In the opening act of Steven Levy’s book, aptly titled True Hacker, we observe the conception of the ideology and methodology behind what would come to define the hacker culture for decades to come throughout the rise of computational power. An essentially visionary group, led blindly but passionately by the pure pursuit of tinkering and discovery, the hackers of the 1950s and 1960s would lead an unconventional but committed approach to computation that would redefine the expectations of computation.
Levy commences by drawing upon the lived experiences of MIT students, grounding in reality and humanity those who would otherwise appear mystical. That is, for he later goes on to detail how their drive would push them into living life entirely disjoint from their peers, and even most of society. Fully nocturnal creatures absent from their curricular and societal expectations, they would creep the hallways in a mad daze isolated betwixt their tribes, deciphering problems only they could see and shouting in a language only they could speak. What some initially perceived as fascination quickly faded away as one comprehends how these young men became wholly absorbed by their endeavors, and what the cost – and fruits – of such acts are.
In truth, as with any other sort of genius, my reaction to its idealism is one of awe blended with horror. To dedicate oneself to any craft in one’s entire capacity is a feat very few could approach; in such people the line between passion and obsession has long ceased to exist. When one’s whole existence becomes synonymous with your task, you are to lose a fraction of yourself – or perhaps, find it.
Yet that is not to be confused for outright negative judgement. While there are obvious dangers to such behavior, my thoughts are all the contrary. The author and I would firmly agree that hackers acted in the purest possible form of academics: the pursuit of knowledge for its very own sake. They did not seek the promise of recompense or fame – at times acting against these very interests. Instead, what they found was that there was an intrinsic value and beauty hidden between the puzzles. They pushed the limits of what was conceived at the time for no other goal other than to inquire, extracting joy from the process. They acted in the most genuine sense of a scientist. There is an honor to this unlike anything else.
In a world where modern hackers, and frankly the nigh entire field of computer science, are tied with a transactional understanding of the methods as mere tools to be used for an extraordinarily particular end, this reading was a breath of fresh air. Yet at the same time it also feels like it inevitably would be the case, for only when an environment of unadulterated curiosity is ubiquitous can the collaboration of the sciences permit for progress. After all, the logicians and mathematicians – all philosophers at heart – who created theorems hundreds of years prior which would go on to lay the foundations upon which the field of computation would flourish did not, and could not have, expected this outcome. How could they? It was merely an open intellectual road they concluded would be worthwhile to explore. Not for what would be at the end, but for what the journey would be like.
I suppose I would, in some senses, seek to be a True Hacker. I tragically lack the neuroticism displayed in the text that is required to become one with a specific pursuit, to embrace obsession. It is a trait that I do not possess but is a prerequisite for expertise. Therefore, I do not wish to be a True Hacker in its material definition, as a tinkerer of computation. Nevertheless, I would love nothing more than to have the spirit of a True Hacker in my life’s pursuits. Not to be consumed by an activity, but to have the genuine passion and curiosity for the infinitude of unknowns in the universe, which are to lead me down unexplored paths laced with excitement. It is in that sense that I aspire to be a True Hacker, a True Scholar.