On Predicting the Future

Once upon a time the future used to just happen. People, I am sure, did not feel in control of things, but on the other hand they had no reason to suspect they should have had that power. Fortune-telling, after all, was the province of sorcerers, or magicians, or shamen, or gypsy women. It was a special gift—or at least a special illusion—and for most folk it was simply taken for granted that tomorrow would unfold pretty much the same way yesterday did.

The future now has become a discipline, and slightly illegitimate-sounding words have edged their way into the language, words like futurism, and futurology. Indeed, "futures studies" is an almost fully fledged field of interest with all kinds of active players, both amateur and professional, from astrologers and seers to systems analysts and computer information specialists and research institutions, including RFF. It seems that nearly everyone wants to know the shape of the future, and we are bombarded with predictions and projections, estimates and educated guesses, only some of which are in agreement.

Why this unprecedented interest in the future? Many reasons are advanced, including the knowledge of the awesome destructive potential of modern weapons, and the feeling that society is rapidly using up its available natural resources. Faced with threats like these, our minds struggle to imagine and create a different, more secure future. There is also the urge to power, to have control over the unfolding of events, both for good and ill. Perhaps above all, people are just plain curious creatures, and we now have at our beck and call unprecedented techniques and technologies to extend the range of our thinking. Perhaps more than any other generation, we have reasons to concern ourselves with the future and the tools to do so more effectively.

Yet despite our marvelous machines and the increasing sensitivity of our analyses, we often seem ill-prepared to face the future. Take a blatant recent example of forecast folly. To the best of my knowledge, no one predicted what would happen to petroleum supply and prices in 1973 and 1974, and the horrendous consequences for inflation, depression, and the world monetary system. No one foresaw that a short, Mideast war would trigger a (so far) start-lingly effective international cartel.

Actually, the reason our crystal ball is so foggy is not far to seek. There are all sorts of possible developments—political, technological, climatic, and so on—which we haven't the faintest notion how to predict, but which can profoundly alter the magnitudes which we think we can project.

Looking five to ten years ahead, let me list some developments or events with a substantial probability of occurring which could play havoc with our projections:

• Runaway inflation (as in Weimar Germany)
• A prolonged severe depression (as in the '30s)
• Devastating earthquakes in California
• War in the Middle East
• Highly unfavorable weather trends.

And I could add many others considerably less likely, but still possible; for example:

• A new ice age (descending quickly)
• Thermonuclear war
• The unexpected breakthrough to a novel, cheap. abundant energy source.

What morals are there to draw from this? To begin with, we aren't good at predicting, and aren't likely to be soon, if ever. But we have to predict somehow if we are to face the world of scarce resources sensibly, and some conclusions seem apparent:

1. Projections have their place, but we must thoroughly understand how they differ from predictions, and prevent their misuse while using them. Indeed, projections and models can actually have negative value when we ask questions of them they are incapable of answering.
2. Perhaps we should concentrate more attention on what we now regard as "unpredictable" factors, and less on the fine honing of projection models which include only the more or less predictable variables.
3. We must devise policies and strategies which recognize the great inherent uncertainties confronting us, and be capable of flexible adjustments as our errors become apparent.

Long before the Club of Rome got into the modeling act, Rousseau said that, "The ability to foresee that some things cannot be foreseen is a very necessary quality." This is so simple-sounding, so easily admitted that it almost sneaks by you, but it is terribly important: regardless of the cybernetic revolution, regardless of our increasingly sophisticated management techniques, the future always will remain veiled in mystery, always beyond reach of our total grasp. We peer at the future through the smoked glass of the present. Nevertheless, we must try to look ahead and design our policies and institutions in the light of what we think we can foresee. Our plans may not be totally correct, but not to plan at all is just plain irresponsible.

There is, I think, an American urge for answers to all our questions, for solutions to every problem that bedevils us. We tend to believe that given enough time and education and technology—and if we toss in enough money --somehow we will send voyagers to the planets or cure cancer or banish hunger. To the extent there are answers, this blend of optimism, skill, and determination will find them. Unlike many of our predecessors, however, we are coming to recognize that perhaps every question does not have an answer, no matter how hard we try; we may even come to accept the fact that people have only limited dominion. To at least sonic extent, our task for the future will not be to realize paradise, but to make what we have better, more realistic, and more harmonious . . . to manage, not solve, to cope, not answer; to understand, not conquer. Although not necessarily, this may mean lowering our sights, in a materialistic sense, but I believe the, avenues for human accomplishment have never been broader nor more open. Nor have the stakes ever been higher.