The Fulcrum

Thinking’s hard enough without letting physics get in the way.

Every idea has three acts: creation, transmission, and action. All ideas are born in the same place, erupting from our minds: sometimes violently, without provocation and in an instant, and other times through coercion, over the course of long periods of time. An idea is nothing as long it is trapped in the bony prison of our skulls though; it must be transmitted, over nervous tissue, and out, out, out, where the third act can be performed. Because an idea thought and an idea sent is still an idea wasted if it cannot be acted upon.

Every idea has three acts: this is true in micro- and macrocosms. The idea to grab hold of my pen comes slowly, then all at once, it is transmitted to the muscles, poised and ready, down and through my left arm, and the action is carried out. The idea for a piece leaps forth, it is transmitted through my fingers into the keyboard where digital bits represent it, and the action? That’s on you, dear reader, to keep your eyes moving, left-right left-right, downward toward the bottom of your screen.

Every idea has three acts: therefore every idea can be manipulated, transformed, amplified, or extinguished in three different places. The three places were not created equally, however. We have little control over our creative process; creating an idea is a function of inputs and environment, but with so many inputs and so much within an environment – and given how little sway we have over either of these – interfering in the process is a tall order. Intervening in the third act, in action, is a difficult proposition, too. Biology has gotten very good at following orders, velocity being the main decider in whether a species thrives or becomes extinct: when given a command, a muscle’s action is immediate.

With the exposition and denoument eliminated, that leaves the crescendo as the only opportunity in which to intercede; Shakespeare would have it no other way. Here our idea is data, superflous and external as it travels from the internal representation in our minds to a concrete representation in reality. Here is where the plot thickens, the antagonist is revealed, fate intervenes.

This is where the interface goes, and this is where we have the opportunity to royally screw up, with choice and design. We often have a great deal of choice as to what we use to transmit our idea, and even more freedom in the design of that transducer. So why make it hard on ourselves? We’ve had the ability to slide a stick along glass and replicate the writing of a human hand for decades now. We’ve had the ability to wave our hands at cameras, or monitor our muscles as we contort our arms, for near as long.

So why do we insist on a keyboard and mouse? Metaphors that they are, we sometimes lose meaning of we are actually tring to accomplish. And yet, they make such great transducers because of how little effort they require. No need to pantomime dribbling and shooting a hoop to convey that I’m talking about basketball; I can hit 10 keys, my hands nearly motionary, and accomplish the same thing.

We seem to place such value in novelty in these no methods of conducting our thoughts that we forget that the whole point of an interface is to make transmission as easy and information-dense as possible. We must’ve known this at one point; if not, we’d still be pantomiming to one another, with no language to speak of. Now, instead, our new mthods of interaction ask us to amplify our intention in order to be heard in the first place. Wouldn’t it be more ideal in reverse, amplifying what we say in order for ideas to be better heard. It would seem that we’re doing it wrong and in reverse.

Is the keyboaard the best way to facilitate communication? Hardly. but it does exactly what a fulcrum should do: leverage our existing experience to make lifting the load far easier.