Tag Archives: crowdsourcing

#17: Crowdsourcing

“No matter who you are, most of the smartest people work for someone else,” quips Bill Joy, a Sun Microsystems co-founder. This declaration was articulated as a paean to the wisdom of crowds, the subject of Jeff Howe’s 2008 book, Crowdsourcing: Why the Power of the Crowd is Driving the Future of Business. Why limit yourself to a small, expensive subset of the available talent, the argument goes, when a global network of freelancers will gladly do the job better for little or free?

Howe’s enthusiasm is very nearly unequivocal. He predicts that today’s tech-savvy youth will “help accelerate the obsolescence of such standard corporate fixtures as the management hierarchy and nine-to-five workday,” concepts he deems to be “artifacts of an earlier age when information was scarce and all decisions…trickled down from on high.” And Howe’s praise of the community as exemplified in crowdsourcing is so complete that it borders on subservience: “Yes, communities need a decider,” he concedes in his concluding chapter, but while “…you can try to guide the community…ultimately you’ll wind up following them.”

The author’s unabashedly optimistic chronicle of the ascendancy of crowdsourcing (a label he created) brings to mind a phrase once made famous by former Federal Reserve chairman Alan Greenspan: “irrational exuberance.” Jeff Howe’s full-fledged advocacy for the crowd’s potential is equally as overreaching as Jaron Lanier’s dire warnings on the same topic. In You Are Not a Gadget, Lanier writes ominously, “We [have]…entered a persistent somnolence, and I have come to believe that we will only escape it when we kill the hive.”

Both authors fail to account for some basic rules of human nature. Lanier laments that “when [digital developers] design an internet service that is edited by a vast anonymous crowd, they are suggesting that a random crowd of humans is an organism with a legitimate point of view.” To which Howe would undoubtedly respond, Damn right. In fact, he explicitly states that “a central principle animating crowdsourcing is that the groups contain more knowledge than individuals.”

Howe and Lanier are each right in their own ways. Crowdsourcing does indeed represent an entirely new model of work, one that transcends business and could upend a sizable chunk of existing corporate practices. Many of Lanier’s fears, while understandable, are not feasible now or in virtually any other conceivable time horizon. And yet he is right that crowdsourcing will never replace the value of specialization. While Howe correctly lauds the democratization of decision-making — for example, aspiring filmmakers are no longer beholden to studio executives’ every whim — his populist celebration of online egalitarianism is not bounded by realistically described limitations. “The crowd possesses a wide array of talents,” Howe writes, “and some have the kind of scientific talent and expertise that used to exist only in rarefied academic environments.”

The key word here is “some.” Howe notes Sturgeon’s Law (“90 percent of everything is crap”) and briefly admits that this may present an inaccurate portrayal of reality: “a number of the people I talked to for this book thought that was a lowball estimate.” Even for the ten or fewer percent that actually do provide reasonably intelligent contributions to the marketplace of ideas, much will be repetitive or non-cumulative. A thousand people with a hobbyist’s interest in chemistry may all eagerly contribute to a forum on noble gases, but it hardly follows that they will achieve any real breakthrough that eludes far more studied experts in the field.

Ultimately, it is not so much the anecdotes that undercut Howe’s thesis, nor is it his own repetition (which, in one particularly egregious case, consisted of several sentences copied wholesale from an earlier section of the book). Instead, it is his idealism that brings to mind countless earlier predictions of technology’s ability to transform human nature, prophesies that have more often than not been proved demonstrably untrue. It remains to be seen what will become of crowdsourcing; will it go the way of the flying cars that American prognosticators naively envisioned over half a century ago? This seems unlikely, and yet so does the author’s vision of a crowdsourcing revolution in business. The truth will likely lie somewhere in the middle, lodged comfortably between Jeff Howe’s crowd-fueled utopia and Jaron Lanier’s “hive mind” hell.

