Rachel: Most people think beauty is a luxury, something you add on if you have time. But what if it’s the most practical, essential ingredient for success? What if the secret to building a great business, or even a better world, isn't efficiency, but beauty? Justine: That feels like a very bold claim in a world obsessed with metrics and productivity. You're saying aesthetics are more important than analytics? I'm intrigued, but also a little skeptical. Rachel: It’s a healthy skepticism! And that's the provocative idea at the heart of Do Design: Why Beauty Is Key to Everything by Alan Moore. Justine: Alan Moore... he's not just a theorist, right? The book mentions he's an artist and designer who has worked with big companies. So he's seen this in action. Rachel: Exactly. He's worked on six continents, and this book, which has sold over 35,000 copies, is his argument for why we've misunderstood beauty. He believes it's not decoration; it's a fundamental principle for creating things that last and have meaning. Justine: Okay, I'm in. But "beauty" is such a slippery word. Where do we even start to pin it down? Rachel: That's the perfect question. And Moore's answer is fascinating. So let me ask you this: what could an astronaut, a 19th-century Shaker craftsman, and a theoretical physicist possibly have in common? Justine: Uh... a very unusual dinner party? I have no idea. Rachel: They all discovered the same thing: that beauty is deeply connected to truth, simplicity, and the fundamental structure of the universe.

Justine: Okay, you have to unpack that. Let's start with the astronaut. That seems like the most out-there example. Rachel: Literally. Moore tells the story of Edgar Mitchell, the Apollo 14 astronaut. While returning from the moon in 1971, he had this profound experience looking back at Earth. He described it as a feeling of "ecstasy and a sense of total unity and oneness." He realized that the molecules in his body, in the spacecraft, in his partners—they were all prototyped in ancient stars. Justine: Wow. So looking at Earth from space is like a forced dose of cosmic perspective. It makes our daily squabbles seem so tiny. Rachel: Precisely. He called it 'salve corpus amanti,' which he interpreted as a sense of total unity. He saw the world not as a collection of separate things, but as one interconnected, living, beautiful system. He said, "we’re all stardust." For Moore, this is a key to understanding beauty. It’s about seeing the whole, the connection, the truth of a system. Justine: That’s a beautiful thought, but it’s also incredibly abstract. How does that connect to something tangible, like design? Rachel: This is where the Shakers come in. They were a religious sect in the 18th and 19th centuries, and they are famous for their design, especially their furniture. Moore uses them as a prime example of beauty rooted in principle. Their guiding values were utility, honesty, and simplicity. Justine: I’ve seen pictures of Shaker chairs. They're very clean, very minimalist. Rachel: Yes, but it wasn't just a style. It was a reflection of their beliefs. They believed work was a form of worship. So, if you were making a chair, you made it to be the best, most honest chair it could be. No unnecessary ornamentation. Every part had a purpose. The materials were local and high-quality. The craftsmanship was meticulous. Justine: It’s like the ultimate form of 'buy it for life' craftsmanship. No planned obsolescence there! Rachel: Exactly. And Moore's point is that this dedication to utility and honesty is what makes their work enduringly beautiful. It’s not about a trend; it’s about the truth of the object. A famous quote often associated with this ethos, which Moore includes, is from William Morris: "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." The Shakers managed to do both at once. Justine: Okay, I can see the link. The astronaut sees the beautiful truth of cosmic interconnectedness, and the Shaker craftsman creates beautiful truth in a physical object. But this is where some readers get a little stuck. The book has been praised for being poetic and inspiring, but it's also been criticized for being a bit too abstract, maybe even 'woo-woo' for a practical designer. How does this apply to, say, my laptop? Rachel: That's a great question, and Moore brings in the physicists to bridge that gap. He asks, "Is the world a work of art?" He points to theories from people like Albert Einstein and Paul Dirac. Their equations, like the theory of relativity, aren't just scientifically revolutionary; they are considered beautiful by other physicists because of their symmetry, their harmony, their elegance. Justine: So the universe itself is well-designed? Rachel: That's the argument. There's a theory called Supersymmetry that, even though it's not yet proven, physicists describe as "too beautiful to be entirely wrong." The idea is that beauty can be a guide to truth, whether you're discovering the laws of the universe or designing a chair. The beauty of your laptop's design, when it's done well, comes from that same harmony of form, function, and material. It’s the resolution of a complex problem into a simple, elegant whole.

