Anti-computing

Front matter

ANTI- COMPUTING

Dissent and the machine

Caroline Bassett

Contents

List of figures Acknowledgements List of abbreviations

1 2

Anti-computing: a provisional taxonomy Discontinuous continuity: how anti-computing time-travels

Chapter 1

Anti-computing punctuates computational advances; the rush ahead, the demand to be wanted, the claims for progress, and for progress as automatically good. Anti-computing is a pause, a stop, a refusal, an objection, a sense, an emotion, a response, a popular campaign, a letter, an essay, a code-work, a theorist, a sensibility, an ambience, an absolute hostility, a reasoned objection, a glitch, a hesitation, an ambient dislike. It may be articulated by a human, a crowd, a network, or by a program that refuses to run. It may also be an element of an assemblage containing many other elements; some of them in conflict.

Anti-computing takes many forms. It is unique to its moments of emergence, but is also characterized by recurrence. Many (though not all) of the components of anti-computing today are familiar even if they arise in response to a specific formation ‘as if new’, even if the claim is that the issues they address are graver than ever before, entailing qualitatively higher — even existential — stakes. Anti-computing may emerge as something felt and believed, something cultivated. It may be presented as a rationally adopted position or critique, a feeling (perhaps a yuck factor), or it may be an operation. It is articulated as an individual view, a collective one, as a one-off, and as a circulating and time-travelling discourse (operating synchronously and diachronically — albeit in the latter case in disrupted ways). As a human response to the global embedding of the computational it materializes in heterogeneous ways, but since humans, after all, are not separate from the machines with which they coevolve, this materialization entails technologies as well as humans. It is indeed partly technological.

Anti-computing is all of these things at once because it is part of, and responds to, a formation that is itself pervasive, intrusive, ambient, emergent, installing, materially heterogeneous. I am talking, of course, of the computational, and of computational culture; about a history, about informational capitalism now, and about the computationally saturated and only partly foreseeable future. Computers have spread. They have spread further and faster than earlier human generations imagined possible — or that earlier generations of computer appeared to make feasible. There are over two billion computers in the world, and many billions more embedded control circuits. There will be 20 billion sensors in the world by the end of the 2020s, the decade we have already entered as I complete this book. The numbers become meaningless — though their sheer weight remains significant. The extent of the computational has broadened and deepened; networking the world, entering the body, reaching into Space.

In view of this relentless expansion, campaigns against computerization, anti-computing critiques, hostile interventions, writings ‘against’, in the academy and in popular culture, might be judged to have comprehensively failed. Certainly, if the measure of success is less not more computing, then they haven’t worked. Anti-computing arises within horizons that have been — and still are — dominated by acceptance of the computational and its expansion, whether this acceptance is constituted as compliance, enthusiasm, indifference, acceptance, disavowal, or fatalism; all these have surfaced as responses over the seven decades or more since early computers first made an appearance in public, during which time computerization has been a live social issue. Anti-computing is, viewed in relation to this massive and apparently unstoppable advent, and in view of mass acceptance of it, an exceptional response to computerization, relatively rare, relatively rarely consistently expressed, even more rarely persisting, or becoming an organized movement. Of course, since the late 2010s and now in the 2020s, there has been an efflorescence of commentary — governmental, cultural, social, academic — expressing or exposing hostility and concern about the digital. Arguably we are in a renewed age of amplified automation anxiety (Bassett and Roberts, 2020). Consider the endlessly multiplying channels across which this anxiety runs the (digital) production processes that make it (increasingly digital), or simply consider the growth in the number of sensors in the world since, say, Jaron Lanier’s 2010 You are not a Gadget, which might have been an automation anxiety outlier and the latest internet scare book to be up-marketed on Amazon.

Given the above, it is legitimate to wonder whether critical thinking, writings, campaigns, or interventions of other kinds ‘against computing’ matter. Or how they matter. For instance, do they make a significant intervention, are they significant historically, do they persist; how do earlier forms of anti-computing connect with contemporary anti-computational turns? Or, to introduce another register, do they suggest ways in which a different attitude towards a techno-socially saturated future and present might be cultivated? Could this be one which responds to a situation in which computational capitalism has reached the limits of viable expansion (environmentally) even as its growth continues? This is one of the ways the world is being broken, and one of the ways we are not repairing it. What do different forms of hostility or refusal suggest about the terms of the exchange or interaction between computers and (other) material and immaterial elements: bodies, discourses, texts, and (other) machines, intelligent or not; and what kind of alternative propositions can they open up — even in, or by way of, their intransigent refusal to conform?

