Humans have always computed. The first computers were not machines, they were human.
Before we computed that darkness was the absence of light, we needed the Deity of the Dark Place in the Cupboard Under the Stairs. We needed gods for all the gaps in our uncomputed knowledge. We created computers as big as apartment blocks to rid ourselves of all those unreachable places veiled in darkness and superstition.
And we are still computing. With the aid of gazillions of bits and bytes of data stored on chips in millions of computing devices, from Personal Digital Aids to supercomputers, we compute.
After thirteen years of computing, when scientists announced that they had finished unravelling the human genome, we were all astonished at the remarkable simplicity of it all. Our apparently complex make-up can be accounted for by a mere 22 287 genes. Scientists previously thought that we had at least 100 000. But we're still stuck with 341 "gaps".
A rather beautiful theory arose from this anomaly: that some other force, for some God, for others the soul, had to be responsible for holding together the randomly composed jellies of our DNA. Another theory, which to my mind complements rather than opposes the first, is that the whole of creation is the result of a computer program that governs everything, including those things we cannot explain by way of science, down to a seemingly inconsequential desire for chocolate.
Stephen Wolfram, the proponent of this theory, discovered that the most basic computer programs, instead of generating predictable patterns, created complex images of patterns only found in nature, like the veins of a leaf and the intricate geometry of a snowflake. His big idea rests on the premise that if a seemingly dumb computer can spawn such bewildering combinations, then the actual code responsible for our creation must be miniscule in comparison with the Grand Plan that we always presumed we were a part of.
Maybe it's not a bad thing if we're brought down to size a little, but can Wolfram's theory really explain why we are brought to tears when we listen to exquisite music? Can we compute the emotion that we describe as love?
Computers have the capacity to record and store an infinite amount of information. According to the Church-Thering thesis, any computer, given enough time, is capable of performing the tasks of any other computer. Theoretically, a PDA can perform the same tasks as a supercomputer. We have the tools to compute infinitely.
With all this capacity to compute, why do we still have gaps?
In the last ten years or so, computers have been used more and more to communicate. If we were to view this phenomenon cynically we would probably only see it as a cash cow – a means to sell stuff. But we seem to be growing more and more dependent on computers as a way of telling people stuff about ourselves and listening to stuff about other people. For many people, computers are a way of staying sane, of keeping in touch with their souls.
The devices that we use to stay connected pipe music into our consciousness and broadcast news from all over the world. We carry them around with us like children and nurture them with battery power. Our computers are personal (even though Google is trying its damndest to make this less so).
Humanity is growing more and more fond of the concept of interconnectivity. Perhaps interconnectedness is a better, more human definition. When we do eventually bridge the technological divide, will we be a happier, more fulfilled human race? © Debbie smit – The Sunday Independent
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