Technology as the art of being efficient

As activity I call an appropriation behavior, in which I reflect this behavior also in relation to its efficiency. When I am active, I always think about how I could do it better. From an evolutionary point of view, this seems to me to be a more significant criterion for being human than making tools, even if this reflection mainly shows itself in the form of improved tools.[1] But I also speak – metaphorically – of different techniques when I perform activities in which I do not use tools. For example, I can use different techniques when swimming or jumping up, which I never see in the behavioral repertoire of animals. The fact that I speak of techniques in such cases shows me that I think of technique when I really want to be more efficient. A motorboat or a bridge is much more efficient than any form of swimming, if swimming is not seen as a pure practise, but has the purpose of crossing a body of water.

I use the term technique for the art of being efficient. Actually, I use the term as a product identifier for procedures preserved in artifacts that make me more efficient. Then I use the term technique in a generalized sense as a process-designator for efficient activities, when I speak of, say, negotiation technique or the technique of an artist or a footballer. In this figurative sense, I observe procedures that can be suspended in an artifact, such as a robot. As a technique I refer to a context of action in which procedures are suspended in artifacts.[2]

Technique in this sense means the intentional repeatable causations of institutionalized procedures, which in the developed case are stored in external memory, that is, in artifacts that make the procedure reconstructible. I will give an example. I can draw water by forming a bowl with my hands. I can show someone how I drink water from a stream by means of my hands. He can copy the procedure and then apply a certain technique that, for example, my cat does not use. I can use a bowl instead of my hands – which then shows me why I talk about forming a bowl with my hands. I can use a hollow fruit bowl, for example, or a manufactured bowl. Any manufactured shell is consciously formed material. For example, I can form a bowl out of clay with my hands, which is quite different from forming a bowl in the shape of my hands. The made bowl has an object meaning, which I recognize when I use it as a bowl. The bowl, in this sense, is a conserved instruction for a process I call scooping. I refer to it as external memory because it reminds me of scooping. As external memory, it is social in the sense that other people can also reconstruct its meaning.

Using a manufactured shell by means of the hands is not efficient in many cases. That is why it is often used in machines, for example in water bailers or in excavators. And of course, machines are not very efficient either if you have to control them by hand. That’s why I prefer to use controlled machines, i.e. automatic machines. Making a shell involves not only what the shell is good for, but also that and how it can be technologically developed.

A shell is initially not a tool, but a device, but in the course of its development it becomes a tool. The representational activity consists in essence in using tools, which in turn are products of representational activities. The greatest efficiency consists in producing by means of tools, more developed tools. The technical development represents so to speak a self-referential production, in which tools are produced for the production of tools.

The most developed tools are automata programmable by means of so-called programming languages. If I program an automaton, I manufacture the respective automaton. Before it is programmed, it is only a semi-finished product. The programs of appropriately developed automata are manufactured lochkarte1as texts.[3] As programming language I designate a control mechanism, whose configuration requires as control elements so arranged character bodies, for example punched cards, so that these are secondarily readable. When I write programs, I write material parts of those automata, in which the programs are used. In this, text-making shows itself as the subtle making of tools.

That I can write and read programs is only important for me,lochkarte for their function in the machine it is without relevance. But programming without a programming language is extremely complicated and very inefficient. To produce programs as texts shows in a specific sense what texts are – and to what extent writing has always been a technique of technique. If I draw a construction plan of a machine, afterwards a mechanic has to produce the machine. If the labor scientist F. Taylor describes exactly how which work must be done, this work must be done by workers. If, on the other hand, I write a program, no one has to do any manual work. Writing appears in this respect as the most highly developed technical activity, in which the difference between producing and describing is abolished.

I have described these technological connections in detail in my book “Technical Intelligence.”[4]


[1] K. Marx, for example, did comment quite peculiarly on the use of the criterion “toolmaking animals”, although I do not see that he would have rejected it.