The wager of this book is that historically arising and contemporary anti-computing formations matter and have more to do with each other than might at first appear. One example: contemporary surveillance concerns and hostility to comprehensive data capture by states are often explained as arising because of new data-capture techniques (big data), but they are also partly shaped by, and certainly resonate with, at least thirty years of fears of a data society. We have figurations and imaginaries to reach for when we discuss data surveillance, even as we declare it all new when we encounter it in a specific form, or at a specific moment, as a crisis not yet narrativized and thereby contained, let alone simply turned into information (Doane, 1990). You might say we reach for old stories, but we also need to ask how these stories materialize in new ways.

How, then, is anti-computing to be investigated? In particular, how are anti-computing moments of the past to be identified, given the thoroughness with which the relentless march of computerization obliterates traces of earlier resistance, hesitancy, and hostility in its rush to claim the present, and given its designs on, its foreclosure of, the future? Furthermore, once ‘found’, how are such formations to be explored? Addressing this last question demands not only identifying traces of the anti-computational, it also provokes a reconsideration of how the materials and discourses involved in its formation and articulation may be theorized and understood in relation to specific or located instantiations, and more broadly.

A dominant — teleological — understanding of ‘what technology does to society’ doesn’t help to address these questions. It buries them. Computerization is often visualized as an inexorable progression. This progression, often taken to be synonymous with human progress, or understood as its leading edge, attracts support; at its most ardent this becomes quasi eschatological — something like the hope and desire for new gods, or a new regime of power to solve the problems of an old order. The latter is a sensibility evident in strong versions of singularity discourse, which see in artificial intelligence (AI) the chance to generate new kinds of post-human superbeing. But a sense of the inexorability of computational growth also infuses visions of the coming quotidian, and is widely offered as a matter of fact, the apparently given and unarguable reality of the present and of the future. Computers, it is widely argued, are not only shaping life today but are increasingly also dictating the way the future will go. Granted, it may also be admitted by those who wish to follow it that this path is not entirely foreseeable. The complexity of interwoven processes of innovation, and perhaps also the much-heralded arrival of new forms of generative complexity, notably through advancements in machine learning, mean the logics of computerization are not fully possible to discern (at least by humans — and there is still nobody else). Despite this, however, the trajectory of much commentary on digital futures suggests a belief that — unknowable though they are — what is known is that these imprevisible logics will out. This belief, which is essentially teleological, turns any obstacles to the further advancement of computing — whether these concern narrowly technical issues, bottlenecks, reverse salients, or social tools including legislation — into temporary impediments to what will come, obstructions that will be routed around, sooner or later. Viewed from this perspective anti-computing interventions too, whether they come as intellectual broadsides, or emerge as circulating hostile discourses amongst various publics or as aesthetic or literary interventions, will only ever momentarily stall the disruptive energy of change, the forward march. They are, that is, deemed to be doomed to eventual failure or terminal subsidence. What are raised as problems concerning digital automation/instantiation — digital culture, AI for instance — may be taken seriously whilst maintaining this general perspective, but they are nonetheless also understood as proximate problems, as problems that ‘we’ may expect to overcome in time.

Consider the very different responses to the computational found in Joseph Weizenbaum’s critique of the logicality/rationality equation, in Hannah Arendt’s attack on the cybercultural idealists of mid-1960s New York, in ER. Leavis’ attack on technologico-Benthamism, in anti-database elements of the US and UK counter-cultures (all discussed here), or consider the more recent writings of Morozov (2012), Pariser (2012), Lanier (2010), Noble (2018), Hawking (2015), respectively railing against the cloud, the crowd, algorithmically accelerated racial bias, and the rise of computer intelligence. All partake of something I am terming the anti-computational. All are - if the dominant logics of computational progress are accepted — sideshows to the main event. They have been or will be absorbed, set aside, sidelined, routed around, dismissed, put in their proper place. It isn’t an accident that futile or mindless resistance is the popular (and distorted) meaning currently widely ascribed to Luddism,' or that the term Luddite is now invoked far more often in relation to computational technologies than to its original contexts* Perhaps this is why an avowed technological Luddism, proffered as a form of computational dissent, never had much purchase, though it was demanded in the early years of the public internet (see e.g. Webster and Robins, 1986) and is undergoing something of a recurrence (e.g. Lachney and Dotson, 2018).

