The design of the Mac wasn't what it looked like, although that

“The design of the Mac wasn’t what it looked like, although that was part of it. Primarily, it was how it worked. To design something really well, you have to get it. You have to really grok what it’s all about. It takes a passionate commitment to really thoroughly understand something, chew it up, not just quickly swallow it.” – Steve Jobs

Hear these words, O disciples of craft and creation, and let them stir the sleeping fire within you. When Steve Jobs, the visionary of the digital age, spoke of design, he was not merely speaking of shapes, colors, or surfaces. He spoke of essence, of the invisible harmony between form and function, between what is seen and what is felt. His words cut through the shallow illusions of beauty, declaring that true design is not in appearance alone, but in how a thing works, in how it breathes and moves and serves the human spirit.

In this, he echoed the wisdom of the ancients, who taught that art without purpose is vanity, and function without soul is emptiness. The Macintosh, that glowing fruit of human ingenuity, was not born from decoration—it was born from understanding. To create it, one had to grok it, as Jobs said—using a word from the prophets of science fiction meaning to understand something so completely that you become one with it. This was no ordinary comprehension. It was the sacred union of mind and matter, intellect and intuition. The maker must not simply assemble parts; he must feel the rhythm of the whole.

Consider Leonardo da Vinci, that eternal master of art and invention. When he designed his flying machines, his sketches were not just technical—they were alive. He studied the wings of birds, the motion of wind, the pulse of nature itself. He did not copy the surface; he understood the spirit. So it was with Jobs and his vision for the Mac. He did not wish to build a machine of circuits and metal, but a tool that felt human—an instrument that sang with simplicity and grace. And such mastery can never be reached by haste, nor by imitation. It demands what he called a passionate commitment—the willingness to chew it up, not just quickly swallow it.

Too many in this world rush toward results, worshiping speed over depth, quantity over quality. They swallow ideas whole and choke on them. But the wise creator, as Jobs teaches, chews—slowly, thoughtfully, relentlessly—until he has absorbed every layer of meaning. To design something well is not to decorate it, but to wrestle with it, question it, and live with it until it reveals its true nature. In this way, creation becomes not an act of production, but an act of revelation.

The Macintosh was born from such devotion. It was built by a team who, under Jobs’ fierce guidance, examined every pixel, every curve, every interaction. The command of simplicity was not achieved by chance—it was carved out of complexity through discipline and love. Each feature, each sound, each motion was shaped with the question: Does it feel right? Does it serve the soul of the user? This is the meaning of getting it—to see not what the world demands, but what the thing itself wants to be.

Let this truth echo in your own life. Whether you are a builder, teacher, artist, or thinker, do not seek the shallow praise of the surface. Do not mistake the gloss of beauty for the light of excellence. Grok your work—live inside it until you understand its heart. Learn not just what you are doing, but why it matters. For every act of creation, no matter how small, is a reflection of the divine order: when you design with depth and passion, you mirror the Creator Himself.

So, take this lesson as a compass for your days. When you work, do not rush. Chew your craft. Live your design. Strive not for what dazzles, but for what endures. For beauty fades, but harmony remains. The world will always be full of those who decorate—but it will only be shaped by those who understand.

And thus, remember Steve Jobs’ wisdom: True design is not in what things look like, but in how they live. To create something truly great, you must not merely build it—you must become it.