[2] In the context of economic production, technology serves the material improvement of wealth, or in other words, the sparing of labor. A robot can replace a worker, a PC can make a secretary ten times faster. “Technology = saving labor” (Ortega y Gasset, Ropohl, 1979:197).

[3] Vividly, these machine parts are, for example, punched cards, where their secondary textual nature is not yet so obvious, such as in J. Jacquard’s loom control. The programs of the first computers were not yet seen as texts, because the programming language had not yet been invented and the computers (for example the Colossus or the Eniac) were programmed by an arrangement of cables.

[4] Todesco, Rolf: Technische Intelligenz oder Wie Ingenieure über Computer sprechen. Stuttgart, frommann-holzboog, 1992.

Observers observe

Even if it is quite unclear where the formulation comes from and thus who could have meant what by it, I can make it clear to myself what I am designating with it and also what I am not. H. Maturana, who introduced a concept of the observer, and in doing so redefined the terminology of the word observe from everyday language, used it to describe a distinction that he explained in a logical accounting. The observer observes through (dia, by means of) distinctions that become visible where he describes his observations and thus designates them with words.

Observing an observer in this sense does not mean saying something about a human being, although – explicitly in H. Maturana’s terminology – every observer is a human being. To observe an observer is to observe the distinction he or she uses – and to be aware that this in turn is an observation. That is why H. Maturana calls this 2nd order observation.

N. Luhmann noticed that the observer is very often confused with a human being and suggested to speak only of observations, but of course that doesn’t help because observations are always made by an observer. And very often people who speak of observers mean that they are observing another person who practically always does not see something correctly, which is then called his blind spot.

I will give a typical example to illustrate the difference between observing people and observing observers, not without noting in advance that observing people rarely turns out well. D. Baecker writes in his essay on Marx, Lenin and Mao: “Karl Marx was aware that the labour theory of value, which measures the value of labour by the average social labour time to be spent in relation to the available productive forces, plays into the hands of capital.” I want to refrain here from the nonsense of saying that K. Marx helped capital. The only point here is that D. Baecker is talking about K. Marx and what he meant or wrote. This is an observation in which a person is observed, but not a 2nd order observation, i.e. not an observation of an observer. No distinction is observed.

K. Marx distinguished two classes. One class gives wages and the other takes wages. K. Marx designates the two classes and describes how he distinguishes them. That is an observation of K. Marx. And I observe that K. Marx observes with this distinction. That is a 2nd order observation. Now, one might think that my observation is trivial, because K. Marx himself wrote very clearly how he distinguishes the classes.

Second-order observations are very often written by the observer himself when he wants to explain his categories or classifications. Very often they appear as an obvious part of the observation that is being described. In the case cited here, everyone knows, even if they know nothing else about K. Marx’s texts, that capitalists and proletarians are distinguished in them, and that this happens on the basis of the wage relation, precisely because K. Marx presented it that way.

Another question, on the other hand, is to what extent K. Marx understood himself as an observer. K. Marx did not write anything about this, because at that time the concept of the observer, which we are talking about here, did not exist. Of course, K. Marx observed like every human being, but that was not a separate subject for him. A form of observer became popular fifty years after his death. Physicists discovered an observer. A. Einstein in his Relativity made observations dependent on how the observer himself moves, and W. Heisenberg in his Quantum History found measurement results dependent on observation. In these cases, there is talk of an observer, but he plays no role in the sense that he has no contingency at his disposal. Only the cyberneticists, perhaps G. Pask first, addressed the fact that their models are contingent, i.e. constructions that serve as explanations. H. Maturana formulated this aspect of cybernetic thinking.

Now that I have the observer and the observing explicitly available in theory, I can observe K. Marx’s theory of values as observation. Of course, it does not matter how K. Marx observed or would have observed his observation, because every 2nd order observation is an observation. So it does not matter what was clear to K. Marx, I am not observing him, but one of his observations: his critique of the so-called labour theory of value.

