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Nothing so demonstrates modern man's need for myth as the superstitions created by "rational" technology itself. Hardly anyone is more superstitious these days than the supposedly no-nonsense men who fly huge jetliners at multimile altitudes. Aviators frequently cross unused seat belts prior to takeoff, or spit on a wheel after their preflight inspection—thus indulging the old belief that saliva is an offering of the spirit to the gods. Some auto racers don't like peanuts or women in their pits. In keeping with the belief that new machines cause sterility, U.S. servicemen blithely took sexual advantage of British girl radar operators in World War II. A similar male myth has it that airline hostesses are incapable of conception because their cross-country flights confuse their menstrual cycles. (Not so.)
Computer technology is bewitched with superstition. For one thing, today's young cyberneticists tend to anthropomorphize their tools. Tom Allison, 25, a Coca-Cola executive in Atlanta, is convinced that his computer is feminine. "She keeps cutting me off at the most inopportune times," he complains. A programmer in Los Angeles will not feed blue cards into his computer—he feels she deserves pink. Seymour Greenfield, a research manager for the military DRC-44 computer program at Dynamics Research Corp. near Boston, complicates the matter further, " I hired everyone building the computer by the zodiac signs under which they were born," he says. As a Leo, he has prejudices. "I hired two Cancer men and they both ended up with ulcers."
Apollo Flight Director Gene Kranz disclaims any superstition, yet regularly dons a white vest during launches, a red vest during long flights, and a flashy gold-brocaded vest immediately after a safe splashdown. At California's Hughes Aircraft Co., any unmanned space probe, like Surveyor, is accompanied in the control room by more crossed fingers, arms and legs than a contortionists' convention. Most space scientists believe in Murphy's Law: "If something can go wrong, it will go wrong, and at the worst possible time." Is there really a Professor Murphy? Answers one California scientist: "Sure, just like there's a Santa Claus."
Mystical Renaissance
All sorts of old superstitions have re-emerged in a new era, sometimes in new guises. One Chicago dealer in magical objects reports that "crystal balls are selling like popcorn" for as much as $23 apiece. New York's TBS Computer Centers Corp. now cranks out 20-page personal horoscopes for a mere $15, the electronic brain taking only a minute to compute a life history that flesh-and-blood astrologers need a week to prepare. Necromancy, the art of communication with the dead, has undergone a rebirth, abetted by California's Episcopal Bishop James Pike, who engaged in a seance at which he claims to have talked with his suicide son.