Techno-Optimism and the Disaster in the Gulf

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The Deepwater Horizon, which exploded in the Gulf of Mexico three months ago, was one of the world’s most advanced offshore oil platforms. In an industry that defines “deep” as more than 600 feet below the surface, the Deepwater Horizon reached down 5,000 feet through the waters of the Gulf. Using a highly sophisticated “long string” design, by which a single piece of pipe goes through the ocean floor into the subsurface reservoir, the rig drilled the deepest oil well in history, to a depth of more than 35,000 feet below sea level.

Ultra-deepwater oil drilling requires an array of specialized technology, including robotic vehicles for maintenance and repairs, and complex computer simulations to test reliability. From the seafloor to the reservoir, the pipe itself is surrounded by custom-designed, progressively narrower cement casings. If oil and gas escape between the pipe and the casings, it is very dangerous, so the design also includes a sophisticated, computer-controlled shut-off valve, called (as everyone now knows) a “blowout preventer.” This is the critical element that failed in April. As of this writing, we still don’t know why.

I must confess that even now, despite my despair over the endlessly replayed images of oil-soaked birds and tar-covered sands, I am still impressed by the ambition and intricacy of the Deepwater Horizon. It was an amazing feat of engineering, a prime example of how the free market drives technological innovation. The Deepwater Horizon pushed every limit, on the assumption that these limits, like previous ones, would fall to our know-how. It is the perfect expression of “techno-optimism,” a deeply American attitude that is shared, to some extent, by the entire developed world.

Techno-optimism is more than simple imprudence. It is a belief that the scientific and technological capabilities of our society are self-correcting — that all technological failures will eventually be offset and overcome by new technologies. It is the dogma of inevitable progress, and it reflects an almost irrational lack of humility about the powers at our disposal.   

The natural home of techno-optimism is the marketplace, and it is there that it does the most good. Consumers are enthusiastic for new technology, and entrepreneurs devote their creative energies to meeting the demand. The private sector is the place for making wagers on every sort of proposed innovation, provided that the wider risks are limited and the losses fall only on the firms and individuals making the bet. Investors put their own fortunes at stake, and if they succeed, the benefits accrue to everyone.

New technologies often create a need for new infrastructure, and that's where government comes in. The private invention of the car resulted in the building of public roads and highways. And the private invention of the telephone has resulted in the ongoing development of an elaborate system of cable, fiber, and wireless communication, designed and implemented with significant government support. Such infrastructure is an obvious public good, like national defense.

The danger lies in the spread of techno-optimism from the private sector to the public sector. A familiar example is the long-standing desire of politicians to have government “pick winners” in one or another emerging technology that addresses a public need. Thirty years ago, when I did my doctoral research on new battery systems, the world was promised that renewable energy sources to replace fossil fuels were just around the corner, and governments poured money into various seemingly promising schemes. Progress has been made, but it has fallen short of the promises, and it has been driven largely by market forces. Examples abound of big bets made by governments on revolutionary new technologies that never blossomed, from supersonic commercial flights in Europe to artificial intelligence in Japan.

Worse, techno-optimism can lead government to let down its guard in effectively regulating the risky behavior of private industry. In the case of the BP oil spill, regulators were too quick to accept the safety assurances of the Deepwater Horizon's engineers.

Techno-optimism also inclines public officials to count on new technologies to solve our problems, rather than to focus on safeguards for dealing with the hazards of existing technology. Investing public R&D dollars in oil-spill prevention and remediation is simply less sexy than providing subsidies for unproven alternative-energy schemes. The last time government R&D concentrated on oil-spill containment was after the Exxon Valdez left a trail of devastation in Prince William Sound back in 1989. Today, interest has spiked again, at least for now.

Techno-optimism has deep roots in our culture, extending all the way back to the Enlightenment. It is based on the seemingly never-ending powers of science and technology. More profoundly, it is a substitute of sorts for traditional beliefs in God and an afterlife. As these beliefs have receded, techno-optimism has become a balm, soothing the anxieties of the secular-scientific outlook and allowing us to forget our own finitude.

A healthy society should be capable of facing with humility its capacity for both success and failure. Perhaps this time the disastrous consequences of our techno-optimism will teach us the right lessons. Enterprise and technological prowess provide us with comfort and material abundance, and for that we should be grateful. But there is no escaping our limits and the dangers of our hubris.

Susan Hackwood is executive director of the California Council on Science and Technology and a professor of electrical engineering at the University of California, Riverside. She served as department head of Device Robotics Technology Research at AT&T Bell Labs.