AI & Abundance

"Abundance" by Derek Thompson and Ezra Klein resurrects America's forgotten identity as a building nation.

“Abundance” will soon flow through your airpods, flood your feeds, and fill your news. The forthcoming book by Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson promises to garner substantial attention. Popularization of their work may seem inevitable. Both authors have existing, expansive platforms--Klein writes and podcasts for The New York Times; Thompson writes for The Atlantic and runs his own popular podcast. Yet, my hunch is that “Abundance” will spread for a different reason: it rediscovers a vestigial and integral part of our national character. Abundance was once “a basic condition of American life,” to quote historian David M. Potter.

Though Klein and Thompson set forth a slightly different definition of abundance than Potter, the trio identify a common set of ingredients for progress in America: courageous pursuit of specific ends that would improve the general welfare, investment in scientific and technological progress, and creation of laws, norms, and infrastructure that accelerate the spread of that progress.

Klein and Thompson refer briefly to "People of Plenty: Economic Abundance and the American Character" by Potter as a valuable contribution to their own understanding of abundance. I read Potter’s 1954 book so you don’t have to. I also wanted to learn why Klein and Thompson bothered to not only cite it but celebrate it as an important addition to the study of American abundance. More generally, I think that abundance, if accepted as the intellectual underpinning of a new political order, can assist with my own goal: ensuring the development and diffusion of AI contributes to human flourishing.

Much of Potter’s book has little to do with abundance. He spends a good chunk contesting what makes up a nation’s “character.” Is it a product of the environment? Of race? Of governance? Of culture? Is it fixed or may it evolve? It’s an interesting read but not relevant for our purposes.

With respect to abundance, Potter embraced a fairly broad understanding of the term. He fit upward mobility, economic progress, and an increase in the quantity and quality of goods and services within that single umbrella. A look back at some of his core arguments reveals the extent to which Potter saw abundance as a “basic condition” of being American.

Potter stressed that the long-trend of upward mobility in the U.S. was not a happy accident. (recall he was writing in the 1950s). The ability of generations of Americans to improve upon their initial station results from a national narrative and growth policy, per Potter. Specifically, for as long as Americans have individually and communally progressed, three key conditions have been true:

(1) the constant opening of new areas;

(2) development of new resources; and,

(3) discovery of new technological devices.

These three traits "have provided a constant succession of new fields in which the individual could advance fairly readily and have produced a steady increase in the standard of living." In short, they fostered a culture and reality of abundance--a nation in which opportunities, goods, services, and, on the whole, prosperity increase.

When these conditions are in place, Americans "use new goods, new sources of energy, new services" and, consequently, "transform our way of life more than once every generation." Potter vividly portrays this phenomenon:

[T]wo centuries ago our structural materials were wood, brick, and stone and our sources of energy were wind in the sail, water in the wheel, and the animate muscle of men and beasts. Since then, we have exploited the revolutionary possibilities of iron and steel and have advanced into an era of synthetic materials; in terms of power, the age of steam has passed its zenith, yielding to the dynamo and the internal-combustion engine, which, in turn, seem[ed] to be yielding to the jet engine and the atomic pile.

Much of the rest of the world experienced these transformations, of course. But Potter claims that the U.S. "caused change to occur faster and to proceed further . . . than in other countries, so that every generation may be said to have erected a new world[.]

A question for later: Will we--this generation of Americans--build a new world?

Potter specifies that creation of a new world is no easy feat. A new world exceeds the dreams of prior generations and fosters a specific kind of productive social, economic, and democratic churn. Perhaps channeling Jefferson, he notes, "Each generation rejects its predecessor and expects its successor to reject it." This cycle defines the American Experiment. We've shed several prior versions of America. Gone is "frontier America, rural America, the isolated America of the river steamboat and the iron horse," writes Potter. Each rejection fosters resilience and rejuvenation. Over time, we’ve increased our capacity to bring about the next stage of America.

