Mario Molina identify their role in depleting stratospheric ozone, leading eventually to the 1987 Montreal Protocol to phase them out globally. These cases share important commonalities. All three innovations emerged from corporate research seeking profitable solutions to technical problems. All were rapidly commercialized with inadequate assessment of long-term risks. All required international cooperation to address their harmful effects. Perhaps most troubling, in each case early warnings were dismissed or actively suppressed by industry interests. The lesson is sobering: technical innovation, even when solving immediate problems brilliantly, can create delayed, complex risks far beyond initially conceivable complications. The story of these inventions reminds us that technological enthusiasm must always be tempered with precaution and humility about our ability to foresee long-term consequences.

Chapter 3: Great Expectations and Limited Success (1950-1990)

Between 1950 and 1990, several technologies that were confidently expected to revolutionize transportation and energy generation fell dramatically short of their ambitious goals. These weren't outright failures – indeed, each saw commercial deployment – but their actual impact proved far more limited than initially predicted. The stories of airships, nuclear fission, and supersonic passenger flight reveal how technological trajectories can diverge significantly from early expectations. Airships represent perhaps the most dramatic case of unfulfilled technological promise. Today's perspective on flight is dominated by heavier-than-air aircraft, with airships appearing as outdated oddities. Yet during the early 20th century, lighter-than-air dirigibles seemed poised to dominate long-distance air travel. Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin's rigid airship designs led to remarkable achievements. By 1912, the world's first passenger airline, DELAG, had flown more than 1,500 people on 218 scheduled domestic flights – at a time when airplanes were still small wood-and-canvas affairs. In 1929, the Graf Zeppelin completed a globe-circling journey, and by the mid-1930s, Zeppelins were making regular transatlantic crossings, offering passengers spacious accommodations and spectacular views while flying above Manhattan's skyscrapers. The Hindenburg disaster in May 1937 dramatically ended this era of passenger airships. However, even without this catastrophe, airship travel was already becoming obsolete. By 1936, Boeing's new flying boats could carry similar passenger loads at twice the speed, and during the 1940s, new long-range propeller aircraft made intercontinental travel increasingly practical. By the 1950s, early jet airliners were flying at speeds approaching 750 km/h – six times faster than the Hindenburg's cruising speed. The technology that once seemed destined to connect continents became a historical curiosity, though dreams of airship revivals persistently recur, with various companies still promising revolutionary cargo and luxury airship designs. Nuclear fission power represents a different kind of disappointment. From theoretical concept to commercial electricity generation took just sixty years – remarkably swift given the technology's complexity. After World War II, nuclear power was promoted with extraordinary optimism. In 1954, Lewis Strauss, chairman of the US Atomic Energy Commission, famously predicted electricity "too cheap to meter." By the 1970s, industry projections envisioned thousands of reactors worldwide, with breeder reactors eventually dominating global electricity production. The 1973 OPEC oil crisis further boosted nuclear's appeal as an independent energy source. Reality proved far more modest. Although over 400 commercial reactors were eventually built worldwide, nuclear power never achieved its projected dominance. In the US, changing electricity demand patterns, regulatory challenges, construction delays, and cost overruns led to the cancellation of 120 ordered reactors. The 1979 Three Mile Island and 1986 Chernobyl accidents heightened public concerns. Breeder reactor technology, despite billions in investments across multiple countries, never became commercially viable. By 2020, nuclear power provided only about 10% of global electricity – far below what was predicted fifty years earlier. Supersonic passenger flight followed a similar trajectory of great expectations and limited achievement. After Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in 1947, and with commercial jet aviation expanding rapidly in the 1950s, supersonic passenger service seemed the logical next step. The Anglo-French Concorde and Soviet Tupolev Tu-144 were developed to meet this perceived demand. The US also pursued its own supersonic transport program until Congress canceled funding in 1971. Although the Concorde did operate commercially from 1976 to 2003, only 14 aircraft ever entered service with just two airlines. The Soviet Tu-144 had an even briefer service life. Several factors limited supersonic flight's success. Technical constraints like increased drag, limited range, small fuselage dimensions, and high fuel consumption proved challenging. Environmental concerns about sonic booms restricted routes to oceanic crossings. Most decisively, the economics never worked – the Concorde's operating costs were several times higher than subsonic jetliners, a disadvantage magnified by the 1970s oil crisis. As aviation historian Richard K. Smith observed, the supersonic airliner was ultimately "a political airplane," driven more by national prestige than by sound commercial considerations. These three cases demonstrate how technologies that appear destined for dominance can be undermined by a combination of economic, technical, environmental, and social factors. Great expectations often fail to account for competing innovations, changing market conditions, or emerging societal concerns. The pattern continues today with various "revolutionary" technologies whose ultimate impact remains uncertain despite grand promises from their proponents.

