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Computers and Creativity

by Richard P. Ten Dyke

 

Starting in this issue, I will be offering a series of articles on the subject of Computers and Creativity. It is a concept that simultaneously embraces the concepts of “different” and “better.”

The topic needs a short introduction. For us to be able to discuss the broad questions, we need to share some common experiences. So I am inviting you to share a journey through some problems that call out for nontraditional solutions. These problems will give birth to observations and ideas that address the topic. The problems are trivial and easy to state, but the lessons are scalable. The problems will frame issues, and the value will be in the lessons learned and not the solutions to the specific problems. Each section will explore a different problem and each will add a little to our understanding of the creative process.

In 1964, I asked Manny Piore, Chief Scientist of IBM “what is creativity?” His quick answer: “That which a machine can not do.” He went on to say that people can be creative, machines can not. With this perspective we might just drop the subject right now. Yes, there are many things which a computer can not do, but also many things that it can. More interesting to us is that boundary that divides what is possible from what is not. Whether Dr. Piore was more right or wrong you will get to decide, but first we will have to start with fundamentals.

Computer programs, such as Photoshop, Garage Band, and Maya, and even Word, are powerful creative tools in the hands of the right people. One might think that this article would talk about how such tools help people become more creative, because they certainly do. But we know that already, and that is not what we are here for. We want to look at how the computer can be considered more than “just a tool” in the whole creative process.

Here is the first problem
Part 1: Designing a Ballistic Missile

Our journey starts in 1956 at the Ramo-Wooldridge Corporation, in Los Angeles. I had learned about computers from articles in Fortune Magazine during the early 50’s. (Colleges would not have computer science departments for several more years.) One article mentioned that Ramo Wooldridge Corporation in Los Angeles had one and was looking for applications. So I asked for a job and was hired.

I was assigned to the Guided Missile Research Division. We would be using computers to build Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles — ICBMs. Forget, please, that today these things are also known as weapons of mass destruction.
The computer was a room-sized vacuum tube, ERA 1103A Scientific Computer, with electrostatic storage tubes, steel magnetic tape, and a paper-tape reader from Electronic Research Associates of St. Paul, Minnesota, and a card reader-punch from Compagnie des Machines Bull in France. I think it was one of three such systems in the United States, and predated the arrival of the IBM 704 by about a year.

After learning about ballistic missiles, I was given an assignment to establish the feasibility of building a missile that would carry a payload of “x” pounds a distance of “y” miles. It would use solid propellant and would probably require three stages, that is, three rockets in tandem. My task was to design one with the least possible liftoff weight.
I was just out of college, you understand. The first goal was to design one that would go the distance. Luckily, I was allowed to use a computer program that would build a missile based on my inputs and simulate a rocket flight on a spherical, rotating earth with atmospheric drag. All I had to do was select the key parameters. Finding the design that would go the distance took only a few trials.

Finding the least weight, was more challenging. One key was to find the correct balance of fuel for each of the three stages. Other questions included the diameter of the rocket, which would affect both its total weight and the aerodynamic drag. Also, the efficiency rocket engines depend on nozzle design and atmospheric pressure, which in turn is determined by the actual trajectory. All of these would interact to affect the weight.

The task was to find proper values for nine interacting variables that determined the distance and weight of the missile. In the afternoon I would prepare small changes to the input parameters for each of the nine variables. The computer would simulate several flights every night. The next morning I would review the simulation results, and make note of how much each of the changes affected the weight and the distance. Then I would select a new design by changing in one direction those parameters which reduced the weight with the least impact on the distance, and change in the opposite direction those that most affected distance with the least change in weight. It was a process of constant rebalancing, with the goal to reduce the weight and keep the distance. After a few weeks, nothing would reduce the weight any further. Using this method, we cut about 25 per cent out of the weight of the original design.

The principle lesson here is to describe why the problem was solvable, and how the computer assisted in the solution. A well-structured optimization problem consists of three elements:

  1. A measurable performance objective;
  2. A set of variables that can be used to affect performance; and
  3. A means of calculating performance as a function of the variables.