In his critique, K. Marx observes the injustice of the wage relation with the distinction between value and surplus value, for which he invents the fiction of labour power as a commodity. Observing labour power as a commodity helps (him) to get to the heart of capitalist relations. He thus distinguishes labour product and labour power to show that the capitalists “exchange” wages for the latter, which is tantamount to “deceiving”, which was the subject of the discussion on the just wage at the time.

Now I can ask myself who has an interest in this observation and easily see that it is a class standpoint that the observer must take for this observation. So K. Marx observed very consciously and chose a standpoint for it that makes exactly this observation possible. He just did not report it in this way. He did not make this 2nd order observation himself.

And every observer who observes K. Marx’s observation can observe how he does it. Simply reading K. Marx’s texts is different from observing them as observations.

Category error versus the choice of category

In the Tour de France cycle race there are mountain prizes “hors de categorie”. This refers to a categorisation of the mountain roads that corresponds to a classification according to degrees of difficulty or requirement profiles. Very long and steep climbs are mountain roads of the first category, relatively short climbs are mountain roads of the fourth category. Mountain roads that are really difficult to master do not fit into any of these categories, which is why they are virtually out of competition, although they are decisive for the competition among cyclists, hors de categorie. The question of why in this case we are talking about categories and not classes remains open for the time being. However, the matter referred to is not only clear to the senses of professional cyclists.

The introduction of the term category is attributed to Aristotle. In the writings attributed to him, he uses various questions to distinguish between different ways of talking about something, which he assigns to different categories. By asking where something is, I use the category place; by asking how heavy something is, I use the category weight. So his categories do not denote different degrees of difficulty, but classes of answers to very simple questions, often called predicates. Aristotle’s successors then developed propositional logic and predicate logic from this.

Unlike Aristotle, I. Kant founded Aristotle’s category not in language but in thought, where, however, he distinguishes different classes like Aristotle and also names many like Aristotle. I. Kant thus avoids any criticism that addresses the arbitrariness of languages, but he gives no indication of how he knows about thinking. His categories, like those of Aristotle, are based on forms expressed in language; with him they are not forms of a substratum as nature but forms of thought or forms of judgement. Both do not see that they form, they only see formed things.

A more postmodern critique of such categories comes from N. Luhmann. Aristotle said that if one were to bury a wooden bed, wood would grow, not a bed. Therefore, for him, wood is the substrate, while the form, which is not inherited, is only accidental. N. Luhmann, following G. Spencer-Brown, does without the designation of the substrate and thus avoids many problems that G. Ryle rates as pseudo-problems.

G. Ryle rejected the category doctrines of Aristotle and I. Kant altogether and instead observed category errors. He does not give a definition of category error but describes what is meant by – often unhappily simple-minded – examples. Perhaps the most famous is the visitor to Oxford University who, after being shown colleges, libraries, sports grounds, seminary and office buildings, asks, “But where is the university?” Category is what he calls predicates that can be usefully employed in a chosen gap in a sentence. This has nothing to do with classes in the usual sense. The categorical type of an expression is determined by the set of sentences that form a frame for the insertion of the expression. His example of a frame sentence is “Aristotle was a Greek […]”. The expressions that can be inserted belong to the same categorical type. G. Ryle says that there is no criterion for which expressions can be inserted, it is a question of the ordinary feeling for language, which can, however, be examined as a disposition.

I invert the procedure by which G. Ryle finds errors in order to find solutions. For example, for a long time it was not clear to me what criterion I was using to distinguish between the terms picture and image. The hypothetical recognition of a category error – therein lies the inverted procedure – led to the fact that I no longer distinguish picture and image, but different categories. I now recognise the picture as an artefact and the image as a relation, whereas before I assigned both to the same category – occurring only as a category error. I have thus eliminated a “ryle-philosophical” illusory problem.