A sense of the inexorable expansion of the computational is easily discerned as long standing, part of a structure of feeling emerging alongside the digital as it becomes pervasive in 20th- and 21st-century societies (albeit unevenly distributed). Consider the ‘drift’ (in fact a powerfully flowing current) towards the adoption by nation-states of bulk surveillance techniques no longer based on ‘need to know’ rationales but on exhaustive capture, which may be disliked by many but which are not being widely or systematically contested. Surveillance has already become embedded, an intrinsic part of the wider social architecture (and not only in the West), including the architecture of the built environment and of the self (see e.g. Andrejevic, 2015). Infra-structuralization produces a lockdown, not only cementing technological systems but also constraining the cultural imaginaries that might let us imagine them operating in other ways, let alone not operating at all. The teleological horizon, then, in the end acceding to a form of fatalism, leaves little space for the impertinent intrusion of the anti-computational. Anti-computing, whether understood as worthy or foolish or tragic, hubristic or pathetic, ill conceived, optimistic, or even heroic, is within this horizon ultimately always to be understood as a futile form of resistance, at least if it intends to do more than rectify an immediately correctable, temporally discrete anomaly.

In response, the wager of this book is that teleological readings of the computational, both those found in popular culture and those generated by particular framings of the technological, can be disputed, and that accounts that fail to register the significance of dissent and hostility can also be challenged - and should be. The anti-computational favours a dissonant reading of computational history, demands an alternative understanding of the technological, and can generate an alternative account of the actual and potential impacts of the computational. It does so as an act of writing, but also as an act of excavation.

Acknowledging that anti-computing moments falter, and that anti-computing often fails, and that there are many positive aspects to the computational, I set out to acknowledge and explore dissent, hostility, antagonism, doubt, unease, in many forms. Teleological accounts of computational technologies and the computerization of culture, taking various explicit forms, working in multiple registers, silently informing many accounts, need to be challenged. Both because they operate in powerful ideological ways and because (partly because of this) they tell only half of a larger story; anti-computational formations are an element of, and an element essential to the understanding of, those processes which Bernard Stiegler memorably defined in terms of a co-evolution between humans and technology and explored in relation to medium technological times in terms of grammatization or exteriorization and its potentials for good or ill (Stiegler, 2013).

These are times in which assumptions of unlimited space for growth or progress, or of humans’ ultimate mastery of our world, are revealed — in the flames of Australia, or in the melting of the ice, or in COVID-19 — to be the fictions that they always were. A theory of technical co-evolution, challenging assumptions of mastery and control by ‘the human’ over ‘nature’ by challenging the boundaries between them, specifically challenges technologically enabled visions of automatic or open-ended progress. The engagements between the computational and the environmental are complex and multilayered, but also brutally obvious; land poisoned by tech manufacturing processes, the rise of throwaway culture, labour exploitation around rare metal mining for smartphone components, pollution, the energy consumption of data lakes used in AI. These issues are explored elsewhere (see Solnit, 2007, 2013, Bauman, 2003, for early engagement, and emerging writing in ecological digital humanities for more contemporary treatments, including Yusoff, 2018, and Smith, 2011) and do not directly constitute the proximate subject matter of this book. However, the broad attack on the presumption that unlimited growth represents progress (and perhaps virtue), made for instance by Latour and Haraway in discussions of technology and environmental limits, resonates with many explicit critiques of the computational as the handmaiden of such forms of progress, and is present in a more amorphous form more widely (see Latour, 2011, Haraway, 2016). Work by Timnit Gebru et al. on the high environmental/energy cost of expanding data lakes used in AI sharpens the critique in relation to emerging technologies (Gebru, 2021).

