GENERATIONS HOW THE COMPUTER BECAME OUR CULTURE MACHINE ! notes: pp. 194–197 Multiple Histories, Multiple Choices The secret war between downloading and uploading, unimod- ernism, info-triage, power and play, informationalism, and sticky media are twenty-first-century issues, but they have a rich and deep past. The computer and its networks are the most complicated machines that humans have ever constructed. Their history is not an easy one to record, tying together as it does abstruse mathematics, complex engineering, fortunes made and lost, and a rigorous accounting of the computer’s transformative powers over how we live, work, and play. Yet we require an understanding of how the computer developed as it did if we are to understand the arguments throughout the rest of the book. This means that we have to be ruthlessly selective in constructing a history to suit our purposes, choos- ing comprehensibility over comprehensiveness. In the sections that follow, I trace the ups and down of simu- lation and participation through six discrete generations of computing. I offer a polemical account about the development of an ideal of computing, tracking what the evolutionary biolo- gist Richard Dawkins calls “memes,” the intellectual equivalent of genes or self-replicating ideas.1 The pages that follow are filled with narratives about people who become infected with memes about the computer as an essential culture machine. The two memes central to the development of the computer as a culture machine are simulation and participation, and tracking their interplay is key to developing these historical narratives. These memes usually preceded the technology, and those infected then spent years developing computers and systems to bring these essences into existence, with each generation building on or challenging the last. I characterize the first generation as the patriarchs—here repre- sented by the idiosyncratic visionary/bureaucrat/scientists 143 GENERATIONS Vannevar Bush and J.C.R. Licklider—who establish the found- ing memes in the early years after World War II through the early 1960s. They are followed in turn by the Plutocrats— Thomas Watson Sr. and Thomas Watson Jr. of IBM—who make a business out of computing, centralizing the operations into top-down bureaucracies during the 1950s and 1960s. In reaction to the buttoned-down, all-business attitudes of the Plutocrats, the Aquarians of the 1960s and 1970s—people like Douglas Englebart and Alan Kay—expand on the more open- ended ideas of the Patriarchs, and develop the paradigm of visual, personalized, networked computing. In the 1980s and 1990s, the Hustlers—Microsoft’s Bill Gates and Apple’s Steve Jobs—commodify this personalized vision, putting a distinctive, “new economy” stamp on computing. Building on the installed base of all these users as the new millennium looms, the Hosts— World Wide Web inventor Tim Berners-Lee and open-source guru Linus Torvalds—link these disparate personal machines into a huge web, concentrating on communication as much as technology, pushing participation to the next level. The sixth generation, that of the Searchers—named after but hardly limited to Larry Page and Sergey Brin of Google, the search algorithm that became a company and then a verb—aggre- gated so much information and so many experiences that they rendered simulation and participation ubiquitous. There are three default ways of telling the history of comput- ing, and the interesting thing is that people rarely tend to blend the narratives. There is the technical and scientific history of computing, which is frankly the least understood and disseminated. This is the story of algorithms and circuit diagrams, tubes that became transistors, and laboratories at universities like MIT and Stanford as well as companies like IBM and AT&T. Without this work, there would be no software, no computers at all, but the details are technical, and those involved are far from the spotlight. This is a technography— 144 HOW THE COMPUTER BECAME OUR CULTURE MACHINE a written record of the technology composed, in the main, for experts. Then there is the story that most people know. That is the story about fortunes made and lost. During and after the great Inter- net bubble of the 1990s, there were instant history machines for the so-called new economy—magazines like Business 2.0 and Fast Company—that reported on the ups and downs of the geek gods and their “wealth creation.” Here are the tales of Microsoft stock bought at twenty dollars and sold at two thou- sand, Bill Hewlett and Dave Packard working in their rented Palo Alto garage, Ross Perot quitting IBM to found Computer Data Systems in Texas, Jeff Bezos opening an online bookstore, naming it after the largest river in the world, and then getting on the cover of Time magazine as the CEO of Amazon.com, and Mark Zuckerberg transforming the Harvard University first-year-student listing service into Facebook, the dominant and most