Chapter 4: The Elusive Breakthroughs We Keep Waiting For

Some technological dreams have remained persistently out of reach despite generations of sustained effort and repeated announcements of imminent success. Three prominent examples – ultra-high-speed vacuum tube transportation, nitrogen-fixing cereal crops, and controlled nuclear fusion – illustrate how the gap between theoretical possibility and practical achievement can remain stubbornly wide despite decades of research and development. The concept of transporting people through evacuated or low-pressure tubes has captivated inventors for over two centuries. In 1810, English clockmaker George Medhurst first proposed sending goods through air-pressure tubes, and by 1825, a prospectus for the London and Edinburgh Vacuum Tunnel Company promised to transport passengers between the two cities in just five minutes. Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, various proposals for vacuum tube transportation emerged, including Robert Goddard's 1904 magnetically levitated design and Émile Bachelet's 1912 demonstration of magnetic levitation. In the 1970s, the Rand Corporation proposed a continent-spanning evacuated "Planetran" system with vehicles traveling "thousands of miles per hour." This persistent dream gained renewed attention in 2013 when Elon Musk released his "Hyperloop Alpha" paper, proposing a "fifth mode of transportation" using pods in near-vacuum tubes to achieve speeds approaching the sound barrier. Musk's proposal generated tremendous enthusiasm and led to the formation of several companies attempting to develop working systems. However, despite repeated promises of imminent commercial operations, no functioning commercial hyperloop line exists. The challenges remain formidable: maintaining near-vacuum conditions along hundreds of kilometers of tube, dealing with thermal expansion, ensuring passenger safety in case of decompression, and the enormous infrastructure costs of such systems. After more than two centuries of proposals, high-speed vacuum tube travel remains an elusive dream. A second long-sought breakthrough involves creating cereal crops that can fix their own nitrogen like leguminous plants. The ability of legumes such as beans, peas, and soybeans to form symbiotic relationships with nitrogen-fixing bacteria in root nodules was discovered in 1888. Scientists immediately recognized the potential: if staple crops like wheat, rice, and corn could similarly capture atmospheric nitrogen, farmers could dramatically reduce their dependence on synthetic fertilizers while improving sustainability. When receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in 1970, Norman Borlaug envisioned a future where cereals would obtain nitrogen directly "from these little wondrous microbes that are taking nitrogen from the air and fixing it without cost." Despite decades of research, this goal remains unfulfilled. Scientists have pursued three main approaches: inducing cereals to form symbiotic relationships with nitrogen-fixing bacteria, enhancing the activities of non-symbiotic bacteria associated with cereal roots, or directly transferring nitrogen-fixing genes into plant genomes. Each approach faces significant challenges. Evolution has not endowed any non-leguminous food crop with symbiotic nitrogen fixation despite nitrogen being the most common growth-limiting factor, suggesting fundamental biological barriers. Recent advances in genetic engineering have reignited hopes, but when asked how long it will take to develop nitrogen-fixing cereals, researcher Giles Oldroyd offered the only honest answer: "There is no answer to that. We are working in the unknown." Controlled nuclear fusion represents perhaps the most famous example of perpetually delayed technological promise. Since the 1930s, scientists have understood that the Sun generates its enormous energy through nuclear fusion reactions that convert hydrogen into helium. In 1955, Indian physicist Homi Bhabha confidently predicted that controlled fusion would be achieved within 20 years. Nearly seven decades later, we're still waiting. Despite billions in research funding and significant technical progress, commercial fusion power remains elusive. The challenge is formidable: recreating on Earth the conditions that exist in the Sun's core, where temperatures reach millions of degrees and pressures are billions of times Earth's atmospheric pressure. The experimental tokamak design – a donut-shaped chamber using powerful magnets to confine superheated plasma – has been the leading approach since the 1950s. The International Thermonuclear Experimental Reactor (ITER), currently under construction in France, aims to demonstrate fusion producing more energy than required to heat the plasma, but even if successful, commercial fusion plants remain decades away. Media reports regularly announce fusion "breakthroughs," but these typically represent incremental advances rather than game-changing developments. As physicist David Rose noted, achieving commercially viable fusion may be even more challenging than the already difficult task of creating fusion reactions that produce net energy. After seven decades of development and at least $60 billion spent, fusion power remains perhaps the most stubbornly receding technological horizon, always promised to arrive after "about 30 more years." These three examples highlight the vast gap that can exist between theoretical possibility and practical achievement. They remind us that some technological challenges are fundamentally more difficult than initially anticipated, requiring not just persistence and funding but sometimes fundamental scientific advances or engineering breakthroughs that cannot be scheduled or predicted.