Significance

The anti-computing formations I explore here are significant first of all because their very existence provides evidence that in earlier decades the path ‘forwards’ towards greater computerization has not been as direct as it appears to us in retrospect. Foucault (1972: 14) talked of the ‘tranquilized sleep’ of a conventional history and asked how this might be disturbed. Anti-computing formations punctuate those breathless but still somnolent accounts in which the ‘progress’ of the computerization of culture, viewed as the latest/ last work of humans, is assured through the smooth and relentless application of (computer) science. An exploration going by way of the anti-computational exploits this disruption and theorizes its significance. Anti-computing can be understood in this respect as a partly theoretical construction or methodology, one which isn’t quite archaeological in Foucault’s sense, nor quite a media archaeology, but which shares with both of these some interests in discontinuity, series, scales, irreducibility, and looped connection, seeking out and exploiting the possibilities opened by interruption — and systematizing them where possible.

Anti-computing exposes other ways of seeing the history of computational adoption and expansion, and discerns ratios operating between humans and machines other than those most conventionally remarked upon. Of course, there are multiple ways in which dominant forms of computational culture — computational capitalism and its growth logics — are questioned. The anti-computational moment relates to other forms of resistance, for instance those that can be framed as doing otherwise (hacking ‘fixes’ to reopen apparently finished technologies, the adoption of alternative modes of use, turning data against its owners, all are good examples here and are also much studied; see e.g. Jordan, 2017). Anti-computing makes its point differently. Its modus operandi is dissent. It tends to prioritize refusal and critique over appropriation. This matters partly because, as is increasingly clear in relation to commodity culture and culture jamming, appropriation only too easily produces reappropriation — net autonomy was always going to be temporary, as Hakim Bey (1991) put it long ago. Dissent may (also) jam up the technological imaginary, but this time through forms of distancing, refusal, doubt, rejection. Anti-computing is not about playing with, but rather about not playing at all, or at the very least about questioning the logics of the game.

A certain irritation might be legitimate at this point; what is anti-computing? So far, I have defined it as a series of found and generated responses to the computational that wish to question some of the powerful assumptions about the inevitability of computational technology and computational growth and/as progress. I have suggested that they may be powerful in themselves, and that their existence disrupts a story that is all too easy to tell, that threatens to tell itself. I have also begun to talk about anti-computing as an excavatory methodology. I recognize that these two definitions provide only the beginnings of an answer, and they are intended to be partial. In this book the term is allowed —- indeed encouraged — to morph, to expand and contract, and to change case. Indeed it is more than a term, although the matter of terms is where I turn to next.

Computing and anti-computing

To explore anti-computing demands some discussion of terms such as ‘computing’, ‘the computational’, and ‘computational culture’, given the multiple ways in which they are deployed. A computer is a machine that operates on data according to a set of instructions (an algorithm). Digital computing is a particular instantiation of such a machine; this distinction can be clearly made — but it needs to be recognized that the two terms are endlessly switched in popular culture. The computational is not the cybernetic, certainly not as this was defined by Norbert Wiener (1950), but some argue that the latter constitutes something like the basic architecture of the former. Competing definitions are common; computing ‘began’ with Babbage, or with Lovelace and programming, or with Hilbert’s work on algorithms, or with Turing, or with the Turing Machine, or with Turing’s paper ‘Computable Numbers’ (Fazi, 2018). Or, in deep media accounts, it began centuries sooner (Zielinksi, 2008). These definitions inform more or less contemporary analyses of computerization processes in society and culture; consider Wing on computational thinking (2006), Lanier on the computational (2010), and Berry on the computational turn (2011).

I employ some of these definitions here, chiefly using them in the following ways. First, computing is taken to mean something reasonably close to Turing’s original definition of the universal machine, capable of calculating according to coded instructions (Turing, 1950). This draws attention to computing as a process and an operation which may be instantiated in many ways; on this basis the digital (digital computing) is a particular kind of computing, quantum computing another. It also allows that computational operations may be components of assemblages taking many physical forms; this is highly pertinent today as billions of embedded computer controllers animate and endlessly expand the emerging Internet of Things (itself a term now approaching senescence).