I use category – following A. Leontjew – for the unit of distinction of an observation observed in a theory. Category therefore always refers to a second-order observation.

With the sentence “The car is red” I distinguish the car from other things and red from other properties. The words thing and property do not occur in the sentence. I use these words to denote distinctions in the observed sentence. Red is a value of the property domain colour. The word property domain does not occur in the sentence either. I use the word to denote another distinction that I used in the observation.

I designate distinctions implicitly by designating one side of the distinction. When I say red, I imply a distinction red versus not red. The unity of the distinction denotes both sides and what they are parts or aspects of. In this case, I refer to the unity as colour. Colour also implicitly denotes a distinction, but in relation to red it denotes the unity of the distinction.

When I designate the unit in a theory, I designate it as a category. With category I describe the view (theorein), not what is viewed. The car is red or has the colour red. Red is a property of the car. The fact that I observe the colour of the car is based on my choice of category. Property domain and category are often confused or equated. The property domain denotes the range of values of the property. The category denotes that properties are distinguished in the observation, for example.

Determining the category is a theoretical decision that is contingent. In the case of red and car, the contingency is not very large for pragmatic reasons. In many cases, however, it is not clear which term is designated by a word. The attribution of categories chosen in each case then results in different theories. Category thus denotes something quite different here than it does for the aforementioned philosophers. The category is the consequence of an observer’s activity, not its natural a priori presupposition.

I distinguish between two cases: In one case, I observe facts without a theory, and in the other case, I apply a theory. In his novel The Temptation, N. Wiener describes how he developed systems theory on the basis of descriptions of regulatory mechanisms. Once systems theory existed, it was applied to various objects that had not previously been observed under the category of regulation.

Regardless of how explicit the category used is, they decide how to observe. In particular, which categories are given priority plays a role. A standard example of this is the category need. If a state of need is described first, such as the need to eat, human activity appears as a reaction to it. If, on the other hand, making is used as a fundamental category, it is precisely not a matter of compensating for any deficiencies. For then the deficiencies would be fundamental and producing would only be a compensatory action. Producing is then what people do of their own accord without any need. In doing so, they cancel out the natural states of need that they share with other living beings. Hunger then appears not as a state of need but as a sign that something in production is not working.

The choice of category is a historical act.

Writing (images as artifacts)

In the present context, it is clear that the point is that when I write, I produce an image, for example, I apply colored material to an image carrier and thus produce text. When I write with a pencil, I make strokes on the paper, just as I do when I draw. When I write with a computer, I arrange pixels on the screen or on the printed paper. In both cases, the arrangement is mediated by a grammar or a script, but I apply color.

As text I designate a set of manufactured signs, which have a form as material objects and are arranged on a text carrier. In this sense texts are pictures. I have already written above that pictures have recent germ forms. When I write with my finger in the sand, I do not apply paint, and the object I produce in the process is a relief made of processed carrier material. The same is true for punched cards and silhouettes. These germinal forms are important from various points of view, but here I do not observe them.

I can see the letters and letter groups of a text as tokens of a type and thus understand them as drawings or as drawn copies. The word clock, for example, consists of the three letters u, h and r. When I write the word, each of these letters shows the shape of that letter, and the word shows the arrangement of the letters in the word. As drawings, they do not show the shape of something else, but the shape of themselves, whereas, for example, a drawing of a clock shows a clock. A clock is something other than a drawing. The letter u is the letter u.[19]

Not only the characters, but also the arrangement of the characters in a word merely shows the instance of a token, which shows itself as a specimen.[20] On actual drawings I can recognize that something was drawn, which I do not imagine as a drawn thing beyond the drawing. Actual drawings are analogous to their object, not identical with it. The drawn table looks like the table only in certain respects. There are indeed characters, such as hieroglyphics, which are a kind of iconic drawing, but this identifies them as germinal forms of actual symbols; they should not be interpreted as drawings, but read as symbols. The Chinese characters can also be read as iconic symbols.