valuable social media site in the world. These are the stories that have sustained the bulk of people’s interests in the history of computing. This is the history of computing as plutography, stories about money. There is another small but growing strain that locates the transformations of our world in the work of computing’s vision- aries. As far back as Howard Rheingold’s Tools for Thought written in the mid-1980s, there has been an alternative narra- tive featuring people like the irrepressible hypertext impresario Ted Nelson and even drug guru turned cyberpundit Timothy Leary—an intellectual’s history of computing.2 For the scholars studying hypertext poetry, the students in new media depart- ments, and those with a cultural interest in computing, these are stories of secular saints, a hagiography of sorts. To get to a workable understanding of the history of the culture machine, we need to braid these three strands, looking at programmers, millionaires, and dreamers. That these strands can all combine 145 GENERATIONS in the story of one person, one machine, or even one company is all to the good. The Warriors: A Prehistory Life was simple before World War II. After that, we had systems. —Rear Admiral Grace Hopper The question to begin with is not, “What is a computer?,” but rather, “Who is a computer?,” because computers were humans first and machines second. Computers were people, usually women, who computed numbers, tabulated results, and published lists or matrices with the results. They worked for nineteenth- and early twentieth-century businesses and govern- ment ministries, and laid the groundwork for the data-driven, statistically charted, numerically marked world in which we now live. The demand for information during World War II pushed the human computers past their capacity to produce what was needed for the war effort, and new systems were required. The military acronym C3I stands for “command, control, communications, and intelligence.” Twentieth-century warfare proved over and over again that the side with superior C3I wins. Unlike World War I, which was primarily a European conflict that spilled over into some of its immediate neighbors in the Middle East and North Africa (and involving the participation of former British colonies like the United States, Canada, and Australia as allies), World War II really was a global conflict, with battles not just in Europe but also across Africa, the Soviet Union, China, Japan, vast areas of the Pacific, and even reaching the United States with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It was a war fought across twenty-four time zones, on land, by sea, under water, and in the air, and concluded with the most fearsome, technologically complex weapon ever invented: the atomic bomb. 146 HOW THE COMPUTER BECAME OUR CULTURE MACHINE Integrating all the information to wage World War II was simply beyond the capacity of human computers. There was too much incoming data, and the demand for accurate, format- ted, and timely information was literally one of life and death. The first order of business in the development of computers as machines was the simulation of computers as people. The U.S. government supported the development of mechanical means to do what the human computers had been doing up to that point. The driving need here was for ballistic tables. A large-caliber gun or missile launcher is affected by weather conditions, the projectile’s charge, the target’s distance, the gun’s elevation, and dozens of other factors. If the war effort was to extend its C3I and dominate the battlefield, each differ- ent kind of gun had to have different ballistic charts calculated for it. The success of the C3I initiatives were obviously the military’s first and foremost objectives during the war, and if this meant replacing the “who” with the “what” of computing, so be it. But there were a few key people during the conflict who saw that the powers of computing, if spread wider than the labora- tory and the war room, would be a huge benefit to humanity. By moving toward the goal of participation and melding it to simulation, they were able to shift the focus from the “what” back to the “who” again. These were the Patriarchs. The Patriarchs: Vannevar Bush and J.C.R. Licklider The world has arrived at an age of cheap complex devices of great reliability; and something is bound to come of it. —Vannevar Bush People tend to overestimate what can be done in one year and underestimate what can be done in five to ten years. —J.C.R. Licklider 147 GENERATIONS There are many mathematicians, early computer scientists, and engineers who deserve to be considered part of the first generation of pioneering Patriarchs. They include Alan Turing, already discussed in chapter 2; mathematician and quantum theorist John von Neumann; cyberneticist Norbert Wiener; information theorist Claude Shannon; and computer architects like the German Konrad Zuse, and Americans J.