Information and falling trees
A tree falls in the middle of a remote California wilderness. No one observes it, except maybe a passing doe with her fawn, a few squirrels, some mosquitoes and a few million micro-organisms, if they can even be said to observe anything at all. But to those creatures of varying states of consciousness, the falling tree is merely a passing phenomena. While it is potentially information, yet if no one takes note or records the phenomena, it is simply one of many hundreds, thousands or millions that might occur every hour at any one location. After all, the wind blows, rain falls, animals eat and are eaten, plant and animal cells are constantly growing and reproducing, air molecules are swirling through the atmosphere, atoms are constantly churning with energy. An unimaginable number of events are occurring constantly. But who cares? Ok, God cares. But otherwise, it’s just passing phenomena, unless some sentient being takes note and begins to reflect upon it, and shares it with another, and writes about it, and keeps a record of it for posterity.
So the tree falls along the south fork of the Kings River in Kings Canyon National Park, California, and some hiker happens to be standing there with her satellite phone. She immediately dials a number in Singapore, waking her friend in the middle of the night to say, “Hiya, I just had this really weird experience out here in the middle of nowhere. A tree just fell right across my path. Almost kill me, la!” To which the friend grunts back, “Call me so late, what? Unless you’re dying sms me.”
In that case the falling tree is not merely a passing phenomena, not merely potential information. It has become information, (so Hobart and Schiffman, Information Ages: Literacy, Numeracy, and the Computer Revolution), because someone has noted it, recorded, reflected on its meaning and shared it with another. It has become a cultural artifact. And in the act of sharing and briefly discussing it with a friend, the process of communication has taken place.
A distinction between the three categories is essential for any study of information and communication. While potential information is inherent in every event in the universe, the vast majority is merely passing phenomena, never to be noted, never to be recorded, never to be shared among friends. And that’s quite ok. Being neither an astronomer nor astrophysicist I have only minimal interest in what takes place on the periphery of such distant places as the Andromeda galaxy. There may very well be be something there that is life-threatening or life-enhancing for some very distant generation. But at this point I don’t even have the capacity to conjecture what it might or might not be.
In the meantime, I need to leave this blog to tend to some other informational tasks, a youth website, a retreat, some articles and, on yes, a sermon.
So the tree falls along the south fork of the Kings River in Kings Canyon National Park, California, and some hiker happens to be standing there with her satellite phone. She immediately dials a number in Singapore, waking her friend in the middle of the night to say, “Hiya, I just had this really weird experience out here in the middle of nowhere. A tree just fell right across my path. Almost kill me, la!” To which the friend grunts back, “Call me so late, what? Unless you’re dying sms me.”
In that case the falling tree is not merely a passing phenomena, not merely potential information. It has become information, (so Hobart and Schiffman, Information Ages: Literacy, Numeracy, and the Computer Revolution), because someone has noted it, recorded, reflected on its meaning and shared it with another. It has become a cultural artifact. And in the act of sharing and briefly discussing it with a friend, the process of communication has taken place.
A distinction between the three categories is essential for any study of information and communication. While potential information is inherent in every event in the universe, the vast majority is merely passing phenomena, never to be noted, never to be recorded, never to be shared among friends. And that’s quite ok. Being neither an astronomer nor astrophysicist I have only minimal interest in what takes place on the periphery of such distant places as the Andromeda galaxy. There may very well be be something there that is life-threatening or life-enhancing for some very distant generation. But at this point I don’t even have the capacity to conjecture what it might or might not be.
In the meantime, I need to leave this blog to tend to some other informational tasks, a youth website, a retreat, some articles and, on yes, a sermon.
Comments