
book Shop Class as Soulcraft, Matthew B. Crawford explored the ethical and practical importance of manual competence, as expressed through mastery of our physical environment. In his brilliant follow-up, The World Beyond Your Head, Crawford investigates the challenge of mastering one's own mind. We often complain about our fractured mental lives and feel beset by outside forces that destroy our focus and disrupt our peace of mind. Any defense against this, Crawford argues, requires that we reckon with the way attention sculpts the self. Crawford investigates the intense focus of ice hockey players and short-order chefs, the quasi-autistic behavior of gambling addicts, the familiar hassles of daily life, and the deep, slow craft of building pipe organs. He shows that our current crisis of attention is only superficially the result of digital technology, and becomes more comprehensible when understood as the coming to fruition of certain assumptions at the root of Western culture that are profoundly at odds with human nature. The World Beyond Your Head makes sense of an astonishing array of common experience, from the frustrations of airport security to the rise of the hipster.
It's also worth noting that all of this musing on art isn't surprising in a way; the ancient world all the up to medieval times didn't really such much distinction between the craftsman and the artist, a sharp distinction between "functional" and "aesthetic" is quite a modern sensibility. Everything old is new again!
Matt Crawford discusses this theme at length in "The World Beyond your Head" which I highly recommend:
> This brings up another uncanny fact about motorcycle steering: the bike goes wherever your gaze is focused. Most important, if your eyes lock on some hazard in the road, you will surely hit it. This is not a superstitious motorcyclist’s version of Murphy’s Law; it is a reliable fact, and it reveals something deep about the “intentionality” of our prereflective sensorimotor negotiation of the world. Inhabiting the kind of bodies that we do, our gaze and our locomotion are connected in ways that work for us, and we don’t have to think about it. But this accomplished integration becomes a liability when riding a motorcycle, and must be deliberately short-circuited. You have to learn to unlock your eyes as quickly as possible from every hazard, and instead look where you want to go.
This is certainly true, but it is also not the only source of the problems outlined in the essay (and by others in this discussion). It's this:
Stanford’s new social order offers a peek into the bureaucrat’s vision for America. It is a world without risk, genuine difference, or the kind of group connection that makes teenage boys want to rent bulldozers and build islands. It is a world largely without unencumbered joy; without the kind of cultural specificity that makes college, or the rest of life, particularly interesting.
And this isn't just university life. Read Matthew Crawford's The World Beyond Your Head and Why We Drive to get a sense of the ways that safety-ism is the new American way. As humans, we develop cognitively and emotionally when we are placed in risky situations (whether emotionally or physically). Perhaps it's college kids doing dumb things, or perhaps it's kids building bike jumps in the local park or homemade zip lines in the local park.
Psychologically addictive substances are real, and they can be digital, and they can wreck our lives just as well as psychologically addictive drugs.
I feel that quite a bit of software written these days is designed to have a short shelf life. I wonder how many of the "Show HN" posts will work, or even be useful, in five years? How much will be maintainable?
I've been thinking a lot about Matthew Crawford's writings on mechanical things[0] and how they might apply to my own craft as a software developer. The work, as described generally on HN, is still all about moving fast and breaking things. It doesn't matter if the Python code I crank out today works in five years (or is maintainable in five years) -- I just need to get my product to market. Some of us work in other domains where sustainability and repair-ability are important: if my software is going to be in the field, in users' hands, for ten years, I need to consider how reasonable it might be fix bugs. If I have to fight just to get the software to run, I've already lost that battle. In these cases, the dependability of something like Perl is really great. The complaint against Python here isn't about the language itself (I think many people would agree it is quite nice to use), but rather the larger ecosystem, which makes it very hard to maintain software over the long haul.
[0] See Shop Class as Soulcraft, The World Beyond Your Head, and Why We Drive.