THE MILITARY SEEKS AN ANSWER TO THE QUESTION OF HOW ONE ACTS EGOTISTICALLY
It starts, like a story from The Twilight Zone, with a trance. We are in the first years of the Cold War. Somewhere in America, protected by metre-thick bombproof concrete and steel walls, sit highly trained people. They are members of the United States aerial surveillance units. They are gazing at radar screens.
The soldiers are looking for small blinking dots that appear occasionally on the screen. They register even the slightest movement; every signal could be a Russian aeroplane loaded with an atomic bomb. They have been told repeatedly that no job in the entire American armed forces is more vital.
Then inexplicable things happen. An air force officer, who has survived the Second World War without a scratch, manages to break his leg on the short journey from his screen to the coffee machine. Others nod off for a moment. Some are away answering queries. Then there is the artificial light, the underground doors and passages, the growing bunker mentality, and always the green circles of the radar screen: all this reinforces the sense of being inside a âhypnotic organismâ.
âItâs difficult to stay awake,â admits a crew member, âwhen youâre sitting in a dark room staring at a radar screen day after day, week after week, always looking for a signal that needs a decision.â And thatâs fatal, because âa minute asleep could mean a city destroyedâ, as a concerned visitor to the bunker wrote in 1955.1
A team of scientists â economists, psychologists and sociologists â alerted by the military tried to track the absences in the green-lit faces. And they finally realized that it was the computers, these vigilant machines, that were hypnotizing the men operating them.
This presented the researchers with an almost insoluble task: how to train soldiers to resist the hypnotic power of their own tools.
Every thirty seconds the men in the white coats scanned the soldiersâ faces with cameras controlled by punched cards. Every twenty minutes they photographed their screens, drew diagrams on their writing pads, in which they made notes every hour on the crewâs movements and the spatial distances between them â exactly the stuff of many a Hollywood science fiction or horror movie.
The scientists called these âpsychodrama sessionsâ. The aim, however, was to describe the soldiersâ minds in mathematical terms. Not only were men operating machines, but machines were learning how to operate men.2 To do this, people had to learn how to become machine-readable. And in this way science fiction became reality, because for the first time machines recorded not only movements or time management but also human âvaluesâ and feelings.3
It turned out that many soldiers regarded the radar screens as outsize telescopes or as a âwindowâ into the world. This looked like a place to start. They had to be taught that what they were seeing on the screen was a game in which the other player, the Soviet Union, would do anything to trick them. It was a question not just of registering a signal but of predicting at any given moment the next movements of the blinking dot, which could be the Soviet adversary.
Since the Russians had the atomic bomb and a single aeroplane had the destructive power of entire squadrons of aircraft, the need for completely new strategic thinking had become vital. In the paranoid atmosphere of the time (when people didnât know what we now know in retrospect), when a surprise attack by the Soviet Union was an ever-present threat, the human relationship to information had to be reduced to a simple code: expect the worst. You donât know, the crews were drilled, what the opponent plans, but you do know that its only aim is to trick you.
The mesmerizing green lights on the monitor didnât display the âtruthâ or the world as it was. They showed, as a contemporary report described it, a âpoker faceâ.4 The soldier at the radar had to imagine himself and the screen as two poker players. It was a cut-throat game, as poker is often described. By seeing himself as a player in a poker game, the soldier was kept awake, stimulated, with his strategic intelligence honed.
The blinking dot could be a harmless commercial aircraft or a Russian aeroplane with a nuclear payload. The man at the machine had to understand that âpoker faceâ meant not spatial movements but strategic moves and could just as well be a bluff as the real thing.
So as not to fall into the trap, there was only one reliable assumption, one that worked well in economics, as the economists involved knew only too well: acting ârationallyâ can only mean operating in oneâs own interests. For strategic intelligence this meant that if people acted in a certain way, it had to be assumed that they were hiding something in order to win the Game of Life.
Fifty years later, the anthropologist Caitlin Zaloom, who worked for two years as a stock exchange trader in order to describe the fully automated trading world, made exactly the same observation. The traders have to train their attention completely on numbers, which are no longer something fixed and stable but turn into continuously changing real-time signals.5 Every transaction is a move in a game; all of the players think only of themselves; there are bluffs and surprise attacks, weapons of mass destruction and tactical, pinpoint weapons. The players are permanently screened, and decisions have to be made so quickly that they can only be done by computers.
Above all, however, it is the game theory models developed during the Cold War that are used by todayâs hedge funds. Entire investment bank departments use computers and game theory to decipher the intentions of rival traders at breath-taking speed from a huge volume of data so as to adapt their own behaviour accordingly.
This would have come as no surprise to those who designed the mind of the new human. It was probably even their intention. It was not psychologists who devised the new ârational self-interestâ behaviour and conceptual models for the military, but economists, physicists and mathematicians. The economists were familiar with markets in which everyone sought their own advantage. Their strategies for an egotistical society were never limited solely to the military in the Cold War. The strategies were said to be universal and applicable wherever decisions were made â in poker, in business, at the stock exchange, in war.6
In 1950 the American sociologist David Riesman complained in his international bestseller The Lonely Crowd that in modern society individuals were becoming radar operators of their own life. No longer guided by their inner self but from outside, they could not help picking up signals from others and adapting their behaviour accordingly.7 Now the criticism was reversed: everything becomes logical when one recognizes that the world is a poker game and everyone wants to win.
It sounded very convincing. When the first information about this new theory was leaked, a lot of hype developed around it. In a few years RAND Corporation, the organization to which the scientists who analysed the radar crews belonged, developed under the cloak of military secrecy into the most powerful think tank in the United States. It was not just about the Soviet Union anymore. It was about everything.
The birth of this idea has been described as âa key transition in American intellectual historyâ.8 It is certainly one of the most underestimated. Only if we accept the premise that individuals always act out of self-interest can the entire complexity of human behaviour be translated into the language of mathematics. Formulae can be written, moves calculated, negotiations and compromises modelled and people trained to a new ârationalityâ, which they master automatically as if in a trance â an operation that is impossible if it is assumed that individuals have to be understood through their unique personal character.
A decisive factor in the worldwide breakthrough was the fact that these calculations could now be done at lightning speed and then also in real time. The first computers offered ingenious tools that were just waiting to be fed with the formulae for people. Calculating machines are bad at psychology but very good at computing profit maximization. Economists began to calculate the most complex decision situations with the aid of computers. With the financial support of the military, this was also tried out first of all on the Soviet Union.
Computers analysed the signals on radar screens and...