The Cathedral and the Bazaar by Eric S. Raymond (top rated books of all time .txt) 📕

But open-source developers are volunteers, self-selected for both interest and ability to contribute to the projects they work on (and this remains generally true even when they are being paid a salary to hack open source.) The volunteer ethos tends to take care of the `attack’ side of resource-marshalling automatically; people bring their own resources to the table. And there is little or no need for a manager to `play defense’ in the conventional sense.

Anyway, in a world of cheap PCs and fast Internet links, we find pretty consistently that the only really limiting resource is skilled attention. Open-source projects, when they founder, essentially never do so for want of machines or links or office space; they die only when the developers themselves lose interest.

That being the case, it’s doubly important that open-source hackers organize themselves for maximum productivity by self-selection-and the social milieu selects ruthlessly for competence. My friend, familiar with both the open-source world and large closed projects, believes that open source has been successful partly because its culture only accepts the most talented 5% or so of the programming population. She spends most of her time organizing the deployment of the other 95%, and has thus observed first-hand the well-known variance of a factor of one hundred in productivity between the most able programmers and the merely competent.

The size of that variance has always raised an awkward question: would individual projects, and the field as a whole, be better off without more than 50% of the least able in it? Thoughtful managers have understood for a long time that if conventional software management’s only function were to convert the least able from a net loss to a marginal win, the game might not be worth the candle.

The success of the open-source community sharpens this question considerably, by providing hard evidence that it is often cheaper and more effective to recruit self-selected volunteers from the Internet than it is to manage buildings full of people who would rather be doing something else.

Which brings us neatly to the question of motivation. An equivalent and often-heard way to state my friend’s point is that traditional development management is a necessary compensation for poorly motivated programmers who would not otherwise turn out good work.

This answer usually travels with a claim that the open-source community can only be relied on only to do work that is `sexy’ or technically sweet; anything else will be left undone (or done only poorly) unless it’s churned out by money-motivated cubicle peons with managers cracking whips over them. I address the psychological and social reasons for being skeptical of this claim in Homesteading the Noosphere. For present purposes, however, I think it’s more interesting to point out the implications of accepting it as true.

If the conventional, closed-source, heavily-managed style of software development is really defended only by a sort of Maginot Line of problems conducive to boredom, then it’s going to remain viable in each individual application area for only so long as nobody finds those problems really interesting and nobody else finds any way to route around them. Because the moment there is open-source competition for a `boring’ piece of software, customers are going to know that it was finally tackled by someone who chose that problem to solve because of a fascination with the problem itself-which, in software as in other kinds of creative work, is a far more effective motivator than money alone.

Having a conventional management structure solely in order to motivate, then, is probably good tactics but bad strategy; a short-term win, but in the longer term a surer loss.

So far, conventional development management looks like a bad bet now against open source on two points (resource marshalling, organization), and like it’s living on borrowed time with respect to a third (motivation). And the poor beleaguered conventional manager is not going to get any succour from the monitoring issue; the strongest argument the open-source community has is that decentralized peer review trumps all the conventional methods for trying to ensure that details don’t get slipped.

Can we save defining goals as a justification for the overhead of conventional software project management? Perhaps; but to do so, we’ll need good reason to believe that management committees and corporate roadmaps are more successful at defining worthy and widely shared goals than the project leaders and tribal elders who fill the analogous role in the open-source world.

That is on the face of it a pretty hard case to make. And it’s not so much the open-source side of the balance (the longevity of Emacs, or Linus Torvalds’s ability to mobilize hordes of developers with talk of “world domination”) that makes it tough. Rather, it’s the demonstrated awfulness of conventional mechanisms for defining the goals of software projects.

One of the best-known folk theorems of software engineering is that 60% to 75% of conventional software projects either are never completed or are rejected by their intended users. If that range is anywhere near true (and I’ve never met a manager of any experience who disputes it) then more projects than not are being aimed at goals that are either (a) not realistically attainable, or (b) just plain wrong.

This, more than any other problem, is the reason that in today’s software engineering world the very phrase “management committee” is likely to send chills down the hearer’s spine-even (or perhaps especially) if the hearer is a manager. The days when only programmers griped about this pattern are long past; Dilbert cartoons hang over executives’ desks now.

Our reply, then, to the traditional software development manager, is simple-if the open-source community has really underestimated the value of conventional management, why do so many of you display contempt for your own process?

Once again the example of the open-source community sharpens this question considerably-because we have fun doing what we do. Our creative play has been racking up technical, market-share, and mind-share successes at an astounding rate. We’re proving not only that we can do better software, but that joy is an asset.

