reading 01: to hack or not to hack

Steven Levy presents the “true hacker” as an artist of sorts: he sees immense beauty in the computer, believing that computers are the universal medium through which humans can express themselves. He is constantly using and imitating the works of his fellow artists to create new works, which does not upset the other artists in the slightest. On the contrary, these artists are overjoyed when their art is considered so beautiful that it elicits imitation. One could even say that imitation is something that these artists strive for–to create a masterpiece that others admire and use as a basis for future art.

It is interesting to note that many true hackers become so involved in hacking that they neglect to have a regular schedule for anything else, such as showering or sleeping. Instead, they delay such things to the infinitesimal degree, until these actions are no longer deemed a choice but a necessity. However, I think that this frequent trait amongst hackers actually points to a deeper quality that is shared by all true hackers: comptetitiveness. They all seek to create the best programs, more for the sake of the art itself than for anything else. This idea is well illustrated by the bumming of the decimal print routine:

“More than a competition, the ultimate bumming of the decimal print routine became a sort of hacker Holy Grail. … People would work for hours, seeking a way to do the same thing in fewer lines of code. It became more than a competition; it was a quest.” (Levy, ch. 2)

The competitive nature of these true hackers, especially when paired with their unlimited access to scarce computers, fostered an environment that was not unlike that of the Renaissance. The hackers developed different works of art in the form of hardware and software, occasionally spurred on by an idea from a professor, a contest with a cash prize, or the thrill of setting a new record. For example, Stewart Nelson designed an interface between a computer and a disk drive at the prompting of Ed Fredkin; Peter Samson schemed The Great Subway Hack to break a Harvard student’s record for traveling to every stop on the New York subway system; and Bill Gosper created the first glider gun in LIFE, receiving the fifty dollar prize offered by John Conway. These pursuits are essentially the modern reincarnation of those during the Renaissance, such as Ghiberti’s masterpiece that won the competition to create the North Doors of the Florence Baptistery. The only difference is that these hackers created art that opened the doors of the world to a completely new reality.

Before picking up Levy’s book, I viewed hackers as the computer enthusiasts who nosed around in places that they shouldn’t. They might pull pranks, such as gaining access to their principal’s email account and informing parents that school would be cancelled the following day. Or they might break into a company’s computer system and lock access until a ransom is paid. In that sense, I admired hackers for discovering ways to bypass a security system, but I wasn’t exactly interested in becoming one myself due to potential disciplinary consequences.

But it is now clear to me that the concept of a “true hacker” is quite different than this notion of a hacker. True hackers are tinkerers and creators, hacking “for the sake of having something which [is] in its metaphorical way alive” (Levy, ch. 2). I am inspired by them because they want to change humanity for the better, and they will accept anyone who can help them to further this goal. I aspire to be a true hacker myself because I know how much I have benefited from their endeavors, and it would be great to create hacks for the common good like they have.