Chapter 5: Techno-Optimism versus Pragmatic Innovation

The modern discourse around innovation is increasingly dominated by exaggerated claims and unrealistic timelines that create a distorted view of technological progress. News media routinely report minor advances as "breakthroughs" and conceptual designs as imminent realities, fueling a culture of techno-optimism disconnected from the actual pace of innovation in most fields. This phenomenon extends across diverse domains, from space exploration to medicine, transportation, and artificial intelligence. Consider how technological promises are routinely presented. In 2017, we were told that Mars colonization would begin in 2022, followed by "terraforming" to create a habitable atmosphere. In reality, we have yet to send humans to Mars, let alone establish permanent settlements. Similar patterns of overpromising appear in other fields. Self-driving cars were supposed to be ubiquitous by 2020, with drivers free to read or sleep during their commutes. Electric vehicles were projected to completely replace internal combustion engines by 2025. In medicine, artificial intelligence was expected to replace radiologists and other specialists. None of these predictions has materialized on the promised timeline. The field of artificial intelligence offers particularly clear examples of this trend. As Michael Jordan, a leading AI researcher at UC Berkeley, notes, "People are getting confused about the meaning of AI...that there is some kind of intelligent thought in computers that is responsible for the progress and which is competing with humans. We don't have that, but people are talking as if we do." What we actually have achieved is the ability to use large datasets to identify patterns – impressive but far more limited than general intelligence. Yet books with titles like The Age of AI tell us we're entering "a new epoch" where AI might lead to uncontrollable Armageddon. Other voices promise AI will usher in an age of unprecedented abundance. This polarized discourse leaves little room for nuanced understanding. This hype contrasts sharply with the reality of innovation in most sectors. While computing power has indeed followed an exponential growth curve for decades – with microprocessors becoming roughly 10 million times more powerful over fifty years – most other technologies advance much more slowly. During the first two decades of the 21st century, for instance, Asian rice yields increased by just 1% annually. The efficiency of steam turbines that generate most electricity improved by about 1.5% per year over the past century. Battery energy density has grown at only about 2% annually for fifty years. Even solar panel costs, often cited as following an exponential decline, have shown slowing improvement rates as module prices become a smaller portion of total system costs. A detailed study of innovation across American industries spanning nearly two centuries (1840-2010) confirms this pattern. Breakthrough patents in furniture, textiles, transportation equipment, machinery, metals, wood, paper, printing, and construction all peaked before 1900. Mining, petroleum, electrical equipment, plastics, and rubber had their innovative waves peak before 1950. Only agriculture/food, medical equipment, and computers/electronics have seen innovation peaks after 1970. This evidence directly contradicts claims about ever-accelerating rates of innovation across all fields. Perhaps most revealing is a thought experiment: imagine our world without the post-1971 microprocessor revolution – without personal computers, smartphones, or social media. We would still have high-yielding crops, efficient jet engines, large container ships, growing megacities, satellites, antibiotics, and vaccines. A high-energy, high-quality-of-life civilization doesn't fundamentally depend on post-1971 electronics. Conversely, imagine today's electronics-based world without large-scale electricity generation, high-yielding agriculture, internal combustion engines, or mass production of steel and plastics. Such a world is impossible because the fundamental inventions enabling modern civilization largely emerged between 1867 and 1914, with the 1880s being particularly fruitful. The mistaken belief in universal exponential innovation stems from confusing the exceptional growth in computing with the norm in other fields. This misconception leads to unrealistic expectations about how quickly we can solve complex problems like climate change, food security, or energy transition. A more pragmatic approach would recognize that important innovations often advance incrementally over decades rather than through sudden revolutionary breakthroughs, and would direct resources accordingly.

