After
another week of record-breaking clouds and rain over New England, The Boston Globe ran an
illustrated feature showing readers how to build
a replica of Noah’s Ark. The piece was done in fun, but it was hard not
to appreciate the project’s simple technological elegance. According to
available reports—the Bible—this cutting-edge technology, circa 10,000 B.C.E.,
worked beautifully.
It
got me thinking: What other lessons for modern technologists might this
best-selling (218,400 weeks, plus or minus, on best-seller list) wisdom book reveal?
(Don’t worry: We won’t be talking religion here. Like those “Bible as
Literature” courses, we’ll use the text strictly secularly. ) Two
examples stand out:
Smart
Technology: Noah’s Ark
There’s
a lot to like about this classic project: clear problem statement (global
annihilation), scoped right (300 cubits by 50 cubits), architected
smartly (nice solid frame), sourced smartly (locally available gopher wood and
pitch) and completed on time (before first rains). History provides no budget
details, but it’s safe to assume Noah pretty much had a blank check. He and his
clan—heck, all of humanity AND animality—survived the flood. So we can deduce there were no
egregious cost overruns.
Moreover,
the ark performed as expected, nicely weathering 150 days of rugged testing.
The built-in wireless communication device (a dove) performed perfectly. The
project’s success established humans as credible technologists and opened the
door to thousands of follow-on ventures.
Dumb
Technology: The Tower of Babel
Unfortunately,
many of Noah’s best practices for smart technology deployment apparently were
quickly forgotten. As a post-flood follow-on initiative, the ancient Tower of Babel
mega-project in metro Babylon (now Iraq) probably seemed like a cool idea.
"Then they said, 'Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower with
its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise we
shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth'" (Genesis
11:4).
Though
the historical record doesn't clearly say, it's a good bet this was multicontractor
government pork of, well, biblical proportions. The problems are numerous:
First off, the project involved everyone in the world. I don't care how
ruthless a tyrant you are, that's just too many people to manage well. Second,
the scope was waaaay too big. A stone tower 5,433 cubits and two palms (roughly
1.55 miles)? I'm thinking a phased approach, topping out at, say, 2,000 cubits,
would have done the job. Apparently the concept of "proof of concept"
had not been invented yet. And I don't even want to guess how many camels were
needed to build out an adequate supply chain.
But
it turns out the biggest problem was more foundational. Not the actual
foundation, but the project justification. This is a project that never should
have been funded in the first place. The reason? Look back at that mission
statement above. The main motivation was to a) boost their own reputations, b)
keep the group together and c) use technology to do a power play on the
Almighty, who clearly was not onboard.
Was
anybody truly surprised when the whole thing collapsed in a mess of babbling
builders, unable to communicate? And is it any surprise that the name of the
sponsoring king, Nimrod, has become synonymous with “doofus”?
Today’s
Timeless Lesson
The
critical success factor couldn’t be clearer: The Ark initiative had
backing (and its genesis) with top management. The Tower of Babel didn’t.
More
than we care to admit, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Avoid smiting: Pursue nothing without the blessings of your Big Boss.
