TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/090390/0903310.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 8.4 KB | 173 lines

                                                                                TECHNOLOGY, Page 74

(Mis)Adventures in Cyberspace


After donning headset and glove, one may discover that the
promise of "virtual reality" is more virtual than real

By PHILIP ELMER-DEWITT/DALLAS


    I'm floating in the azure sky high above Seattle. Down
below, amid orange skyscrapers and forest-green mountains, the
city's Space Needle -- a relic of the 1962 World's Fair -- juts
up like a metallic blue mushroom. A ferry is steaming across
Puget Sound, while a playful killer whale spouts and dives
below the vessel's bow.

    I am the master of this brightly colored universe -- or at
least I'm supposed to be. By pointing my index finger and
cocking my thumb, I can swoop down among the skyscrapers. I can
wheel by the Space Needle, close enough to hear the clatter of
silverware in its restaurant. I can dive beneath the deep-blue
surface of the sound, go swimming with the whale and bask in
the staccato chatter of its birdlike mating call.

    I can do all these things if only I can get the silly
computer to respond to my commands. As this scene unfolds
within the two tiny color video screens strapped to my eyes,
I'm jabbing at the air with the electronic glove that is
supposed to be my steering wheel. But like the dreamer in a
nightmare who tries to leap out of the way of a speeding
locomotive and finds his legs won't work, I'm pointing my
finger and bending my thumb every which way with no visible
result. Feeling more and more foolish in my futuristic
headgear, I'm stranded in space above a cartoon rendering of
a corner of Washington State, the victim of a computer
simulation gone horribly awry.

    Here at the annual SIGGRAPH computer-graphics show in
Dallas, I'm having my first hands-on encounter with the
technological phenomenon known variously as cyberspace,
artificial reality or, in a phrase borrowed from computerese,
virtual reality. It relies on the techniques of interactive
computer graphics to create the illusion of navigating through
exotic locations that seem as "real" as those of the real
world. The scene I'm exploring was created by the University of
Washington's human-interface-technology lab to run on hardware
made by VPL Research, a tiny firm in Redwood City, Calif., that
is at the forefront of the budding virtual-reality movement.

    VPL sells all the tools needed to create the experience. The
device that converts hand motions into signals the computer can
understand is called the DataGlove. Optic fibers sewn onto the
fingers are supposed to detect the slightest movement of the
digits. A head-mounted display that looks like an oversize
skin-diving mask is called the EyePhone. Built-in headphones
provide stereo sound, and a pair of liquid-crystal-display
screens creates stereoscopic images that give the illusion of
three dimensions. Both glove and headset are equipped with
electromagnetic sensors that track changes in position and
orientation. For computer power, the equipment is linked by
cable to a pair of Silicon Graphics IRIS workstations -- one
for each eye -- capable of creating up to 30 color images a
second.

    VPL's system has been on the market for little more than a
year, and its cost (about $225,000) puts it beyond the reach
of nearly all consumers. But virtual reality has already
attracted a cult following in and around California's Silicon
Valley. Enthusiasts are convinced that today's EyePhones are
the forerunners of systems that will transform the way
Americans work and play. They have visions of workers stepping
into electronic suits to "commute" to virtual offices,
surgeons honing their technique on virtual patients,
honeymooners frolicking on virtual Caribbean vacations,
astronauts exploring virtual planets by remote control.

    Though in its infancy, virtual reality has attracted an
extraordinary amount of media attention. The technology has
been featured on ABC News and Entertainment Tonight and in
front-page stories in more than two dozen newspapers. Mattel
has managed to sell some 600,000 copies of its Power Glove, a
crude $90 variant on the Data Glove that is designed for use
with a Nintendo video-game player, despite the existence of
only a handful of games to go with the glove. Virtual reality
has even worked its way into the plot line of a feature film.
In the forthcoming A Man and a Woman and a Woman, two
characters fall in love within a virtual-reality demonstration.

    Part of the media's interest stems from the company the
technology has been keeping. Nolan Bushnell, who founded Atari
in the mid-'70s, eagerly foresees games in which people would
not just play but actually be Ms. Pac-Man. One of the most
enthusiastic proponents is Timothy Leary, the former Harvard
researcher who popularized LSD in the '60s and now has visions
of a whole new generation "tripping" electronically. "Everyone
will be equal in cyberspace," says Leary. "Inequalities of
class and race will be eliminated."

    But the real center of attention is Jaron Lanier, 30, the
programmer who coined the term virtual reality and co-founded
VPL in 1985. A legendary eccentric in a field famous for its
oddballs, he grew up in a New Mexico desert, dropped out of
high school to take up music composition and eventually drifted
into video games, earning a reputation as a prodigious hacker.
Amiable and rotund, he sports shoulder-length dreadlocks that
make him look more like a Rastafarian reggae singer than a
computer scientist.

    Lanier is a bit surprised by the hoopla his brainchild has
generated. He concedes that expectations have flown far ahead
of today's primitive technology, but he is convinced that
virtual reality will someday live up to its name. He dreams of
users creating their own artificial environment as fast as they
can describe it. Even if these worlds are sketched roughly on
the screen, he claims, the mind will fill in the missing
details. "The internal experience of reality is much more a
product of your central nervous system than of the actual
external world," he says. "That's why virtual reality works.
Provide enough visual cues [on the screen], and millions of
years of evolution will kick into gear."

    He may have something there. But it does not sit well with
the people who make a living creating the ultra-realistic
computer graphics widely seen in TV ads, network news shows,
science-fiction movies and theme-park rides. A
computer-generated backdrop for a Hollywood film may take more
than two years to create; Lanier claims he can make whole
virtual-reality "worlds" in less than two hours. "Jaron Lanier
has created a wave of revulsion in the industry," says the
president of one computer-graphics firm. "He's promising
something that will never be delivered."

    Floating above Seattle with my balky DataGlove, I'm inclined
to agree. There is an irritating delay between the moment I tip
my head to the left and the time the images move to the right.
When I reach to grab an object, there is no physical sensation
of hitting a solid surface. When I do make contact, my hand is
as likely to pass through the object as to connect with it.

    After a long struggle I finally manage to maneuver myself
in the direction of the floating yellow keyhole that is my
gateway to the next imaginary environment. I can visit a
virtual kitchen (complete with drippy faucet and ticking
clock), take a virtual picnic (featuring 3-D sound cues from
buzzing gnats) or make an appearance at the Mad Hatter's tea
party. But by now I've broken out in a clammy sweat, and I've
become acutely aware of the people lined up behind me waiting
their turn on the machine. Have they been watching me
wrestling spastically with my DataGlove? Have I been making a
fool of myself for what could have been only a few minutes but
seemed like hours?

    That's when I had my first realization of the potential
power of the technology. I was sitting in a room crowded with
strangers, but within the space of my virtual reality, I was
totally alone. So deeply immersed was I in the illusionary
world projected in front of my eyeballs that I assumed everyone
else was experiencing the same panic and frustration I was. In
fact, they were oblivious. Perhaps that's the secret attraction
in being able to explore your own personal inner space. In the
world of virtual reality, your anxiety is all your own.