Chapter 6: Rethinking Progress: What We Actually Need

When we look beyond the hype and exaggeration surrounding technological innovation, a more nuanced question emerges: what inventions do we actually need most? Rather than focusing on futuristic visions or seemingly revolutionary breakthroughs, perhaps we should prioritize innovations that address our most pressing challenges – improving human wellbeing while reducing environmental impacts. This means directing our creative energies toward solving fundamental problems in food, water, energy, and materials while closing the enormous gaps between the world's affluent and impoverished populations. The history of cancer treatment provides instructive lessons about realistic approaches to complex problems. When the "war on cancer" was launched in 1971, some compared it to the Moon landing and expected similar swift success. Yet despite billions in research funding, progress proved much slower and more uneven than anticipated. Between 1991 and 2019, the U.S. age-adjusted cancer death rate declined by 27%, with significant advances in some cancers but modest improvements in others. This progress came not through a single breakthrough but through thousands of incremental advances in basic science, early detection, and targeted treatments. Cancer remains the second leading cause of death in America, but the steady improvement in outcomes demonstrates how persistent, multifaceted efforts can yield substantial benefits even without revolutionary shortcuts. Global decarbonization represents a similarly complex challenge that cannot be solved through wishful thinking. In 2021, world leaders set ambitious targets to cut carbon emissions by 45% by 2030 relative to 2010 levels. Yet achieving this would require unprecedented transformation across all sectors at a pace far exceeding historical precedents. Consider that in 2019, the world produced 1.28 billion tons of pig iron in blast furnaces using metallurgical coal. There is currently not a single commercial steelmaking plant using zero-carbon hydrogen reduction of iron ore. Similarly, of 1.4 billion vehicles on roads worldwide, fewer than 1.2% are electric. Meeting the 2030 target would require replacing over 560 million vehicles with electric models in just nine years – a virtually impossible task. The reality of decarbonization illustrates broader principles about technological change. First, basic understanding must precede specific applications – we cannot simply wish new technologies into existence. Second, critical variables may get worse before they get better, as when building wind turbines requires carbon-intensive materials in the short term. Third, setting arbitrary timeline targets often leads to disappointment. Fourth, gains in one area may be partially negated by developments elsewhere. These lessons apply across many complex challenges we face. A more realistic approach would focus on extending proven solutions while pursuing targeted innovations. Nearly one billion people remain undernourished worldwide, another billion lack electricity, and over three billion subsist at energy consumption levels comparable to mid-19th century Europe. Meeting these basic needs doesn't necessarily require spectacular breakthroughs, but rather determined diffusion of existing technologies at lower costs. Similarly, addressing antibiotic resistance or improving education outcomes may depend more on changing practices than on inventing entirely new approaches. This doesn't mean abandoning the pursuit of innovation – far from it. We absolutely need advances in areas ranging from carbon-free energy and higher-efficiency agriculture to better water treatment and medical technologies. But we should recognize that most meaningful progress comes through steady, incremental improvements rather than revolutionary leaps, and that deploying existing solutions more widely often yields greater immediate benefits than waiting for perfect technologies. Perhaps the most important insight from examining the history of inventions – their unexpected consequences, unfulfilled promises, and persistent elusiveness – is the need for humility about technological progress. Innovation rarely follows the neat, accelerating trajectories promised by enthusiasts. Instead, it proceeds unevenly, with setbacks, diversions, and unforeseen complications. By tempering our expectations with this historical perspective, we can make wiser choices about which technologies to pursue, how to implement them, and how to balance innovation with broader social and environmental goals.

Summary

The story of human innovation reveals a fascinating pattern that contradicts our common narrative of ever-accelerating, infallible technological progress. Throughout history, we've witnessed widely embraced inventions like leaded gasoline, DDT, and CFCs create unexpected long-term harms. We've seen technologies like airships and supersonic flight fail to fulfill their promise of market dominance despite initial enthusiasm. And we continue waiting for breakthroughs in vacuum tube transportation, nitrogen-fixing cereals, and nuclear fusion that perpetually remain just beyond our grasp. This historical record doesn't suggest we should abandon technological optimism, but rather that we should approach innovation with greater humility and realism. The most valuable lesson from this exploration is the recognition that technological development is neither inevitable nor uniformly beneficial. Real progress often comes not through spectacular breakthroughs but through steady improvement and thoughtful implementation. As we face pressing global challenges like climate change, food security, and resource depletion, we would do well to balance our pursuit of revolutionary innovations with more pragmatic approaches. This means prioritizing technologies that address fundamental human needs, distributing existing solutions more widely, and carefully evaluating potential long-term consequences of new technologies before widespread adoption. By understanding the complex patterns of invention's successes and failures throughout history, we can make wiser choices about which technologies to pursue and how to harness innovation for genuine human flourishing.

About Author

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Vaclav Smil

Vaclav Smil Ph.D. (Geography, College of Earth and Mineral Sciences of Pennsylvania State University, 1971; RNDr., Charles University, Prague, 1965), is Distinguished Professor Emeritus at the University of Manitoba. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, and in 2010 was named by Foreign Policy as one of the Top 100 Global Thinkers.

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