#12: You Are Not a Gadget

“The words in this book are written for people, not computers.” So declares Jaron Lanier, in the preface to his self-described “manifesto” on the impending doom of Web 2.0 and its digital companions. In You Are Not a Gadget: A Manifesto, Lanier confronts the brooding technological nightmare with revolutionary fervor, decrying with gusto the horrifying destructive potential of…of…of Wikipedia. In what amounts to an elegy for the creative spirit, Lanier warns against the dangers inherent to the “hive mind” by lashing out against humanity’s self-imposed subjugation to technology.

Let’s be fair here. Lanier seems like a smart enough guy, even if his choice of hairstyle — he appears on the book’s flap in a thinker’s pose, with his dreadlocks running past chest level and on to the great beyond — is more suited to an aspiring grunge artist than an Internet visionary. Fittingly, then, he actually enjoys playing the oud and even frequents an online forum that serves as a virtual community for the instrument’s fan base. Of the forum, he says, “There’s a bit of a feeling of paradise about it. You can feel each participant’s passion for the instrument, and we help one another become more intense.”

Indeed, Lanier’s intensity — his passion for rescuing the individual voices from the clutches of impersonal cyberspace — is to be admired, even if the object of his rigor is perplexing. His thesis, that the digital era’s explosion has created ways of thinking about and interacting with technology that portend disaster down the road, is not particularly convincing. And while he could never be accused of boring his readers, one could easily charge him with alarmism.

The author ably explains the dangers of “lock-in,” the process in which an arbitrary digital convention — organizing computer data into virtual files and folders, using MIDI as the industry standard for digital music representation, etc. — becomes so ingrained in culture and thought that it is nearly impossible to reverse. What Lanier never quite masters, however, is just why certain accepted standards, most notably the open-source movement and crowd-sourcing, are so malignant. Technology’s purpose, he lectures, is to adapt to and serve human beings; he worries that the sudden and widespread advent of the Internet has given rise to the opposite being the case, as we have now become willingly subservient to machines, adapting to their whimsies instead of demanding tools that do not require a degradation of human intelligence.

It is in this vein that he alludes to Wikipedia, a site he admits to using himself but whose implicit founding principle — the more contributors, the more closely we approach truth — he derides with vivacity. “The ‘wisdom of crowds’ effect should be thought of as a tool,” Lanier writes. “The value of a tool is in accomplishing a task. The point should never be the glorification of the tool…There’s an odd lack of curiosity about the limits of crowd wisdom.” He has a point, but not much of one. It is true, for example, that, as Lanier notes, most breakthroughs in modern technology have been delivered under the auspices of for-profit corporations (i.e. Microsoft Windows, the iPod, digital camera, etc.). And that such innovations are sorely lacking in the domain of open-sourcers is cause for reflection, although not necessarily concern.

However, what the author consistently misses (or perhaps chooses to ignore) is the innate ingenuity of human beings, regardless of their provided tools. In a section discussing the impact of the file-sharing era on musicians, Lanier writes, “If we choose to pry culture away from capitalism while the rest of life is still capitalistic, culture will become a slum.” Above all, he is concerned with our collective loss of free spirit, but he fails to notice, for example, the consistent ability of the young to bypass and defeat ever more stringent regulations by those in the business of enforcing digital rights management. First, there was Napster; after being brought low, it emerged as a legal, paid music service. File-sharing clients sprouted up one after the other, with new entrants following quickly on the heels of those brought to an end via litigation. Even Radiohead’s novel idea of giving away music for free, which Lanier claims does not “fill me with hope for the future,” is actually proof that people are continuing to exhibit an entrepreneurial spirit by forming new and inventive solutions to existing problems. These are not the products of unqualified and inexpert crowds, but the brainchildren of creative, ambitious individuals. Jaron Lanier may not be a Luddite, but his dire warnings of future doom are a bit anachronistic. I can only wonder what he’d think of the iPad.