A New Mental Model for Computers and Networks

One of the great works of geekdom is Neal Stephenson's In the Beginning Was the Command Line, an essay-length book that came out in 1999. As with Linux, the code was open. Still is. Here's one copy of the book's full text. Though many of Neal's references (for example, the Be operating system) are forgotten or stale, his case for Linux (and its UNIX relatives) is as fresh and right as ever. Here is the gist of it:

The file systems of Unix machines all have the same general structure. On your flimsy operating systems, you can create directories (folders) and give them names like Frodo or My Stuff and put them pretty much anywhere you like. But under Unix the highest level—the root—of the filesystem is always designated with the single character "/" and it always contains the same set of top-level directories:

  • /usr
  • /etc
  • /var
  • /bin
  • /proc
  • /boot
  • /home
  • /root
  • /sbin
  • /dev
  • /lib
  • /tmp

and each of these directories typically has its own distinct structure of subdirectories. Note the obsessive use of abbreviations and avoidance of capital letters; this is a system invented by people to whom repetitive stress disorder is what black lung is to miners. Long names get worn down to three-letter nubbins, like stones smoothed by a river.

This is not the place to try to explain why each of the above directories exists, and what is contained in it. At first it all seems obscure; worse, it seems deliberately obscure. When I started using Linux I was accustomed to being able to create directories wherever I wanted and to give them whatever names struck my fancy. Under Unix you are free to do that, of course (you are free to do anything), but as you gain experience with the system you come to understand that the directories listed above were created for the best of reasons and that your life will be much easier if you follow along (within /home, by the way, you have pretty much unlimited freedom).

After this kind of thing has happened several hundred or thousand times, the hacker understands why Unix is the way it is, and agrees that it wouldn't be the same any other way. It is this sort of acculturation that gives Unix hackers their confidence in the system, and the attitude of calm, unshakable, annoying superiority captured in the Dilbert cartoon. Windows 95 and MacOS are products, contrived by engineers in the service of specific companies. Unix, by contrast, is not so much a product as it is a painstakingly compiled oral history of the hacker subculture. It is our Gilgamesh epic.

What made old epics like Gilgamesh so powerful and so long-lived was that they were living bodies of narrative that many people knew by heart, and told over and over again—making their own personal embellishments whenever it struck their fancy. The bad embellishments were shouted down, the good ones picked up by others, polished, improved, and, over time, incorporated into the story. Likewise, Unix is known, loved, and understood by so many hackers that it can be re-created from scratch whenever someone needs it. This is very difficult to understand for people who are accustomed to thinking of OSes as things that absolutely have to be bought.

When Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web, he did it on a NeXT machine, which also had UNIX ancestors. But never mind that. What matters is that Tim arranged the web's directory on the UNIX model: files were nested in directories divided hierarchically by a series of slashes: http://example.com/this/that/etc. The same hierarchy is also implicit in client-server, which should have been called server-client, to reflect the arrangement of status: server over client.

Between the directory path and client-server, what we've got is a mental model of computing and networking that anchors all of computing's civilization.

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Doc Searls is Senior Editor of Linux Journal