America has been on this iterative path of improvement from its start. Following the Revolution, a spirit of abundance pervaded the young nation. In 1780, Hector St. John de Crèvecœur observed:

There is room for every body in America: has he any particular talent, or industry? he exerts it in order to procure a livelihood, and it succeeds. Is he a merchant? the avenues of trade are infinite; is he eminent in any respect? he will be employed and respected. Does he want uncultivated lands? thousands of acres present themselves, which he may purchase cheap. Whatever be his talents or inclinations, if they are moderate, he may satisfy them. I do not mean that every one who comes will grow rich in a little time; no, but he may procure an easy, decent maintenance by his industry. Instead of starving, he will be fed.; instead of being idle, he will have employment; and these are riches enough for such men as come over here.

Hyperbole? Sure. Crèvecoeur helped spread an "idealized myth" of America. But his vision of a better future in America was one shared and amplified by many others--Potter contends that "such quotations could be multiplied almost to infinity and could be projected down to the most recent moment of American history." That collective and repeated narrative explains why America has long been a place that cultivates progress--progress contingent on individuals having enough financial security and communal support to take risks in adopting new technologies and adventuring to new areas. The cumulative, tangible benefits of such a mindset are impossible to ignore.

After a recitation of statistics on daily wages, calories, and related measures of well-being, Potter brags that a review of similar statistics "would only prove repetitively that in every aspect of material plenty America possesses unprecedented riches and that these are very widely distributed among one hundred and fifty million American people." Everyone knows, he assures the reader, that Americans "have, per capita, more automobiles, more telephones, more radios, more vacuum cleaners, more electric lights, more bathtubs, more supermarkets and movie palaces and hospitals, than any other nation." Americans as of the 1950s could "afford college educations and T-bone steaks for a far higher proportion of our people" than anywhere else.

Quantity of goods, however, is just one consideration in Potter’s abundance calculus. His understanding of abundance refers to a ready supply of material items and a high standard of living, and a culture of abundance--both prongs are necessary for the realization of abundance. A nation with a deluge of natural resources may not realize the quality of life made possible by those assets if it lacks the systems, laws, and infrastructure to cultivate, develop, and diffuse the products of such assets. It is not the case that Americans simply "wandered unwittingly into a vast cornucopia whose plenty [was] accepted with moronic complacency." The Erie Canal, the transcontinental railway, the interstate highway system, the worldwide web were required to capitalize on America’s favorable natural bounty--all were the product of courage, creativity, and capital.

Take it from Potter:

The working economic assets of a society depend not only upon the supply of natural resources but also upon the effectiveness with which resources are converted into energy or productive capacity or goods and even upon the use which is made of these goods in exchange.

Conversion of resources into prosperity boils down to "the economic organization and the technological advancement of any given society." Potter omitted two factors from that list. First, whether the regulatory ecosystem incentivizes that individual and institutional action. And, second, whether there’s a ready supply of human capital--education, morals, and widespread ingenuity.

When these factors align properly, a nation will experience a "propensity to develop fundamental science, to apply science to economic ends, to accept innovations, to seek materials advance, to consume, and to have children." Potter backs this up with an example. From 1820 to 1930, America managed to increase its supply of energy by a factor of 40. Such incredible growth came about through "by the elaboration of a complex economic organization, by planning, and by toil."

Coming full circle, Potter as well as Klein and Thompson beg their readers to ask, “Will we build a new world?”

A look to states like Utah and a read of books like Abundance suggests the answer is, at least, “Not no.”

Consider a few excerpts from Utah Governor Spencer Cox’s State of the State Address:

“If there is one thing you take away from my remarks tonight,

please let it be this simple refrain: We must build.”

He continued:

Utah’s values used to be American values. For much of the 20th century, the United States led the world in infrastructure, housing, and technology. We built roads, bridges, and homes at an unprecedented pace. We harnessed our industrial might to win world wars and stop fascism. We stood as a bulwark against communism. Strong families, neighborhoods, and communities were the foundation of this era of growth.

But over the past couple of decades, a tragic gap has formed between American ideals and our actions. Negativity and inertia have replaced America’s culture of building.

We stopped building infrastructure, as a tangle of overregulation, outdated permitting processes, and entrenched NIMBYism fed by special interests and bureaucracies block the projects we desperately need.

