The way Moore's Law occurs in computing is really unprecedented

Host: The city hummed beneath a canopy of neon and rain. Screens glowed in every window, billboards pulsed with digital color, and the air itself vibrated with the buzz of machines that never slept.
In a corner café overlooking a floodlit avenue, Jack sat by the glass, a tablet in his hand, his grey eyes reflected in the blue glow of its screen. Across from him, Jeeny watched the steam rise from her cup, her hair falling over her face like a curtain between her and the machine-lit world outside.

The rain tapped the windowpane, as if asking to join their silence.

Jeeny: “Nathan Myhrvold once said that if the Boeing 747 obeyed Moore’s Law, it would travel a million miles an hour and a ticket to New York would cost five dollars.”
(She smiled faintly.) “Can you imagine that, Jack? A world where progress moves that fast?”

Jack: (without looking up) “I can imagine it. I just don’t believe it’s a good thing.”

Host: The sound of typing from a nearby table merged with the rain, a syncopated rhythm of human and machine.

Jeeny: “You really think progress is a bad thing? That’s like blaming the sun for rising too fast.”

Jack: (finally glancing up) “No, Jeeny. I’m blaming the people who think they can outrun the sun. Moore’s Law — doubling of transistors, halving of costs, infinite speed — it’s not just a law of silicon. It’s a myth we’ve turned into religion. We worship it, and we forget what it means to be human.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s what reminds us. We created it, Jack — our curiosity, our imagination, our need to build. Isn’t that the most human thing of all?”

Host: The lights from the street flashed across their faces, illuminating them in shifting bands of blue, gold, and red. Outside, drones buzzed like mechanical fireflies, their lights reflected in the rain puddles.

Jack: “You call it human — I call it addiction. Every year, we double our power, but we halve our attention. We compress our machines, but expand our emptiness. We build faster than we understand. Tell me, Jeeny — what’s the point of a million-mile-an-hour jet if no one remembers why they wanted to fly in the first place?”

Jeeny: “Maybe speed is part of our search, Jack. The Boeing 747 could never change the human heart, but a computer chip can map the brain, heal disease, connect a child in Nairobi to a teacher in Tokyo. Isn’t that the miracle of Moore’s Law — not just faster machines, but closer souls?”

Jack: “Closer? We’re more connected than ever, and yet no one feels seen. We live in a world where machines speak more than humans do. You call it a miracle, I call it a quiet apocalypse.”

Host: The wind rushed down the street, scattering paper cups and holographic ads that flickered in the wet air. A siren wailed in the distance, its sound stretching like metal tearing.

Jeeny: “You always see the collapse, Jack, never the creation. Every revolution in history has scared people like you — the printing press, the steam engine, the Internet. But it’s the fear that makes us hesitate, and hesitation is what kills progress.”

Jack: “And progress is what kills reflection. The printing press gave us Shakespeare — and it also spread propaganda. The Internet gave us knowledge — and it also amplified lies. You talk about revolution as if it’s pure. But Moore’s Law isn’t a moral force, Jeeny. It’s just momentum — and momentum doesn’t care who it crushes.”

Jeeny: (leaning forward) “But momentum is life, Jack! You can’t freeze it. You can only guide it. The same law that makes a processor faster also powers a pacemaker. The same algorithm that spies on us can save us. The machine is neutral — it’s what we choose to do with it that matters.”

Host: A pause. The rain had softened, but the silence inside the café had grown dense, thick with unspoken thoughts. Jack’s fingers tapped on the table, an unconscious rhythm — like the ticking of an old clock trying to compete with the hum of modern time.

Jack: “You still believe we’re in control, don’t you? That we can guide it. But look around — AI writes our stories, predicts our desires, decides our fates. We’ve created a machine that learns faster than we do, and we still pretend we’re the masters.”

Jeeny: “Maybe we’re not the masters, Jack. Maybe we’re the gardeners. You don’t control a tree, but you nurture it. And when it grows, you stand in its shade — and thank it for the fruit.”

Jack: “What if the tree decides it doesn’t need us anymore?”

Jeeny: (smiling sadly) “Then we’ll learn from it — the way a parent learns from a child who outgrows them.”

Host: The candlelight wavered, casting long shadows on the wall — human and machine, flesh and circuit, blurred together.

Jack: “You sound like one of those futurists who think technology is our salvation. But what about the human cost? Jobs disappearing, attention fragmenting, truth drowning in noise. Moore’s Law isn’t evolution, Jeeny — it’s acceleration without direction.”

Jeeny: “But acceleration is the direction. It forces us to adapt, to grow. History has always been a race between invention and understanding. We stumble, yes — but we also learn. You think the future is inhuman, but maybe it’s just expanding what it means to be human.”

Jack: “Or erasing it.”

Jeeny: “No — evolving it.”

Host: The debate hung in the air like smoke, neither of them willing to yield. Outside, a driverless cab whispered down the street, its headlights slicing through the mist.

Jack: “Tell me something, Jeeny. If a machine could feel, could it suffer? Could it dream?”

Jeeny: “Maybe one day it could. But even if it does, that only proves we’ve taught it the most human thing of all — the yearning to become more than it is.”

Jack: “You call that progress. I call it hubris.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe hubris is just hope wearing metal skin.”

Host: The rain stopped. Steam rose from the streets like breath from the city’s lungs. Jack leaned back, his eyes tired, but softer now.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Moore’s Law isn’t just about speed. Maybe it’s about scale — how small we can make a machine, and how large we can dream.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not just transistors that double — it’s our possibility. Every generation inherits a machine and asks, ‘What more can we become?’”

Host: Light from the street glimmered on their faces, and for the first time, they smiled — not out of agreement, but out of understanding.

Jack: “Still… I can’t help but miss the slowness, Jeeny. The weight of letters, the smell of books, the sound of a mechanical clock — when time used to belong to us.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s what we must save, Jack — not the speed, but the soul. The machine may double its power, but we must double our kindness.”

Host: A quiet settled, like a truce. The café emptied, and the lights dimmed. Outside, a screen flickered, showing a rocket launch, its fire piercing the clouds — a tiny miracle born of code and courage.

Jack: (murmuring) “A million miles an hour… five dollars a ticket… and still, it costs us our hearts.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Then maybe our hearts are the only thing that can keep up.”

Host: The screen faded to black, the rain whispered against the windows, and in the silence that followed, the world seemed to pause — for just a moment — between what it was and what it could become.
And as Jack and Jeeny walked into the wet night, their reflections merged with the neon, flesh and light, past and future, human and machine, bound in one unbroken pulse.