In the midst of war hysteria and fears of a failing economy, the United States lost another space shuttle last month. You are all, by now, acquainted with the facts surrounding the tragic loss of Columbia and its seven-person crew. The nation, and many parts of the world, went into deep mourning. Rightfully so. But, as the somber mood continued, fed by speculation about the cause of the disintegration of the shuttle and inane minute-by-minute rehashing of the few known facts, it became apparent that more was mourned for than the tragic loss of life.

The U.S. and all the world's countries suffer tragic losses every week. Seldom a week goes by without the loss of a military aircraft and its crew somewhere in the world. Seldom a day goes by without a tragic fire, explosion or devastating storm, with attendant loss of life. Yet few of these events garner even a fraction of the outpouring of emotion and complete domination of press coverage that the loss of Columbia, and Challenger before her, have. Other examples of this phenomenon that come to mind are instructive. The loss of the Titanic is an example. The loss of the airship Hindenberg is an example. But the loss of 500 refugees in the sinking of a leaky old ferry will not qualify as a focus for week-long or month-long international mourning and speculation, although the loss of life may be much more tragic.

Why? It seems to me, and maybe to you, that we mourn the loss of our technological innocence in these instances as much as, or more than, the loss of life. That may seem crass, but then thousands die daily in large and small disasters, from automobile accidents to mud slides, and yet we generally mourn publicly (or is it fascination?) for only those few who perish in spectacular failures of advanced technology. Between 1910 and 1920, more than 800 ships sank at sea from causes other than combat. Can you name any but the Titanic?

With Columbia, as with Titanic, Challenger and Hindenberg, we have had our faith in the promise of technology to enrich and secure our lives tested, and we have found it wanting. That is especially trying for generations of the last century and the present that have been led to believe that the progress of technology is their economic and physical salvation.

The really surprising thing is that the people most involved with the failed technologies - scientists, engineers, technicians and management - seem to be those most totally taken aback by the failures. That is, I believe, because they have the most faith in the technologies. They may know something could fail for a dozen reasons, but they have faith that it will not. That's not blind faith, but faith that systems and devices are in place to render a failure almost impossible. Why else would you send seven people hurtling into space in a vehicle dependent on small tiles for its survival, and yet provide no way to repair a tile if it is damaged?

For engineers, scientists, technicians and managers, that article of faith is essential. In its absence, no progress would take place. The key is to balance the faith with rigorous engineering, execution and management. Move far enough toward true conservatism, wherein every instance of faith must be replaced by a surety, and progress stops. Move too far in the other direction, and indefensible losses will derail the progress.

For the most part, those outside the technical community have only faith generated by general interest and hopes and aspirations. For them, technological failure is the failure of a promise for something better. For those of us in the technological industries, a technical failure of large import seems to invalidate large portions of our lives and our work. That's when the faith that we can do it better next time keeps the train on the track.

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