Every time a new technology is born, the same optimistic speech appears: this time, everyone will be able to create what used to be limited to a few. It sounds good. It also sounds familiar. But it’s almost never true.
Think of literacy. Efforts to teach reading and writing weren’t aimed at turning everyone into writers, though sometimes we talk as if that were the natural outcome. Learning to write didn’t turn the butcher shop into a novel factory; it made the butcher more capable of running his business, writing prices, keeping inventory, understanding regulations. The tool enables, yes, but it doesn’t redefine vocations.
The same thing happened with personal cameras. When everyone could have one, it was said the world would become a giant gallery of great photographers. It didn’t. Then came digital cameras, then phones with amazing cameras, and still, nothing changed: those who love photography do more of it, with better tools; those who don’t, use them functionally. The courier takes proof of delivery; the doctor documents a case; the rest of us record what we need. Technology becomes a transient medium for what we already are.
The same with computers. There was the illusion that if everyone had one at home, everyone would be become a programmer, an artist, a writer. But the ones who did were those who wanted to and already did that. Accountants didn’t become software engineers; they used Excel and Lotus for their craft. Most people use computers as vehicles, not destinations: lawyers to write, civil engineers for plans, musicians to produce.
The Apollo Guidance Computer had about 2 KB of RAM and 32 KB of magnetic core program memory, processing at roughly 0.043 MHz. You couldn’t even start a modern microwave with that, yes, but it took humans to the Moon. It wasn’t “little technology”; it was focused technology, designed and operated by professionals who knew exactly what they wanted to achieve.
And that’s the point: democratization doesn’t turn the masses into professionals of the tool. It turns the tool into a transactional one. We use it for what we already do and want to do. Passion, interest, calling, if you want to call it that, can’t be manufactured by a new button.
Today, everything is AI, and the speech repeats. “We won’t need lawyers: ChatGPT writes briefs.” “We won’t need programmers: AI generates code.” “We won’t need doctors: AI diagnoses better.” Reality is again more sober: people use AI to make their work easier, not to change professions. The accountant doesn’t become a writer because writing became easier with a chatbot. They don’t want to be a writer. The tool empowers those who already want to create and accelerates those who already know where they’re going.
I’m not saying revolutions don’t happen. They do, and a few have truly changed how we live. But we tend to overestimate the immediate and universal impact of each new tool. Most end up being useful, transversal, and temporary, a means to do what we already do, only better.
If you care about the professional layer, there’s one idea worth remembering: true craft lives in that final 10% where tools alone no longer suffice. I won’t dwell on it here, I wrote about it in another post, but it’s the realm of judgment, ethics, responsibility, taste, standards, and tough decisions. That’s still human territory.
So what does technological democratization do? It amplifies. Those who want it. Those willing to pay the price of mastery. And for everyone else, it provides a handy shortcut for daily life. Nothing wrong with that, on the contrary, it’s the mark of mature technology.
The important thing is not to romanticize. Just because something becomes accessible doesn’t mean everyone will become an expert at it. It means we’ll have better means to do what we already chose to be. And, at least from my perspective, the human part will remain the most important in any development. The tool does nothing on its own. The person behind it does, even when we talk about artificial intelligence.
