Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗

might come out. Only CNN showed up. They sent a junior producer.

So what, everyone has to start somewhere. And this might be his

big break.

“Mr. Chairman, committee members,” his eyes scanned the dais as

he spoke. “Honored guests,” he looked around the hall to insure

as many people present felt as important as possible, “and inter-

ested observers, I thank you for the opportunity to address you

here today.” In seconds he owned the room. Pierre was a capti-

vating orator. “I must plead guilty to the overly kind remarks

by Senator Deere, thank you very much. But, I am not feigning

humility when I must lavish similar praises upon the many dedi-

cated friends at dGraph, whom have made our successes possible.”

Mutual admiration society, thought Scott. What a pile of D.C.

horseshit, but this Pierre was playing the game better than the

congressional denizens. As Pierre spoke, the corners of his

mouth twitched, ever so slightly, but just enough for the observ-

er to note that he took little of these formalities seriously.

The lone TV camera rolled.

“My statement will be brief, Mr. Chairman, and I am sure, that

after it is complete you will have many questions,” Pierre said.

His tone was kind, the words ominous.

“I am not a technical person, instead, I am a dreamer. I leave

the bits and bytes to the wizards who can translate dreams into

a reality. Software designers are the alchemists who can in fact

turn silicon into gold. They skillfully navigate the development

of thoughts from the amorphous to the tangible. Veritable art-

ists, who like the painter, work from tabula rasa, a clean slate,

and have a picture in mind. It is the efforts of tens of thou-

sands of dedicated software pioneers who have pushed the fron-

tiers of technology to such a degree that an entire generation

has grown up in a society where software and digital interaction

are assimilated from birth.

“We have come to think, perhaps incorrectly, in a discreet quan-

tized, digital if you will, framework. To a certain extent we

have lost the ability to make a good guess.” Pierre paused.

“Think about a watch, with a second hand. The analog type. When

asked for the time, a response might be ‘about three-thirty’, or

‘it’s a quarter after ‘, or ‘it’s almost ten.’ We approximate

the time.

“With a digital watch, one’s response will be more accurate;

‘one- twenty-three,” or ‘4 minutes before twelve,’ or ‘it’s nine

thirty-three.’ We don’t have to guess anymore. And that’s a

shame. When we lose the ability to make an educated guess, take

a stab at, shoot from the hip, we cease using a valuable creative

tool. Imagination!

“By depending upon them so completely, we fall hostage to the

machines of our creation; we maintain a constant reliance upon

their accuracy and infallibility. I am aware of the admitted

parallel to many science fiction stories where the scientists’

machines take over the world. Those tales are, thankfully, the

products of vivid imaginations. The technology does not yet

exist to worry about a renegade computer. HAL-9000 series com-

puters are still far in the future. As long as we, as humans,

tell the computer to open the pod bay doors, the pod bay doors

will open.” Pierre elicited a respectful giggle from the stand-

ing room only crowd, many of whom came solely to hear him speak.

Rickfield doodled.

“Yet, there is another viewpoint. It is few people, indeed, who

can honestly claim to doubt the answer displayed on their calcu-

lator. They have been with us for over 20 years and we instinc-

tively trust in their reliability. We assume the computing

machine to be flawless. In many ways, theoretically it is per-

fect. But when man gets involved he fouls it up. Our fingers are

too big for the digital key pad on our wristwatch-calculator-

timer-TV. Since we can’t approximate the answer, we have lost

that skill, we can’t guess, it becomes nearly impossible to know

if we’re getting the right answer.

“We trust our computers. We believe it when our spreadsheet

tells us that we will experience 50% annual growth for five

years. We believe the automatic bank teller that tells us we are

overdrawn. We don’t question it. We trust the computer at the

supermarket. As far as I know, only my mother adds up her gro-

ceries by hand while still at the check-out counter.”

While the image sank in for his audience, Pierre picked up the

glass of ice water in front of him and sipped enough to wet his

whistle. The crowd ate him up. He was weaving a web, drawing a

picture, and only the artist knew what the climax would be.

“Excuse me.” Pierre cleared his throat. “We as a people believe

a computer printout is the closest thing to God on earth. Di-

vinely accurate, piously error-free. Computerized bank state-

ments, credit card reports, phone bills, our life is stored away

in computer memories, and we trust that the information residing

there is accurate. We want, we need to believe, that the ma-

chines that switch the street lights, the ones that run the

elevator, the one that tells us we have to go to traffic court,

we want to believe that they are right.

“Then on yet another hand, we all experience the frustration of

the omnipresent complaint, ‘I’m sorry the computer is down. Can

you call back?’” Again the audience emotionally related to what

Pierre was saying. They nodded at each other and in Pierre’s

direction to indicate concurrence.

“I, as many of us have I am sure, arrived at a hotel, or an

airport, or a car rental agency and been told that we don’t have

a reservation. For me there is an initial embarrassment of

having my hand slapped by the computer terminal via the clerk.

Then, I react strongly. I will raise my voice and say that I

made a reservation, two days ago. I did it myself. Then the

clerk will say something like, ‘It’s not in the computer’. How

do you react to that statement?

“Suddenly your integrity is being questioned by an agglomeration

of wire and silicon. Your veracity comes into immediate doubt.

The clerk might think that you never even made a reservation.

You become a liar because the computer disagrees with you. And

to argue about it is an exercise in futility. The computer

cannot reason. The computer has no ability to make a judgment

about you, or me. It is a case of being totally black or white.

And for the human of the species, that value system is unfathoma-

ble, paradoxical. Nothing is black and white. Yes, the computer

is black and white. Herein again, the mind prefers the analog,

the continuous, rather than the digitally discreet.

“In these cases, the role is reversed, we blame the computer for

making errors. We tend to be verbally graphic in the comments we

make about computers when they don’t appear to work the way we

expect them to. We distrust them.” Pierre gestured with his

arms to emphasize his point. The crescendo had begun.

“The sociological implications are incredible. As a people we

have an inherent distrust of computers; they become an easy

scapegoat for modern irritations. However, the balancing side of

the scale is an implicit trust in their abilities. The inherent

trust we maintain in computers is a deeply emotional one, much as

a helpless infant trusts the warmth of contact with his parents.

Such is the trust that we have in our computers, because, like

the baby, without that trust, we could not survive.”

He let the words sink in. A low rumbling began throughout the

gallery and hall. Pierre couldn’t hear any of the comments, but

he was sure he was starting a stink.

“It is our faith in computers that lets us continue. The reli-

gious parallels are obvious. The evangelical computer is also the

subject of fiction, but trust and faith are inextricably meshed

into flavors and degrees. A brief sampling of common everyday

items and events that are dependent on computers might prove

enlightening.

“Without computers, many of lifes’ simple pleasures and conven-

iences would disappear. Cable television. Movies like Star

Wars. Special effects by computer. Magic Money Cards. Imagine

life without them.” A nervous giggle met Pierre’s social slam.

“Call holding. Remember dial phones? No computers needed.

CD’s? The staple diet of teenage America is the bread and

butter of the music industry. Mail. Let’s not forget the Post

Office and other shippers. Without computers Federal Express

would be no better than the Honest-We’ll-Be-Here-Tomorrow Cargo

Company.”

“Oh, and yes,” Pierre said dramatically. “Let’s get rid of the

microwave ovens, the VCR’s and video cameras. I think I’ve made

my point.”

“I wish you would, Mr. Trew-Blow,” Senator Rickfield caustically

interjected. “What is the point?” Rickfield was