Ornoth

Every time I venture into the job market, I’m shocked and more than a little insulted by the job titles on offer.

Let’s be clear. I am a professional software engineer focusing on user interface design and development.

I am not a Ninja or a Jedi. Nor am I a Rockstar or a Guru or a Wizard. I am neither an Animal, a Unicorn, nor a Unicorn Tamer.

And yet, those are words I’ve seen employers choose when posting job openings in my field.

“Sure”, you say, “but those are just metaphors. What they really want are the best coders they can get.”

By way of reply, I ask you to consider the primary attribute of a person who would respond to such an ad. While confidence is usually considered a positive trait, someone who thinks of themselves as a ninjajedirockstarguruwizard clearly lacks the perspective and balance that comes with an equal portion of humility. Whatever the term, employers who use such superlatives are communicating that the primary trait they are looking for is arrogance.

“They’re just looking for energetic, motivated, go-getter types,” you counter. “And is arrogance really a bad trait for a coder?”

Absolutely!

First, let’s dispel the myth that arrogance (or even confidence) is correlated with competence; it isn’t. That’s a simple association fallacy. While confidence can be the outcome of competence, confidence can just as easily be a symptom of delusions of grandeur. And I know plenty of workers who, despite their obvious competence, struggle with their self-confidence.

With arrogance comes a disdain for others which easily hardens to contempt. With arrogance comes technical hubris and the belief that anything done by other employees (and certainly other companies) is inherently flawed and inferior. If you’ve been around the software industry for any time at all, you will have seen countless examples of NIH Syndrome (Not Invented Here). Arrogance is the most pervasive threat to any business process that is based on teamwork, knowledge sharing, and mutual respect.

When I see a developer exhibit arrogant behavior, it’s usually because they lack the perspective that comes from real-world experience; they haven’t been in the industry long enough to be confronted with their own mistakes and realize their fallibility, nor to appreciate the ingenuity and expertise of other practitioners. If I’m really looking for the best coder I can find, I’m going to hire someone who has made their share of mistakes, acknowledged them, and been willing to learn from them and improve their skills by asking questions of others.

As you might imagine, I don’t consider myself a ninjajedirockstarguruwizard. Having successfully derived my livelihood from software engineering for the past thirty years, I have a pretty accurate understanding of my strengths, weaknesses, and the value I can add in any given situation. I do not hold the arrogant self-opinion these employers are looking for, nor do I want to work with colleagues who do; so as soon as I see such superlatives in a job listing, I simply delete it, unread, and move on.

There are additional reasons why I immediately reject such listings. By putting so much emphasis on the search for ninjajedirockstarguruwizards, employers are revealing some ugly things about their internal culture.

First, the company is exhibiting as much arrogance as the people they hope to hire. They believe that the company will (of course!) be compellingly attractive to the best coders in the industry. They think the best and brightest will be satisfied with the corporate culture, working environment, compensation, and growth opportunities that they provide. Ironically, once you look behind the curtain, you’ll find such companies rarely live up to their inflated self-opinion.

Second, the company devalues women. Immature titles like Ninja, Jedi, Rockstar, Wizard, and Guru generally don’t appeal very much to educated, professional women, who have struggled to be taken seriously even within their field. The few women who do interview probably won’t manifest the kind of arrogance that the company associates with “quality”. One further wonders what Asian expatriates must think of the casual use of culturally-appropriated terms like “ninjas” and “gurus”.

It’s unassailably clear that all those super-heroic job titles are designed to appeal specifically to adolescent boys. By emphasizing those terms in job listings, a company is telling me that their managers generally think of their development teams as a bunch of immature adolescents, and that I can expect to be treated in a correspondingly condescending fashion.

Sure, perhaps I’m being a bit humorless, but that’s just insulting, and not an experience I want to subject myself to. So I don’t.

