"The newest computer can merely compound, at speed, the oldest problem in the relations between human beings, and in the end the communicator will be confronted with the old problem, of what to say and how to say it"
About this Quote
Edward R. Murrow points to a stubborn truth about technology and communication: faster machines do not solve the human task of meaning. A computer can accelerate calculation, storage, and distribution, but it cannot decide what matters, what is truthful, or how to craft words that move minds without distorting them. Speed magnifies whatever already exists. If the substance is shallow or evasive, technology will compound shallowness and evasion; if the message is clear and courageous, it will amplify clarity and courage.
Murrow knew this intimately. As the voice from London during the Blitz and later as the television journalist who challenged Senator McCarthy, he built trust not by reveling in the novelty of radio or television, but by practicing judgment, restraint, and moral clarity. His famous critique of television as wires and lights in a box warned that tools without purpose become spectacles. With computers entering public consciousness in the mid-20th century, he extended the warning: machines cannot relieve us of the oldest problem between human beings, the problem of understanding, persuasion, and honesty.
The phrase what to say and how to say it separates information from communication. Data alone does not persuade; it must be selected, framed, and delivered with awareness of audience, context, and consequence. The choice of what to say is an ethical act, rooted in values and courage. The choice of how to say it is an artistic act, rooted in empathy and craft. Neither can be automated away, even when algorithms predict preferences or segment audiences. Those tools still reflect someone’s priorities.
The modern deluge of content makes Murrow’s point sharper. Velocity creates noise and incentives for spectacle; authority becomes performative; attention splinters. All of that makes the communicator’s responsibility heavier, not lighter. Before the keyboard, microphone, or camera, the essential questions remain primitive and personal: What truth needs saying? To whom? In what words and tone will it illuminate rather than inflame? Technology can carry an answer, but it cannot compose it.
Murrow knew this intimately. As the voice from London during the Blitz and later as the television journalist who challenged Senator McCarthy, he built trust not by reveling in the novelty of radio or television, but by practicing judgment, restraint, and moral clarity. His famous critique of television as wires and lights in a box warned that tools without purpose become spectacles. With computers entering public consciousness in the mid-20th century, he extended the warning: machines cannot relieve us of the oldest problem between human beings, the problem of understanding, persuasion, and honesty.
The phrase what to say and how to say it separates information from communication. Data alone does not persuade; it must be selected, framed, and delivered with awareness of audience, context, and consequence. The choice of what to say is an ethical act, rooted in values and courage. The choice of how to say it is an artistic act, rooted in empathy and craft. Neither can be automated away, even when algorithms predict preferences or segment audiences. Those tools still reflect someone’s priorities.
The modern deluge of content makes Murrow’s point sharper. Velocity creates noise and incentives for spectacle; authority becomes performative; attention splinters. All of that makes the communicator’s responsibility heavier, not lighter. Before the keyboard, microphone, or camera, the essential questions remain primitive and personal: What truth needs saying? To whom? In what words and tone will it illuminate rather than inflame? Technology can carry an answer, but it cannot compose it.
Quote Details
| Topic | Wisdom |
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