Standardized Thought

"The good man tells the truth, the evil man lies, and the smart man keeps his mouth shut," we are told, but where in this structure lies the computer, foolishly telling every truth and falsehood? And what of the listener, from the fool who believes all, to the sage who believes what? A magical machine the computer is, able to turn information and falsifications into a believed document--Garbage In, Gospel Out.

All around us, technology waits to impress a view on us. The radio sits, talking away to any who will listen. The television, flickering under the constraints of 'mute,' is prepared to yield news at a moment's notice. And the computer, with a thin cable plugging into the wall, has access to the world. We are informed; informed by the indiscriminating machines.

The computer appears the same, be if truth, half-truth or outright lie that it conveys. So how does the truth become separated from the rest? Can the truth be separated? Why separate the truth when it is so much easier to trust? The burden of determining the truth is one easily given away.

Every 'advancement' in technology could be argued to be transfer of a human burden to a machine; a bit our life given away. But how long until we have no life left ourselves? We have progressed though giving away physical burdens, to giving up our mental and social ones. More and more, people are deifying the computer's output, viewing it with oracular respect. As Babbage noted, many people have become inclined to let the computer think for them. From the quote above, it is people who we would expect to be decently educated who run into the computer's deceptions. Jean Rostand asks, "Think? Why think! We have computers to do that for us." "Garbage In, Gospel Out," is the new attitude to computers; the machine is always right. Show someone a graph or text glowing on a computer screen, and they'll believe anything--everyone knows that computers, fueled by immutable numbers, cannot be wrong. A trust that is greatly misplaced. With the internet, anyone can back there text with the credibility of a computer.

A computer, is that which computers, a handler of numerical problems; what has caused it to become so much more? A pocket four-function is more a true computer than the oracle we keep on our desk. After all what do our desktops do but pass on messages? How can computers hold more respect than your own work, or the work of another person? After all, it is just a person who creates that which appears on the screen. How have we become so lazy as to accept the word of whoever has the shiniest tools? We accept them at face value, no need to do work of our own.

And the decline is nothing new, "Bread and Circuses" as the Roman Poet Juvenal put it, as Imperial Rome fell towards its death. "The Gilded Age" for researchers of American History, a period that took the assassination of a president to end. Why should people care if it doesn't affect them? And worse, why should we care if it doesn't make things easier for us?

People have a history of accepting what they cannot or do not understand; just keep smiling and nodding. When we're shown a picture of an atom with electrons circling, we smile, nod, and accept. Later we're given a diagram portraying the electrons as clouds, again accepted. Aristotle's theories ruled the western world for centuries with that attitude. And in our time, we are short one Copernicus.

Where has the simple pleasure of discovery gone--the enlightening experience that you figured something out? Too many people are content in their discontent. We aren’t happy where we are, but we aren’t going to try and change. After all, enough money should solve any problem, right? "'Make more, spend more' hasn't brought them any more happiness," says Joe Dominguez ("Affluenza"), and why should it? We slave away to purchase things until we have more material goods than we can remember. If possessions could bring happiness, how will they do that forgotten in the attic?

The art of putting words together is falling into a rut; grammar check tries to 'fix' our style, by imposing its rigid laws of writing. The infection spreads beyond the young writers and zealots of conformed grammar; the computer is always there to place a little squiggly line under the perceived error. It's the task of the written word to convey more than just meanings, whatever is needed to do so.

Creativity is being stifled, oppressed by a mass of horridly mechanical creations. So rare is it to find an original novel now among the morass of carbon-copy fiction. (This document by Joseph Strom) Pick up any of Gary Paulson's novels; each one has the same premise and characters, or take one of the Xanth novels by Piers Anthony, and try to find one with a unique plot. This is not to say that writing is dead--though Isaac Asimov recently passed away, his over 300 works are a beautiful panorama of fine writing, J. K. Rowling has created a series of universal appeal.

The infection spreads throughout every media. Our newest movies rehash old plots and comic books, our novels consist of cut-and-paste story lines; books become movies, movies become games. We are so used to anything of importance appearing on out computers that we've been losing the ability to create without them, and computers cannot give us anything new. Some may point to the wonders of films like "Ice Age" and "Monsters Inc.," two films made possible through the computer. And certainly they do use the computer to a great extent in their creation, and still deliver uniqueness in content. However, in less than a month after their release the morass of repetitious works covered them, just like the brilliant novelists are being hidden behind a mass of generic fiction.

"Conventions are the seed casings of tradition, forms and gestures that were--like everything--alive and vital," writes Lombreglia (233). Computers propagate Lombreglia's conventions; coldly and mechanically leaving us the lifeless shell. Sterile. The harsh definitions of the computer exclude the subtleties. "Artists should find a way to manifest their 'individual talent' inside a tradition, thus extending and expanding that tradition, and obviously this did not entail the mere repetition of existing conventions" (Lombreglia 234). With the computer, we can repeat anything, any number of times, and create nothing; and the nothing is considered acceptable. The thinking and feeling human has no place, "And we're systematically throwing the poets out of our republic" (Ibid, 235).

And the poet, the thinking, feeling human, is the only way the change. Nothing changes without effort. Isaac Newton saw it in the physical world, and set it down as law. It is no less true elsewhere. No one will climb out of passivity without thinking, doing, feeling. In the past, something has always provided a call to arms; a small push to start the climb. But Computers will happily run everything smoothly. There aren’t any barbarians sitting outside, waiting to sack Rome.

It's a crisp day of early November; your watch is staring back at you counting up to the time when the doors will open. You finally get inside and line up; your entire being reduced to the numbers and letters on a small scrap of paper. A glance at your ID and ticket is traded for a room number. Fiddling around with a pencil people slowly start to gather in the room, each one radiating a distinct variation on nervousness. The instructor walks into the room and mechanically names each individual in turn. He then passes a thin booklet to each. "Today you will be taking the SAT Reasoning tests," the spiel begins.

Identical little ovals cover the page, each one quantifying you to a rigid structure. Your background, education, ancestry are all reduced to a few black spots. Next your skills, each one quantified into mathematics or verbal. Finally, you paper is sent away; most likely, another human will never see it. A machine will read your answers, a computer will tabulate them and print a response, and yet another piece of technology will send the data back to you.

Your success in life is now a number.

In the United States, guides to the standardized tests have their place in most bookstores. Companies grow rich of the books and test-aiding paraphernalia. Why are they so successful? Because they understand that the computer is not all-knowing, and they know what it doesn't. Complex as the machine is, and as well researched as the tests are, they are nowhere near the sophistication of the human mind, much less that of a God.

The succubus calls out; sweet dreams of simplicity, power, omniscience, complete control over your life flicker past. It's just a soul, nothing that will be missed, especially when compared the vast possibilities it can be traded for. The computer awaits your answer...

"Will we win the world only to lose our souls?" asks Limbreglia, a question that has come too late (237). Better to ask "Can the soul be recovered?" as many have chosen to leave it behind. To fill the void, people collect possessions—material replacements for their loss. And the corporations are only too happy to sponsor them, churning out new products to hold before them.

Lombreglia, Ralph. "Humanity's Humanity in the Digital Twenty-First." Tolstoy's Dictaphone Ed. Sven Birkerts. St. Paul, Minnesota: Grey Wolf Press, 1996. 231-246.

Slouka, Mark. "In Praise of Silence and Slow Time." Tolstoy’s Dictaphone Ed. Sven Birkerts. St. Paul, Minnesota: Grey Wolf Press, 1996. 147-156.