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“Heights by great men reached and kept were not obtained by sudden flight but, while their companions slept, they were toiling upward in the night.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“And which one of us wouldn’t soar if God had thought there was merit in the idea? So, when we see one of those great widespread pirates soaring across the grain of sea winds we thrill, and we long, and, if we are honest, we curse that we must be men every day. Why not one day a bird! There’s an idea, now, one day out of seven a pirate in the sky. What puny power a man can attain by comparison. Compare a 747 with a bird and blush!” - Roger Caras, Birds and Flight, 1971
“I know of only one bird - the parrot - that talks; and it can’t fly very high.” - Wilbur Wright
“A lot of times, people don’t know what they want until you show it to them.” - Steve Jobs
Image courtesy of A. J. French
If you could have any superpower - any one at all - which would you choose?
Super-stength? Teleportation? Invulnerability? Telepathic powers?
While some folk - mainly men, granted - like the idea of invisibility (for the obvious reasons), most people when asked this question, at least in my experience, pick the power of flight.
There’s something about flying that appeals to all of us on some basic, subconscious level. The modern age of aviation began as far back as 1783, when the Montgolfier brothers succeeded in building a machine that allowed humans, essentially, to fly.
They were smart about it, too. Early demonstrations of the Montgolfière, a hot-air balloon, featured a duck, a rooster and a sheep as the crew. (The sheep, incidentally, was called Montauciel, which translates as ‘climb to the sky’).
And, on November 21, 1783, who was on board during the first-ever manned flight? Not the Montgolfier brothers themselves, no. That would have been far too risky for men of such magnitude. Instead, they sent up Pilâtre de Rozier, a 26-year-old physician, and an army office, the marquis d’Arlandes (both volunteered). Neither of these men have lived on in the public consciousness, though, possibly to their chagrin. Instead, the Montgolfiers themselves are generally credited as being the pioneers of aviation. We used to even sing about them at school.
Following their success, it was some 120 years before the Wright brothers built what is considered to be the first controlled heavier-than-air aircraft, launching the Wright Flyer on December 17, 1903. It was piloted by Orville Wright himself.
Sixty years later, on April 12, 1963, the world collectively marvelled when astronaut Yuri Gagarin undertook the first human spaceflight, making one full orbit around the Earth aboard the Vostok 1 spacecraft.
(There is some conspirational debate that suggests that Gagarin was only the first human to survive space travel, but I’ll leave that discourse to others. It is interesting to note, however, that all matters of historical achievement in flight - markedly in the examples of the Montgolfiers, Wrights and Gagarin - surround themselves in some kind of controversy over the authenticity of their claims to be the first. Flight is that big a deal to man - everybody wants a piece of it, but more importantly, everybody wants to not only have the first slice, but to say they had it.)
What separates Gagarin’s monumental achievement from that of the Wrights or Montgolfiers? His lack of participation in the creation of the craft. The Montgolfier’s designed and built their hot-air balloon (or, at least, instructed some hired help on what to put where). The Wright brothers built and flew their own planes.
Gagarin, however, played no part in either the design or manufacture of the Vostok 1. In direct contrast to the Montgolfier brothers, who also abstained from flying their own balloons but were made famous by them, and to the Wrights, it is Gagarin that we remember and not the numerous scientists, engineers and dogsbodies that collectively contributed their various minds, talents and bodies to the space program of the Soviet Union.
This advancement in who gets the credit is entirely commonplace in the modern world. Steve Jobs is widely regarded as the creator of most of Apple’s products - the winners like the Apple II, Macbook, iPod and iPhone, as well as the less-successful Lisa and Apple TV - but what is his actual contribution to the manufacture of these items? It’s fair to say that whilst Jobs is somewhat notorious
But it’s also equally true that without Steve Jobs, we’d likely never have heard of Apple, Inc, either, an organisation that is not only recognised as the best company in the world, but currently commands a market value of some $158 billion (roughly four times that of Dell).
The skills that Jobs has in abundance - an eye for design and asthetics (both in terms of the final product and advertising), charisma, sales, aggressive focus, as well as a talent for seeing the talent in others - have made him an iconic figure. These abilities and skills have separated him from the pack. But it’s fair to say that while Jobs brings assets to the table that have allowed Apple, and its products, to thrive (even dominate), he is merely the figurehead of an organisation that has thousands of employees, many of whom are absolutely vital to the success of each of those products. Jobs needs his team, and his team needs Jobs. It’s a powerful combination, one that has allowed Jobs - and many of his team - to fly. At least figuratively.
But what of real flight? Oh, how it would be - how it would feel - to soar the sky amongst the birds. “When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius; lift up thy head!” wrote William Blake in The Marriage Of Heaven And Hell. Truly, to experience real and true flight would be a wondrous experience.
But it seems so impossible. Out of reach. The futile wishes of dreamers and poets. To fly? Unaided? An absurd concept. Is it not?
It was earlier today when I found myself contemplating such a notion. Granted, the idea that one might be able to fly is a talent that is far beyond the reach of man. Aiming high, even aiming for the stars, is a concept that can have some merit, but there is a very thin line between being positive and being unrealistic.
So flying amongst the birds is out. But what if we broke it down into something more manageable? Flying feels like it’s a bit too much, so what if we decided to just try and do something else, instead? What if we just tried to levitate? And what if we broke that down, too?
What if we just tried to levitate one inch?
In and of itself, the ability to levitate one’s self clear off the ground - and I mean actual levitation here, not jumping - is fundamentally useless. There is not an awful lot that one could accomplish with that talent. Assuming you could levitate and move - kind of like low-level flying - you could adopt an attitude of ‘why walk, when you can levitate?’, and that would be kind of cool, but pretty soon you’d be doing it 24/7, never walk anywhere, put on loads of weight, and probably lose the ability to levitate at all. I mean, let’s not get crazy here - gravity is a cruel mistress.
I tell you what, though - as useless as a one-inch levitation might be, if you could do that you would very quickly accumulate enormous wealth. We’re talking tens, probably hundreds of billions of dollars of income in no time at all.
Why? Because you’d not only have an ability that was completely unique, both to you and to all of mankind, but it would be a thing that was so wondrous, so completely amazing that, despite the blatant limitations that would be revealed under even the most basic analysis, the world and its children would come out to see you in their millions.
David Blaine built his entire career around the illusion that he could levitate. He even showed you how he did it. It didn’t matter. People wanted more. (At least, right up until he started locking himself in a Plexiglas case above the River Thames.)
The differences between Blaine and Steve Jobs are vast and numerous, but essentially both are selling you a dream. Blaine, through his magic, and notably his levitation trick (which is still surprisingly effective, even to this day). People love a good magic trick, and I imagine always will.
Jobs has sold both himself, as a kind of new-age, iconoclastic manager, but he has also sold some magic with his products - compare the attention and detail that is put into everything that Apple releases (the packaging is arguably as important as what is inside) with that of their competitors. Through this design, which appears effortless but is anything but, Apple has made the concept of cool basically their own. By purchasing an Apple product, you can have some of that cool. Jobs is selling the dream of coolness. Who doesn’t want to be cool?
Jobs is right about something else, too. People really don’t know what they want. I don’t know what I want - and then I see it, and it’s all I want.
If you can figure out what that is - be it a real, tangible product, a concept or dream, or even the illusion of such - and it’s something that appeals to people from all over the world, then you’re set. For life. No matter what else you do, most people are going to be happy with what you have done.
And you only had to levitate one inch.
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