Second, computing, the computational, computers: all these are also allowed to be umbrella terms, designating assemblages widely understood to be computers, and/or operations understood to be computational at the time of this writing, or in their time. Today these include that expanded constellation of personal computers (PCs), tablets, cell phones, and cloud storage devices and facilities that constitutes the network central to computer culture: the internet and the platforms. To this are added those things and processes that are computerized (becoming computer controlled, or ‘becoming’ computational operations) and that are, in the process, transformed, often via a process that might be termed ‘sensorship’. The qualifying criterion for what constitutes a computational object or process isn’t absolute and is contingent. In 2020 prototype driverless cars are often understood as computerized vehicles; their capacity to automate what has been viewed as a form of human manual and cognitive expertise — driving — is what marks them out. But digital circuitry is of course deeply embedded in all reasonably modern cars (even mine, which still has cassette technology and mechanical windows), even though these are not conventionally recognized as (defined as) computational objects. The sociology of media-technological innovation, with its exploration of the becoming invisible of technology through appropriation, which produces a culturally informed sense of the technical per se, has much to teach here (see e.g. Silverstone, 1994, Hartmann, 2009). Similar ambiguities arise elsewhere. Consider smart homes technologies. Fridges transformed through their computerization (embedded sensors, storage, control circuitry) into informational and media devices continue to perform their traditional chilling and storing functions. But what is milk to me is now information to a supermarket. The computational is a relational category.

Despite the flexibility of these terms computing does mean something, not only as a technical definition, indicating an assemblage with the capacity to undertake particular operations, but also in the shifting vernaculars of the everyday. Allowing for this I bring into my orbit discussions that, despite the vagueness with which they may adumbrate specific objects, or specific computational technologies, nonetheless focus hostility onto computing, or the computational moment, however they define it. This focus is sometimes a part of a larger critique: of technology in general, singularity in general, or modernity in general, for instance, but it is there. This focus shapes my own inquiries. Later in the book, for instance, I explore Arendt’s treatment of automation, beginning not with The Human Condition (1998 [1958]), a work of philosophy exploring the viva activa, but by asking how Arendt fared among the cyberenthusiasts and haters, industrial organizers, civil rights activists, and nascent tech industry professionals who argued with her face to face at a conference exploring the ‘threat’ (or promise) of new waves of specifically computational automation or ‘cybernation’ in the early 1960s.

One more definitional comment. I am wary of using ‘the computational’ as a term to replace ‘the digital’, at least if this switch is taken to mark an exact break point, since I don’t believe it does. Terms such as computational, digital, postdigital are invoked as periodizing categories in cultural or critical theory and do have useful heft as aesthetic provocations (on the postdigital see Florian Cramer, 2014). However, their usage isn’t precise. In the case of the digital and the postdigital, for instance, there is obvious slippage across registers marking the aesthetic and the sociological — and that produces the peril of an unexamined assumption that we’re all in this together, and all in the same place. We should ask of the postdigital, post for whom? post where? post when? — and recognize that the response ‘it’s post for me!’ often isn’t good enough. Not least because it fails to recognize (post)colonial issues of historical discrimination and normative legibility. In another context the scholar and artist Lewis R. Gordan has discussed these kinds of universalizing labels in terms of the epistemic closures they produce, particularly around race (Gordan, cited in Evans, 2019), and this is apt.

The computational, then, is understood as a formation, one in which computational control logics dominate, but one which invokes and assembles many other actors in operation. The computational cultures that arise as the logics of computational assemblages expand through becoming operational are specific to particular times and places, which is to say they operate in relation to, and as an integral part of, specific political economies. Computational culture today is not necessarily isomorphic with neoliberalism as a political economy and a social order, although the computational is a key mode through which neoliberalism is organized and operates — and is also important in how it sees itself (as an information society, knowledge society, or, in so far as the label ‘computational capitalism’ is accepted, as a computational society).

12 Anti-computing: dissent and the machine Anti-computing instances

In this book anti-computing is explored from two directions. First via a series of investigations of anti-computing in specific sites and contexts, scattered across the seventy years or so of post-war computing. In each, the goal is to understand anti-computing in a particular social and material context, to ask what forms of understanding underpinned anti-computational interventions (how the technological was constituted as powerful, how it was understood in relation to political economic conditions pertaining, for instance, or what justifies my labelling of it as anti-computational). These investigations focus on some (of many) instances where aspects or instantiations of the forward march of the computational are attacked.