For our missile problem:

  1. The objective was the least weight for a ballistic missile of given
    range and payload.
  2. The variables were the amount of fuel in each of the three stages,
    the diameter of each stage, and the expansion ratio of the engine nozzle.
  3. The means to evaluate was a computer simulation of the design and
    flight of a ballistic missile on a spherical, rotating earth with atmosphere.

The problem was easy to solve using the flight simulator. Each mission took about ten minutes of computer time, and I was using the computer about ninety minutes almost every night.

It has been 48 years since the missile design. Now there is a computer on almost everybody’s desk. The whole job, which took me several weeks, would take just a few minutes today. So why bring up such old ideas now? The answer lies in the fact that the computer of today is still similar in concept and design to the ones of fifty years ago, only faster with more storage. The fundamental computer design ideas haven’t changed. The basic nature of problems haven’t changed either. We can still learn from these examples.

Key to solving the missile problem was the flight simulator. It provided rapid (over night) feedback on the value of each design. It was a groundbreaking achievement for its time. I didn’t write it; it was given to me, written in binary machine language without the use of any programming aids like compilers or assemblers. In fact, it took several others with various Ph. D.’s to do it: specialists in trajectories, thermodynamics, aerodynamics, weight and structures, systems design, and a computer programmer who pulled it all together. I recall telling my wife, on the way home from work one evening “I don’t have a masters degree, but I have six Ph.D.’s working for me tonight.” That moment was an epiphany. I realized then how computers could be used to magnify human intellect.

But was our
solution creative?

No. The decision to build the flight simulator was creative, but my use of it was not. Even if my part of the operation was programmed so that the computer could run until the problem was solved, we could not say that the computer performed a creative act. Instead, it was an optimization. We followed a smooth and continuous path from the original solution to the optimum solution. However, we did employ three basic elements of creative problem solving—an objective, a means of generating trial solutions, and a means of measuring the quality of those solutions against the objective. This is the basic formula for everything that follows. The differences are in the details.

So what is the distinction between optimization and creativity? Creative solutions are characterized by discontinuity. The missile design process was continuous. For example, we could take a tiny amount of fuel out of one stage and put it in a different stage, then fly the missile again. If the missile went farther, we could continue to do more, and if it it fell short, we could reverse the process. When adjusting fuel would not make a difference, we could assume that we had found the right balance. When finished, we did recognize that finally we might have found a “local optimum” but considering the nature of the problem, we dismissed that possibility.

When you have found a local optimum, you can look at “nearest neighbor” solutions and find that none of the neighbors is as good as the one you have selected. That doesn’t prove that there is not some better solution in a totally different neighborhood. For many problems excellent solutions may be very different from one another in significant ways.

When you only explore your own neighborhood, you keep coming back to where you started. Somehow, you must find a way to cross the gulch that separates one solution from a better solution. In other words, our process must be able to jump over a discontinuity.

Discontinuities can be big or little. A big one is to discover how a different statement of the problem opens up a whole
new set of possible solutions. Smaller discontinuities can also be challenging when there is not a connected path from where you are to where you want to be.

The next problems we will look at contain discontinuities and local optima, so we will need nontraditional ways of finding solutions. The first example of such a problem is to create a magic square.

When I was ten years old, my big brother showed me the magic square, a 3-by-3 array of the numbers from 1 to 9, so that the rows, columns, and diagonals all added up to the same number: 15. He gave me a method for creating such a square, so that I could take it to school and dazzle my friends.

8 1 6
3 5 7
4 9 2

Having mastered this exercise, my brother challenged me to come up with a magic square that was 4 x 4 rather than 3 x 3. I tried, but I couldn’t, even though I knew it exists.

To conclude this section, I’m going to give you a challenge. Develop a computer method that will find a magic squares of any dimension, starting at 4 x 4 and moving to larger dimensions from there. Use the same principles shown in the missile design problem. If you solve the problem, you will discover that it is both difficult and easy at the same time, and you will also discover some useful insights about the creative process, whether by computer or human being.


Richard Ten Dyke, a member of the Danbury Area Computer Society, has previously contributed to this newsletter on the topic of Digital Photography. He is retired from IBM and can be reached at tendyke@bedfordny.com. All opinions are his own, and he welcomes comments.

© 2004 Richard P. Ten Dyke

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