Everything at Apple can be best understood through the lens of

The former Apple CEO John Sculley, a man who stood at the intersection of business and innovation during the company’s formative years, once said: “Everything at Apple can be best understood through the lens of designing. Whether it's designing the look and feel of the user experience, or the industrial design, or the system design, and even things like how the boards were laid out.” In these words lies the revelation of a philosophy that transcends technology—it is the philosophy of design as a way of being. For Sculley was not merely describing a company; he was describing a worldview, one that sees design not as decoration but as the unifying principle that gives meaning, harmony, and purpose to creation.

To Sculley, and to Apple’s founding visionaries, design was not confined to the surface. It was not about color or shape alone, but about thought made tangible, function shaped into beauty. The “look and feel of the user experience,” the curve of a product’s body, the logic of its circuitry—all of these, he said, must arise from the same devotion to coherence. This was the sacred principle that guided the company’s most legendary minds—Steve Jobs, Jony Ive, and others—who believed that the pursuit of perfection in design was nothing less than the pursuit of truth. Every pixel, every screw, every motion of a fingertip mattered, because each was part of a single symphony of experience.

The origin of this philosophy reaches back to the early days of Apple, when Jobs himself drew inspiration from the craftsmanship of the ancients—from calligraphy, from architecture, from the artistry of Japanese Zen. He insisted that the inside of a computer should be as beautiful as the outside, even if no customer would ever see it. It was a reflection of an old truth: that beauty is a form of integrity, and that great design honors both the seen and the unseen. John Sculley, though often remembered for his clashes with Jobs, recognized the same spirit—that Apple’s essence was not in its marketing, but in its design-centered soul.

Such devotion to design recalls the wisdom of the master builders of history. The Greek architects who raised the Parthenon labored over details invisible from the ground, for they believed that the gods themselves would see. The Renaissance artisans of Florence carved unseen corners of marble with the same care as the visible, for they knew that perfection has no audience—it is its own reward. Apple inherited that same spirit: to care about the alignment of a circuit board, or the sound of a keyboard click, was to participate in a lineage of creators who revered the union of form and function, mind and material.

Sculley’s words, then, are not merely about technology; they are about philosophy in practice. He understood that design is the bridge between idea and experience—the translation of invisible intent into tangible reality. To design well is to think deeply about how something feels, not only how it works. It requires empathy, patience, and vision. In Apple’s world, design was not an afterthought to engineering; it was the soul of engineering itself. This is why Apple’s products have long seemed to “feel alive”—they embody care, coherence, and the understanding that the user is not a number, but a human being.

In our own lives, this principle of design extends far beyond devices. To “design” one’s life is to approach each act with intentionality—to shape your environment, your work, and your relationships with the same harmony and attention to detail that an artist gives to his canvas. Just as Apple’s engineers designed even the hidden circuits with grace, so too should we cultivate the unseen parts of ourselves—the private thoughts, the quiet choices—that define the integrity of our being. For true design begins within, and radiates outward.

Thus, the lesson is timeless: to design is to care. Whether you build machines or raise families, whether you compose symphonies or craft policy, approach your work as a designer of experience, not merely a doer of tasks. Think not only of function, but of feeling. Ask not just, “Does it work?” but “Does it inspire?” As John Sculley teaches, the greatest creations—be they temples, tools, or technologies—are born from this sacred union of precision and empathy. And when your work, like Apple’s, is shaped by such purpose, even the smallest detail will carry the quiet majesty of something eternal.