Justine: Okay, so beauty is this deep, fundamental thing. It's about truth and harmony. But how does a person actually create it? It can't just be about following rules. There has to be a certain mindset. Rachel: Absolutely. And this is the second major theme of the book: the internal world of the creator. Moore argues that to create something truly new and beautiful, you need a specific mindset, one built on curiosity, vision, and stillness. Justine: Vision seems key. You have to see something that isn't there yet. Rachel: Exactly. And Moore's go-to example is Doug Engelbart. Most people don't know his name, but we use his inventions every single day. In the 1960s, he was a computer scientist who envisioned a world where computers could "augment human intellect." Justine: Augment human intellect? That sounds very grand. Rachel: It was! At the time, computers were giant calculators for data processing. Engelbart imagined they could be tools for collaboration, for solving huge problems together. And in 1968, he gave a presentation that is now legendary, known as "The Mother of All Demos." In 90 minutes, he demonstrated for the first time the computer mouse, hypertext, video conferencing, and networked computing. Justine: Wait, all at once? In 1968? That's mind-blowing. Rachel: It was. And Moore's question is, "What world was he trying to create?" Engelbart wasn't just inventing a mouse; he was building tools to achieve his vision of augmented knowledge. He had a 'why.' This is where Moore quotes the idea, "If you cannot describe a new destination, you will never get there." Justine: So Engelbart was basically writing the language for a world that didn't exist yet, like a sci-fi author who inspires real tech. William Gibson coined 'cyberspace' before it was a thing, and it gave people a target to build toward. Rachel: That's a perfect analogy, and Moore actually uses Gibson as an example for this very reason! Having the language, the vision, is the first step. But there's another, quieter part of the mindset. It's about stillness. Justine: Stillness? In our hyper-caffeinated, always-on world? Good luck with that. Rachel: It sounds counterintuitive, but Moore tells this incredible story about a Tibetan calligrapher named Tashi Mannox. He spent years hand-copying ancient texts, a process requiring immense precision. And he noticed something fascinating. Justine: What was that? Rachel: He observed that his emotional state directly influenced the quality of his work. He said, "if he had any emotion inside it would be reflected in his calligraphy. Because of this it measured his state of mind." Any inner turmoil, any stress, would show up as a tiny flaw in the ink. Justine: That's terrifying and beautiful! The idea that your inner chaos shows up in your work. It's like a bio-feedback loop for the soul. Rachel: Exactly. And to produce consistently high-quality work, he had to cultivate a state of inner calm and clarity. Moore argues that great work comes from this place of stillness, where your focus is total. It's not about hustle; it's about deep, focused commitment. Tashi Mannox says, "It is commitment... that gives you freedom." Justine: This sounds great for artists and visionaries, but what about the rest of us? How do we cultivate this 'stillness' in our chaotic lives, especially in a business context where the demand is always 'faster, cheaper'? Rachel: That's the perfect question, because Moore argues this isn't a solo journey. It's deeply human and collaborative. It's about connection. And that's where the third big idea of the book comes in.

Justine: So it’s not just about being a lone genius in a quiet room. Rachel: Not at all. In fact, Moore challenges the myth of the lone genius directly. He uses the example of Pixar, which is famous for creating enduringly beautiful films. Their secret weapon isn't a single visionary; it's a group called the "Braintrust." Justine: I've heard of this. It's their internal feedback group, right? Rachel: Right. It's a group of experienced directors and storytellers who meet to review films in development. And the environment is built on what Ed Catmull, Pixar's co-founder, calls "frank talk, spirited debate, laughter and love." The key is absolute candor, built on a foundation of deep trust. They can be brutally honest because everyone knows the goal isn't to tear down the director, but to help the film. Justine: I love that. It's permission to be imperfect. The beauty is in the process of refinement, not a magical first draft. Rachel: And Catmull is famous for saying that "every movie they start with sucks in the beginning." It's the Braintrust process, this collective nurturing of an idea, that transforms it from mediocre to great. People embrace what they create together. It's about leading with humility and creating a space where the best idea can win, no matter who it comes from. Justine: That collaborative spirit feels like the opposite of the struggling artist trope. But the book also talks about perseverance, which sounds more like a solo battle. Rachel: It does, but it's perseverance with a twist. Moore tells the story of Willie Nelson. He struggled for years in Nashville. His style was unconventional, and the industry didn't get him. He didn't have his major breakthrough success until he was 40. Justine: That's such a counter-cultural message today, when everyone's obsessed with being a prodigy by 25. It's about the long game. Rachel: Exactly. Moore's point is that we shouldn't believe our best work is only done when we're young. That creates a "grey future." Instead, we can believe that "when success arrives it is the right time, and all before has been your preparation." All those years of struggle weren't failure; they were practice. They were him finding his voice. Justine: This is where some readers get stuck, right? The book is very inspirational, but some find it light on concrete 'how-to' steps. It's more of a 'why-to' and a 'what-if' book. Rachel: I think that's a fair critique, and it's part of the book's polarizing reception. It’s not a step-by-step manual. It's a philosophical guide. Moore is trying to change your mindset, not just give you a checklist. He wants you to start asking different questions, like the team at the Swedish axe-making company, Gränsfors Bruk. Justine: An axe-making company? That sounds incredibly specific. Rachel: It's a fantastic story in the appendix. The CEO, Gabriel Branby, turned a failing company around by asking fundamental questions. He asked, "What is an axe for? What is its essence?" He focused on quality, ethics, and giving the craftsmen autonomy. Each smith forges an axe from start to finish and stamps it with their own initials. Justine: So they have total ownership. It’s their work, their name is on it. Rachel: Yes! And that pride, that connection to the craft, is what creates a beautiful product and a beautiful business. It’s the 'Me' and the 'We' that Muhammad Ali talked about in his famous two-word poem. You need the individual craftsman ('Me') to be true to their skill, but you need the collective purpose ('We') to create something meaningful.

Rachel: So when you pull it all together, Moore's argument is that beauty isn't just a visual treat. It's a cosmic principle of truth and order, it's a mindset of vision and stillness, and it's a human process of collaboration and perseverance. It's the 'why' behind the 'what'. Justine: It really reframes the whole idea. It’s not about making things pretty. It's about making things right. Making them honest, useful, and with intention. It makes you look around and ask, 'What in my life is truly beautiful, not just functional?' And what could I create—a relationship, a project, even just a meal—with that level of intention? Rachel: And that's the final challenge the book leaves you with. It ends with a chapter called "The philosophy of 'ing'," which is just a list of verbs: creating, making, doing, loving, connecting... Justine: And it asks the reader a final, simple question. Rachel: What is your 'ing'? Justine: What is your 'ing'? What is the one verb, the one act of creation, that brings you joy? We'd love to hear about it. Find us on our socials and share your 'ing'. Rachel: It’s a beautiful, open-ended way to finish. It brings this grand, cosmic idea of beauty right back down to a single, personal, actionable choice. Justine: A choice to do, to make, to design your own small piece of the world with a little more beauty. Rachel: This is Aibrary, signing off.