The analogy that connects actual drawings with their subject matter is natural. I often recognize the objects only when the drawing shows an elevation. And conversely, I recognize objects in drawings, such as an angel or a unicorn, that I have never seen beyond the drawing, because I know what drawings are. Strictly speaking, there is a lot of agreement in the analogies that I don’t have to be aware of when I look at drawings.

With characters, however, it is clear to me that they are agreed, even if I do not know how I have acquired their agreement. A naive, as it were also natural idea consists in the fact that I have learned individual words by a pointing procedure. My mother would have taught me to speak by saying dog every time we saw a dog. After that, my elementary school teacher taught me with which strokes I could represent the sound “dog”. Here it does not matter how I learned to speak and write, nor what it is good for. What matters here is what I do when I write.

Fortsetzung: Pointing and referencing


19) As Backus-Naur form I call a formal language for the representation of context-free grammars, thus among other things for the representation of the syntax of so-called programming languages. Important and interesting here is how the characters are introduced as tokens like chess pieces. All characters, something 2, a or + are introduced like bishop and knight as figurative bodies. (back)

20) Of course, this also applies to sentences whose quantity is given by the syntax of the language, which has been made very clear by modern translation software. (back)

Pointing and referencing (images as artifacts)

I distinguish pictures in the narrower sense, or actual pictures, which show a motif, from pictures which refer to something without showing it. Actual pictures show their motive as I could see it beyond the picture.

The arrangement of the strokes or the pixels has a motive. The motive of the arrangement shows itself as the subject of the picture. When I recognize a dog in a picture, I recognize the motive. In a metaphorical sense I speak then at most of the motive of the manufacturer of the picture and mean with it that he wanted to represent a certain object. By motive, however, I do not mean here the psychologically meant motivation or intention of the painter, but that which determines the movement of the craftsman painter in the application of paint. When I draw a dog, my hand must follow the shape of the dog.

In an inversion, I can also read the motif of a drawing as an instruction. This is typically intended in construction drawings or blueprints. The drawn form of the motif then determines as an instruction the movements that are made when the motif is produced, that is, when material is formed.

But my point here is that with shapes and pixel patterns I can also produce completely different images than I do with drawings or paintings. The term image then has a broader meaning. It designates an image that refers to something specific or references it without it being immediately recognizable. I can use images to refer to agreement.[21]

As already written, I am not concerned with how the agreement happens. For example, if I speak German and therefore know the linguistic agreement of dog, and moreover can read, I can recognize certain images as text. Also in this case I recognize a logic in the arrangement of strokes or pixels, which are then also material manufactured objects. And as with all images, I can use quasi-aesthetic criteria to find the image beautiful or less so. My point here is that the two ways of referencing have different objects of reference. One I can see in the picture, the other I cannot see beyond pictures:

I can draw any dog, but I cannot draw the dog I reference with the word picture “dog”. If I know the agreement, I know that “dog” is a he-phrase for a phrase with other words, so it stands for “domesticated carnivore”, for example, but in no way means a specific dog. Not only can I not draw the dog, I can’t see it anywhere.

Continuation Pictures as (Means of) Instructions


21) The translators of W. Quine’s “Word and Object” (which is also about translatability) write in a preface:
“A further remark on translation seems appropriate: … Our procedure becomes clear by the example of the English word “refer” (or reference, etc.): For the translation of the expression one has recently made use of the neologism “refer” (to? to ? about?), or “reference” (from? to?..). Why? We do not know. “Refer”, in fact, simply means “to designate” and sometimes more specifically “to refer to” or “to make reference to”. However, the translation by the aforementioned recasting is not only unattractive, but also misleading, on the one hand because it introduces homonyms to (two different!) common expressions, on the other hand because it gives the impression that “refer” is a – possibly clearly defined – of philosophical or linguistic terminology. This is not the case. And therefore the translation with “refer,” “reference,” etc. is misleading, even wrong, and we hope that it will soon disappear from scientific usage.”
The translators imply that new coinage belongs less to a language than old coinage. But that can’t be decided at the moment; a new coinage either becomes established over time or it doesn’t. I use the expression “reference” without translating any English text, because by using this expression for me connotations are suggested which I do not readily associate with “denote” and with “refer to”. (back)

