Late in 1946, a group of engineers from more than two dozen nations gathered in London. It wasn’t the easiest of times or places to hold a conference. “All the hotels were very good, but very short of supplies,” recalled Willy Kuert, a Swiss delegate. But he understood the difficulties. As long as you focused on the quality of the food rather than the quantity, there was no cause for complaint.1
Kuert and his colleagues had a plan: they wanted to establish a new organization that would agree on international standards. Even amid the wreckage of the war, the big tension was between those who measured with inches and those who measured with centimeters. “We didn’t talk about it,” said Kuert. “We would have to live with it.” Despite that tension, it was a friendly atmosphere—people liked one another and wanted to get things done. And in due course, the conference reached an agreement: the establishment of the International Organization for Standardization, or ISO.
The ISO, of course, sets standards. Standards for nuts and bolts, for pipes, for ball bearings, for shipping containers, and for solar panels. Some of these standards are touchy-feely (standards for sustainable development) and some are cutting-edge (standards for hydrogen-refueling stations). But for old ISO hands, it’s the humble stuff that counts: getting the UK to accept international standards on screw threads is still remembered as one of the ISO’s great achievements. Alas, the ISO hasn’t quite managed to standardize standard-setting bodies; it must instead rub along with the International Electrotechnical Commission and the International Telecommunication Union, and no doubt many more.
It’s easy to chuckle at the idea of international standards for nuts and bolts—but then again, non-standardized nuts and bolts wouldn’t be funny at all. From food labels that everyone understands to cars that start when we turn the key no matter where they’re produced, from cell phones that can call other cell phones to power plugs that fit into power sockets, our modern economy is built on standardization. Not all standards are global—an American power plug won’t fit a European power socket—but standards work better when more widely accepted. There’s no glory in standardized ball bearings, but a smoothly functioning economy runs upon such things in both a metaphorical and a literal sense.
Many key inventions work only as part of a broader system. That system may be one of pure engineering standards—as with a cell phone. But it may also be a more human system. For example, paper money has no intrinsic value; it works only if people expect other people to accept the paper as payment. And an invention such as the elevator works much better when combined with other technologies: reinforced concrete to build skyscrapers; air-conditioning to keep them cool; and public transport to deliver people to dense business districts.
But let’s start with one of the most important inventions in human history, one that began to realize its potential only when all kinds of systems were adapted to fit around it.