Paul Graham - Essays

The eminent, on the other hand, are weighed down by their eminence. Eminence is like a suit: it impresses the wrong people, and it constrains the wearer.

Outsiders should realize the advantage they have here. Being able to take risks is hugely valuable. Everyone values safety too much, both the obscure and the eminent. No one wants to look like a fool. But it's very useful to be able to. If most of your ideas aren't stupid, you're probably being too conservative. You're not bracketing the problem.

Lord Acton said we should judge talent at its best and character at its worst. For example, if you write one great book and ten bad ones, you still count as a great writer-- or at least, a better writer than someone who wrote eleven that were merely good. Whereas if you're a quiet, law-abiding citizen most of the time but occasionally cut someone up and bury them in your backyard, you're a bad guy.

Almost everyone makes the mistake of treating ideas as if they were indications of character rather than talent-- as if having a stupid idea made you stupid. There's a huge weight of tradition advising us to play it safe. "Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent," says the Old Testament (Proverbs 17:28).

Well, that may be fine advice for a bunch of goatherds in Bronze Age Palestine. There conservatism would be the order of the day. But times have changed. It might still be reasonable to stick with the Old Testament in political questions, but materially the world now has a lot more state. Tradition is less of a guide, not just because things change faster, but because the space of possibilities is so large. The more complicated the world gets, the more valuable it is to be willing to look like a fool.

And yet the more successful people become, the more heat they get if they screw up-- or even seem to screw up. In this respect, as in many others, the eminent are prisoners of their own success. So the best way to understand the advantages of being an outsider may be to look at the disadvantages of being an insider.

If you ask eminent people what's wrong with their lives, the first thing they'll complain about is the lack of time. A friend of mine at Google is fairly high up in the company and went to work for them long before they went public. In other words, he's now rich enough not to have to work. I asked him if he could still endure the annoyances of having a job, now that he didn't have to. And he said that there weren't really any annoyances, except-- and he got a wistful look when he said this-- that he got so much email .

The eminent feel like everyone wants to take a bite out of them. The problem is so widespread that people pretending to be eminent do it by pretending to be overstretched.

The lives of the eminent become scheduled, and that's not good for thinking. One of the great advantages of being an outsider is long, uninterrupted blocks of time. That's what I remember about grad school: apparently endless supplies of time, which I spent worrying about, but not writing, my dissertation. Obscurity is like health food-- unpleasant, perhaps, but good for you. Whereas fame tends to be like the alcohol produced by fermentation. When it reaches a certain concentration, it kills off the yeast that produced it.

The eminent generally respond to the shortage of time by turning into managers. They don't have time to work. They're surrounded by junior people they're supposed to help or supervise. The obvious solution is to have the junior people do the work. And some good stuff happens this way, but there are problems it doesn't work so well for: the kind where it helps to have everything in one head.

For example, it recently emerged that the famous glass artist Dale Chihuly hasn't actually blown glass for 27 years. He has assistants do the work for him. But one of the most valuable sources of ideas in the visual arts is the resistance of the medium. That's why oil paintings look so different from watercolors. In principle you could make any mark in any medium; in practice the medium steers you. And if you're no longer doing the work yourself, you stop learning from this.

So if you want to beat those eminent enough to delegate, one way to do it is to take advantage of direct contact with the medium. In the arts it's obvious how: blow your own glass, edit your own films, stage your own plays. And in the process pay close attention to accidents and to new ideas you have on the fly. This technique can be generalized to any sort of work: if you're an outsider, don't be ruled by plans. Planning is often just a weakness forced on those who delegate.

Is there a general rule for finding problems best solved in one head? Well, you can manufacture them by taking any project usually done by multiple people and trying to do it all yourself. Wozniak's work was a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and the result was miraculous. He claims not one bug was ever found in the Apple II, in either hardware or software.

Another way to find good problems to solve in one head is to focus on the grooves in the chocolate bar-- the places where tasks are divided when they're split between several people. If you want to beat delegation, focus on a vertical slice: for example, be both writer and editor, or both design buildings and construct them.

One especially good groove to span is the one between tools and things made with them. For example, programming languages and applications are usually written by different people, and this is responsible for a lot of the worst flaws in programming languages. I think every language should be designed simultaneously with a large application written in it, the way C was with Unix.

Techniques for competing with delegation translate well into business, because delegation is endemic there. Instead of avoiding it as a drawback of senility, many companies embrace it as a sign of maturity. In big companies software is often designed, implemented, and sold by three separate types of people. In startups one person may have to do all three. And though this feels stressful, it's one reason startups win. The needs of customers and the means of satisfying them are all in one head.

The very skill of insiders can be a weakness. Once someone is good at something, they tend to spend all their time doing that. This kind of focus is very valuable, actually. Much of the skill of experts is the ability to ignore false trails. But focus has drawbacks: you don't learn from other fields, and when a new approach arrives, you may be the last to notice.

For outsiders this translates into two ways to win. One is to work on a variety of things. Since you can't derive as much benefit (yet) from a narrow focus, you may as well cast a wider net and derive what benefit you can from similarities between fields. Just as you can compete with delegation by working on larger vertical slices, you can compete with specialization by working on larger horizontal slices-- by both writing and illustrating your book, for example.

The second way to compete with focus is to see what focus overlooks. In particular, new things. So if you're not good at anything yet, consider working on something so new that no one else is either. It won't have any prestige yet, if no one is good at it, but you'll have it all to yourself.

The potential of a new medium is usually underestimated, precisely because no one has yet explored its possibilities. Before Durer tried making engravings, no one took them very seriously. Engraving was for making little devotional images-- basically fifteenth century baseball cards of saints. Trying to make masterpieces in this medium must have seemed to Durer's contemporaries that way that, say, making masterpieces in comics might seem to the average person today.