Images as (means of) instructions

Every instruction more or less implicitly describes a procedure. Pictures can serve this purpose – along with verbal instructions – if they are interpreted accordingly.[22]

When actual pictures serve as instructions in a practical context, such as construction drawings, they show the product, not the manufacturing process. A process cannot be drawn. I can, however – of which Ikea instructions are exemplary – use a sequence of individual pictures to show how the product develops in its manufacture. When the images are viewed in rapid succession, they appear as a film that makes the process appear as constant change.

In construction, there are all sorts of schematic representations, from unwinding and exploded drawings to schematic diagrams, which can be understood as a gradual transition from actual images to actual symbols. At the end of this series is the written recipe, which represents in language what must be done.

The recipe describes actions or operations of the maker, not the change of the object. Actions cannot be drawn. If I see a painter in a picture sitting in front of an easel with a brush in his hand, I obviously assume that he is painting, but I cannot see it. Of course, actions can also be represented by a sequence of pictures. I do not want to go into the presuppositions made here, which are partly cancelled out by a film presentation instead of single images.

There are simple or easily recognizable actions to which I can refer with an actual picture – which then has to be read as a symbol. Icons replaced by images are an example of this. At the toilet door in public areas, schematic figures often “show” – I should write indicate – which door a man has to go through. Sometimes such icons are replaced by actual pictures, which then naturally show a concrete person, but who – also naturally – is not meant.

And quasi complementary to this there are simple objects, whose illustration can be read quasi as a recipe. How to make a fried egg is shown in a picture of a fried egg – with all the presupposed knowledge about cooking, such as seasoning and turning on a stove – sufficiently well that it can be read as a recipe. The fried egg has a simple shape and its production requires a simple action – at least if you already have the egg and the pan.

What kind of picture is used as an instruction in a practical case has a lot to do with the extent to which the form of the product is important. In industrial production of somewhat complicated objects, drawings implying manufacturing processes are almost always used. If the engineer draws a shaft with different diameters, the lathe operator in the shop knows that he must clamp the shaft. But the lathe operator cannot see in the drawing what material the shaft is made of. Design drawings therefore contain text with material designations. The dimensions, which are numbers on the drawings, are also texts. But they concern the shape and could be omitted because the masses can be measured on the drawing.

I do not normally consider a painting as an instruction. Nor can an actual painting tell me how to regard it as an instruction unless it is in a cookbook. A scheme, on the other hand, serves me as an explanation of a structure, which I can, under given circumstances, understand as an explanation of a way of functioning, but also as an instruction to produce something accordingly. The scheme refers to its use, so to speak. It is therefore also not an actual picture, since in many cases it is not only to be looked at. In texts I can often see well how I should read them. A recipe, for example, is written as an instruction. But I can, of course, also read it as a kind of explanation of how a meal I am enjoying was made.[23]

Whether I produce a construction drawing with a computer or draw it by hand makes no difference with respect to its instructional character. In both cases, I can consider the image as instructions to produce something that corresponds to the reference object of the drawing. Therefore, I do not call every image produced by means of a computer a techno-image. In certain very skillfully made cases I would even speak of a computer painting. In the context of instruction, however, I want to consider another aspect of the techno-picture, which appears only at the level of programming.

Continued

22) The labor scientist F. Taylor stood next to a man whom he compared to a trained monkey and explained to him meticulously how he had to shovel coals – because F. Taylor could not draw it. A wonderful conversation about loading iron ingots. (back)

23) F. Schulz von Thun has illustrated with his 4 ears model how different statements can be heard. However, the instructions he reads into his examples are not thematized in the texts, but are based on a lot of “psychology”, which hardly plays a role when reading a recipe. (back)

The computer program as an image

The term “computer program” is intended to mark the context. It means material artifacts which are used to control automata.

