"The courtroom is a crucible."

Sometimes it feels like data has free will around here, too.

- Joe Shewfelt 

I currently share my office at work with a fellow named Bill.  It's universally accepted that BIll is one of the nicest people you could ever meet, and as such, he's obviously a great person with whom to share a workspace. 

However, Bill does have one shortcoming:  he is in no way a science fiction or fantasy fan, thereby proving that no one is perfect.*

Bill spends a lot of his time in hearings that deal with injury claims:  they're not exactly legal situations as such, but there are resemblances to the courtroom environment - evidence is presented and refuted, arguments made, and judgements delivered.  We were chatting about the generalities of this process during a recent lunchtime walk, and he mentioned that one of the main issues is to avoid dealing with irrelevant information.

At this point I laughed a bit, which puzzled Bill, so I had to explain why the mention of irrelevancy rings the bell for science fiction fans, particularly fans of Star Trek:  The Next Generation.

The Measure of A Man is one of the best episodes of The Next Generation, one of those scripts which typifies good science fiction in its discussion of universal issues through the abstracted lens of speculative SF. It addresses the question of how artificial intelligences will be treated by humanity when the time comes - what will be their status? Will they be peers, servants - or simply property, considered to be nothing more than bits and bytes, and as such deactivated, erased and rebuilt at our whim?

The plot is quite simple on the surface:  a request has been made to transfer Lieutenant Commander Data, the Enterprise's android bridge officer, to the Daystrom Institute, so that he can be disassembled by the Robotics Department and studied in hopes of building similar androids.  Data himself is the product of Noonian Soong, an independent, reclusive genius, and as such his construction is an enigma - as a result, there is no guarantee that it will be possible to successfully put him back together.

Because of this, Data attempts to resign his commission, but is informed that he cannot:  after all, as an assembly of molybdenum-cobalt alloys and positronic circuitry, he is as much a piece of Starfleet's property as the Enterprise itself, and no more able to protest a command than any other piece of equipment.
  
The case is put forward for adjudication by the Starfleet Judge Advocate General - does Data have rights? Or is he property?  It is easily proved that Data is a machine, and Captain Picard, who is defending Data, is convinced that his case is lost. 

 

He is in conversation with Guinan about Data's value to him when she points out that an multitude of androids would be even more valuable, as a race of disposable beings.  Picard realizes that property is a euphemism for a much more fundamental word:  slavery.

At the climax of the courtroom action, Picard delivers the following brilliantly written speech:

Your honor, the courtroom is a crucible; in it, we burn away irrelevancies until we are left with a pure product: the truth, for all time. Now sooner or later, this man - or others like him - will succeed in replicating Commander Data. The decision you reach here today will determine how we will regard this creation of our genius. It will reveal the kind of people we are; what he is destined to be. It will reach far beyond this courtroom and this one android. It could significantly redefine the boundaries of personal liberty and freedom: expanding them for some, savagely curtailing them for others. Are you prepared to condemn him - and all who will come after him - to servitude and slavery? Your honor, Starfleet was founded to seek out new life: well, there it sits! Waiting.

Ultimately, it is ruled that Data, although a machine, is not property - and has the freedom to choose.

When we returned to the office after our walk, I took a minute of the company's time to find the appropriate clip from the episode on YouTube™ (I knew it would be there somewhere) and let BIll listen to Jean-Luc's entire speech.  When it finished, he nodded slowly a couple of times and said, "Good, that was good. I liked that - 'a crucible in which we burn away irrelevancies'..."

I immediately warned him that he should be cautious if he planned to borrow this bit of courtroom rhetoric for a hearing.  All he needs is one Star Trek fan in the room, and he would be so completely busted.

- Sid

* When I mentioned this** to Bill, he initially protested, then sort of agreed.

** The fact that he's not a genre fan, that is.  He was willing to admit that he might not be perfect.