Two and a half years after the first version of this essay, the most radical thought I can offer to close with is no longer a vision of an open-source-dominated software world; that, after all, looks plausible to a lot of sober people in suits these days.

Rather, I want to suggest what may be a wider lesson about software, (and probably about every kind of creative or professional work). Human beings generally take pleasure in a task when it falls in a sort of optimal-challenge zone; not so easy as to be boring, not too hard to achieve. A happy programmer is one who is neither underutilized nor weighed down with ill-formulated goals and stressful process friction. Enjoyment predicts efficiency.

Relating to your own work process with fear and loathing (even in the displaced, ironic way suggested by hanging up Dilbert cartoons) should therefore be regarded in itself as a sign that the process has failed. Joy, humor, and playfulness are indeed assets; it was not mainly for the alliteration that I wrote of “happy hordes” above, and it is no mere joke that the Linux mascot is a cuddly, neotenous penguin.

It may well turn out that one of the most important effects of open source’s success will be to teach us that play is the most economically efficient mode of creative work.

Epilog: Netscape Embraces the Bazaar

It’s a strange feeling to realize you’re helping make history….

On January 22 1998, approximately seven months after I first published The Cathedral and the Bazaar, Netscape Communications, Inc. announced plans to give away the source for Netscape Communicator. I had had no clue this was going to happen before the day of the announcement.

Eric Hahn, executive vice president and chief technology officer at Netscape, emailed me shortly afterwards as follows: “On behalf of everyone at Netscape, I want to thank you for helping us get to this point in the first place. Your thinking and writings were fundamental inspirations to our decision.”

The following week I flew out to Silicon Valley at Netscape’s invitation for a day-long strategy conference (on 4 Feb 1998) with some of their top executives and technical people. We designed Netscape’s source-release strategy and license together.

A few days later I wrote the following:

Netscape is about to provide us with a large-scale, real-world test of the bazaar model in the commercial world. The open-source culture now faces a danger; if Netscape’s execution doesn’t work, the open-source concept may be so discredited that the commercial world won’t touch it again for another decade.

On the other hand, this is also a spectacular opportunity. Initial reaction to the move on Wall Street and elsewhere has been cautiously positive. We’re being given a chance to prove ourselves, too. If Netscape regains substantial market share through this move, it just may set off a long-overdue revolution in the software industry.

The next year should be a very instructive and interesting time.

And indeed it was. As I write in mid-2000, the development of what was later named Mozilla has been only a qualified success. It achieved Netscape’s original goal, which was to deny Microsoft a monopoly lock on the browser market. It has also achieved some dramatic successes (notably the release of the next-generation Gecko rendering engine).

However, it has not yet garnered the massive development effort from outside Netscape that the Mozilla founders had originally hoped for. The problem here seems to be that for a long time the Mozilla distribution actually broke one of the basic rules of the bazaar model; it didn’t ship with something potential contributors could easily run and see working. (Until more than a year after release, building Mozilla from source required a license for the proprietary Motif library.)

Most negatively (from the point of view of the outside world) the Mozilla group didn’t ship a production-quality browser for two and a half years after the project launch-and in 1999 one of the project’s principals caused a bit of a sensation by resigning, complaining of poor management and missed opportunities. “Open source,” he correctly observed, “is not magic pixie dust.”

And indeed it is not. The long-term prognosis for Mozilla looks dramatically better now (in November 2000) than it did at the time of Jamie Zawinski’s resignation letter-in the last few weeks the nightly releases have finally passed the critical threshold to production usability. But Jamie was right to point out that going open will not necessarily save an existing project that suffers from ill-defined goals or spaghetti code or any of the software engineering’s other chronic ills. Mozilla has managed to provide an example simultaneously of how open source can succeed and how it could fail.

In the mean time, however, the open-source idea has scored successes and found backers elsewhere. Since the Netscape release we’ve seen a tremendous explosion of interest in the open-source development model, a trend both driven by and driving the continuing success of the Linux operating system. The trend Mozilla touched off is continuing at an accelerating rate.

Notes

[JB] In Programing Pearls, the noted computer-science aphorist Jon Bentley comments on Brooks’s observation with “If you plan to throw one away, you will throw away two.”. He is almost certainly right. The point of Brooks’s observation, and Bentley’s, isn’t merely that you should expect first attempt to be wrong, it’s that starting over with the right idea is usually more effective than trying to salvage a mess.

[QR] Examples of successful open-source, bazaar development predating the Internet explosion and unrelated to the Unix and Internet traditions have existed. The development of the info-Zip compression utility during 1990-x1992, primarily for DOS machines, was one such example. Another was the RBBS bulletin board system (again for DOS), which began in 1983 and developed a sufficiently strong