Commonly I refer to a computer program – for which I have practically good reasons – as text.[24] In this respect, the program would be a picture, and it would initially also make no difference whether I wrote it by hand or with a computer. But the program, in order to fulfill its function, must of course come into the computer, more precisely not only into the computer, but into a specific area of the computer. If I write the program text with a text editing program and save it on the hard disk of the computer, it is still just a – like a handwritten – text. It is a file that I can view or print out image-wise – like any image file – as text on the screen.

The primary purpose of a computer program is not that I can look at it or read it. A computer program, regardless of whether it appears as text, serves – tautologically – to program a computer. Programming consists in specifying the sequence of states of a processor that serves as a control mechanism. In a modern computer, a program is a structured file consisting of pixels ordered in bytes. The file is used to control the electronic switches in the processor. However, the same file can also be displayed as text, so that I can virtually read what is happening in the computer under this control. For this I need a corresponding code, which is colloquially called a programming language. This code makes the program secondarily readable by assigning linguistic expressions to the program sequences.[25] In this sense one could arrange the houses in a city in such a way that pilots could read, where they fly straight over it. It would be a city, not a picture. But the pilot would also recognize a text, that is, read it in the true sense of the word.

I am not observing computer programming here, but the development of technology in the production of images.[26] Before punched cards were used to program computers, they were used, among other things, to control jacquard looms to produce images from cloth. The mechanization of image production has many paths. The techno image that comes out of the loom is an analog image of the punched cards. There is no programming involved. It is much more a kind of image based on a transformation that is technically more complicated than that from negative film to positive (print). And programming languages are simply even more complicated mechanisms than looms.

The computer program, as an instruction – like the usher in the theater – does not give commands, but shows what happens where and when, if the computer follows the program. Insofar as a computer is an electrical machine, I can draw it. But the functioning of programmable automata cannot be shown on drawings. I can represent them only by program texts, which, moreover, cannot be read linearly like other texts.

When I read a program – which of course I do when I write a program – I know that the program implies a processor which changes its state in a given clock in discrete steps. This is not to be seen in the program text as techno picture, I must read it in. However I must do it logically compellingly, if in a program for example “a=a+1” is written and I do not want to read nonsense. I then realize that the value of a has changed in the next bar, so that a cannot be a and a+1 at the same time. I have to understand what is shown in the picture.

I can draw a motor, for example, in which many parts move when it runs. I can’t see any movement on the drawing, but I can see how the engine parts (can) move if I can “read” the drawing. I can see that the piston can move back and forth in the cylinder, and that the crankshaft turns connected to it by connecting rods. In a programmable automaton, the states it passes through are not fixedly coupled in this sense, they are dependent, on additional conditions and especially on case distinctions described in the program.”[27]

The programming of automata represents the most evolutionarily developed case of production as a whole and of the production of images. It grounds the categories used here through which I observe the making of images.

 

To be continued


24) I use here the expressions computer and computer program also in the colloquial sense in which they were coined, thus I refrain from various differentiations, which do not play a role here. (back).

25) As programming language I designate a mechanism, which makes programs readable as techno images. (back)

26) I do not want to go into more detail here about naive ideas about programming, in which the computer is “commanded” to do something. I have described these connections in detail in Todesco: Technische Intelligenz, 1992. N. Wirth writes: “Of the reduction of the programming effort by programming languages, which IBM aimed at with Fortran, a substantial part probably consists in the fact that the programmers, who give commands to the computer, must know practically nothing about the computer.” IBM had also pushed the invention of programming languages primarily to allow relatively low-skilled people to program at small wages. (back)

27) F. Heider speaks of very strong coupling. (back)