We stopped building technology — ceding far too much of our manufacturing, industry, critical minerals, and energy production to our adversaries.

And, worst of all, we stopped building resilient people. For decades, families have been under attack. The mental and physical health of our teens is threatened daily by large social media companies. Our national birth rate is in steep decline, and demographic concerns now present one of the gravest threats to our shared future, all while deaths of despair have skyrocketed.

If it sounds like Cox, Potter, and Klein and Thompson are all reading from the same script, then you’re picking up the key point: this spirit of building, of progressing, of daring is something that’s in our roots.

Now, turning to AI and Abundance.

The concept of abundance offers a crucial lens for understanding how America might harness artificial intelligence for widespread prosperity. Just as previous generations transformed America through new materials, energy sources, and technologies, AI represents our generation's opportunity to "build a new world." But this transformation is far from inevitable. The American abundance tradition teaches us that technological progress requires deliberate cultivation through systems, infrastructure, and cultural attitudes that enable broad participation.

AI's potential mirrors the historical patterns Potter identified: opening new areas of opportunity, developing new resources, and discovering new technological capabilities. However, like the Erie Canal or the interstate highway system, realizing AI's benefits demands more than the mere existence of the technology—it requires setting the conditions that allow its benefits to flow widely.

First, we must close the persistent digital divide. Millions of Americans still lack access to broadband internet, with rural and low-income communities disproportionately affected. When Potter celebrated America's widespread access to telephones and electric lights in the 1950s, those technologies had been deliberately extended to most citizens through rural electrification programs and successful universal service policies. Similarly, if AI tools remain accessible only to those with high-speed connections, we risk creating a two-tiered society—one where some can leverage AI for education, healthcare, and economic opportunity while others remain excluded.

This divide isn't merely about physical infrastructure. Just as Americans needed to learn how to operate automobiles and household appliances to benefit from earlier technological revolutions, widespread AI literacy is essential. Educational initiatives must go beyond teaching technical skills to fostering critical understanding of AI's capabilities and limitations. Citizens need to comprehend when AI can be trusted and when human judgment remains superior—when to embrace algorithmic recommendations and when to exercise caution. The true abundance of AI won't be realized if most Americans view it as either magical or menacing rather than as a tool they can confidently navigate.

The regulatory ecosystem surrounding AI will prove equally important. Potter emphasized that America's material abundance stemmed partly from systems that converted natural resources into prosperity. For AI, this means creating frameworks that simultaneously encourage innovation while protecting against harms. Overly restrictive approaches that concentrate AI development in the hands of a few tech giants would contradict the spirit of abundance that Potter described—where opportunities and benefits flow widely rather than accumulate narrowly.

We must especially empower startups and community-based organizations to develop AI applications addressing local needs. When Thompson and Klein write of American society choosing to prioritize and solve certain problems, they could be describing the work needed to apply AI to persistent challenges in education, healthcare, environmental protection, and public services. Just as the transcontinental railway required both visionary planning and boots-on-the-ground implementation, AI needs both grand strategy and granular application.

Consider education: AI tools could provide personalized learning experiences to every student, regardless of zip code or family income. In healthcare, AI could extend specialized diagnostic capabilities to underserved communities. For environmental sustainability, AI could optimize resource use far more efficiently than current methods. But none of these applications will materialize automatically—they require entrepreneurial spirit, public investment, and institutions that bridge research and implementation.

The abundance mindset sees technological progress not as something that happens to us, but something we actively create together. It rejects both techno-utopian passivity ("AI will solve everything") and fearful restriction ("AI is too dangerous to develop"). Instead, it embraces what Potter called "the economic organization and technological advancement" necessary to convert potential into prosperity.

As we stand at the threshold of AI's transformative potential, we would do well to remember that America's historical abundance was never accidental. It resulted from deliberate choices to build, to innovate, and to ensure benefits flowed widely. If, as Potter observed, each generation of Americans has "erected a new world," then our task is clear: to shape AI as an engine of abundance accessible to all Americans, not merely a tool that enriches the few while leaving the many behind.