There are no pretensions to completeness here. They would be frustrated, since anti-computing is found in many places, takes multiple forms, and operates at different scales. Consider these various iterations: campaigns against computer surveillance, for instance early opposition to the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000 in the UK, were and are anti-computational, as were objections to the potential data capture operations of a single software package, the finance package Lotus 1-2-3 (an early example of a tightly defined anti-computational moment). Then there were the bundles of assembled new technologies that promised to ‘cybernate’ various forms of work in the 1960s, or the electronic page make-up systems central to shifts in the print industry in the UK in the 1980s; both aroused a hostility that was anti-computational. The UK print case is a useful example, since it illustrates how the anti-computational can draw itself up into and articulate antagonisms far exceeding the purely technological; the print industry wars were part of the Thatcherite attack on trade unions and working-class organization in the UK in the 1980s (Cockburn, 1992). The computational informs cybernetic routes to the post-human — and so warnings against these forms of post-human existence may usefully be explored in anti-computational terms. Or — bathetically perhaps — consider those on trains who prefer silence to electronic noise. Or those who prefer thick, rich, ‘real world’ contact to virtual interaction, or those who take detox ‘holidays’ away from the saturated computationality of everyday life (see Harrison, 2020), or who call for organic community over techno-scientific culture, or who critique technocratic rationality as that which will hollow out the political world. All of these positions and arguments are examples of anti-computing. Some of them are explored further in this book.

Hopefully, these examples already suggest that there is something impure about the anti-computational, something incommensurate about the various scales at which it operates, and something partial and rarely complete. This impurity interests me and is partly why I have not set out to research the most obvious cases. I am interested in interventions, often now largely forgotten, aired in very different sites, all of which took forms that, even if they were staged by academics, reached beyond the spheres of the academy as these latter are narrowly conceived of, and certainly beyond critical theory as an entirely contained project sufficient unto itself. Rather, anti-computing constellations, which entail an engagement with theory, are considered as they emerge in real-world contexts. The attempt is to produce critically informed rich descriptions. A series of events, writings, moments, that cross between theoretical and everyday registers, and that are not often explored for what they say about the computational, are reopened and explored as anti-computational, and explored through the optic this taxonomic division provides. This close-up view, somewhat set aside in the rest of this opening chapter, or at least not referred to in specific terms, constitutes the bulk of the work undertaken.

Anti-computing and its travels

The second concern of this book is to explore what connects apparently discrete moments of anti-computing that irrupt in response to the new. It should already be clear that the objects, assemblages, movements, writings, that constitute anti-computing are markedly heterogeneous, a term that, as Fredric Jameson notes, has had spectacular success in late capitalism (Jameson, 2015). Even in this heterogeneity, however, specific iterations of the anti-computational are often regarded as disjunct from one another and their connection to earlier forms often not recognized; it tends to be ‘new’ dangers, ‘new’ forms of sociality, ‘new’ kinds of addiction, ‘new’ kinds of AI that are feared or disliked, after all. This suggests that discontinuity wins out. On the other hand, there are also connections to be identified and explored. Anti-computing is multifaceted and diverse in its materiality, orientation, and scale, unexpected in its forms, unique in its instantiations, but it does exhibit forms of coherence, and exhibits traits held in common. Moreover, although the times of its emergence cannot be predicted, that forms of anti-computing will emerge and re-emerge over time can be anticipated, at the very least.

Thus, whilst discrete forms and moments of anti-computing are explored for their intrinsic interest, the question also tackled here is how to understand anti-computing as a formation that regenerates, takes up, takes on, moves on, and revives in various recurring forms across time, in irregular but nonetheless recurring circuits. How do these forms travel, how do they translate, come to be rematerialized? Does anti-computing itself, as a formation, have a form of coherence over time? Is there a way of doing technological history that can encourage recognition of this coherence? This last begins to ask questions about technology and history, and will return us, in Chapter 2, to an engagement with media archaeology. Briefly prefiguring that here, my argument is that a conditional and partial continuity, complementing the inaugural moments of new forms of computational dissent and confounding what might have appeared to be the terminal disappearance of some others, constitutes one of the defining dynamics of anti-computing. The question, then, is how to identify and account for discontinuity/continuity, to explore what appears to be — and what is — durable in the relationship between computers and the (techno)cultures they intervene into.