Finally, I just want to confirm that the “Overly Zealous” and “Cookie Manipulator” in the title of this post did indeed appear as titles in job listings I’ve recently seen, along with “Enthusiastic”, “Audacious”, “Visionary Game-Changer”, “Badass” and “Programmer Extraordinaire”.

And one job specially asked for an engineer “with more cowbell!” (their exclamation point). Plus, believe it or not, one company sought a “Ruby Eating Python-o-saurus Rex”. What! The! Fuck! Yeah, that really shows that you will take me, my career, and the contribution I make to your company seriously.

And final (dis-) honorable mention goes to the listing for a “Principle Systems Engineer” (sic). I’m absolutely agog imagining what duties that might involve…

Update: My followup post contains a list of the more effusive job titles I saw during the two months subsequent to this article.

Time for a grab bag of Buddhisty observations based on some recent readings, dharma talks, and workshops.

At a recent talk, Ajahn Geoff was asked about the Buddhist concept of Right Effort: specifically, how to cultivate the discipline to perform actions you don’t want to do, but which you know will have positive results. To my surprise, he responded by outlining my longstanding belief that you must be guided by how you will feel on your deathbed about the choice you made. I’ve mentioned this guiding view of mine in blog posts from 2005 here and 2003 here.

My belief that the brahmaviharas of metta (lovingkindness) and karuna (compassion) are very similar was confirmed by Narayan at a recent CIMC workshop. The main difference is that compassion is more specifically targeted at suffering, whereas metta is a more general friendliness toward all, irrespective of the conditions of their life.

The phrases Narayan uses for compassion practice are “May I care for your [physical] pain” and “May I care for your [emotional] sorrow”. I feel that “May I” is semantically much weaker than “I do”, and “care for” is weaker and more vague than “care about”. So the phrases that speak to me most compellingly are “I care about your pain” and “I care about your sorrow”.

While on the topic of the compassion workshop, I should mention the following. Although I am currently halfway through my intended year of intensive metta practice, my current intention is to follow that up with a year of intensive karuna practice. That’ll cover the first two brahmaviharas, but I do not plan on devoting the same time and energy to the remaining brahmaviharas of equanimity and sympathetic joy.

When someone expresses dismay with the phrase “It’s not fair!”, I have always taken glee in pointing out that “Life isn’t fair, and you’re setting yourself up to be disappointed if you expect it to be”. I have recently begun to appreciate that although life indeed isn’t fair, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have compassion for those who suffer from life’s injustices, and take action to remedy them.

The two figures on the table behind the teachers’ platform at CIMC are Avalokitesvara, the bodhisattva of compassion (aka Guan Yin, Chenrezig), and Manjusri, the bodhisattva of transcendent wisdom. It seems a bit odd to have them so honored in a Theravadin meditation center, but it does underscore how relaxed CIMC is about borrowing from other Buddhist lineages.

We are often so preoccupied with planning about the future or reminiscing about the past that we aren’t paying any attention to the present moment. We must be present for our minds to process the sensory input we receive in each moment. If we are absent, one might say that we are “Out of our minds”. Are you “out of your mind”?

One of the observations in the Pali Canon is that our egos exhibit certain seemingly contradictory impulses: the desire to exist, and the desire to not exist. These can be seen, of example, in the desire to “leave one’s mark on the world”, or the parental impulse to live solely for one’s offspring’s benefit, losing oneself in something other than one’s own life. The Buddha stated quite clearly that these are not helpful preoccupations. However, many Buddhists also espouse the idea of cosmic unity: the view that we are all one entity, one living expression of universe, rather than many unique and separate individuals. To me, this seems to be just another, more politically correct manifestation of the desire to not exist. Submersion in some anonymous universal being is just as much a manifestation of the ego’s desire to find oblivion as any other human activity.

One of the ways that karma works is by one action setting up the conditions that influence one’s future state. For example, if we choose not to pay back a debt, we have created the conditions that cause others to mistrust us. Thus our bad acts indeed precipitate negative reactions from others, which impinge upon our future lives.

In “Walden”, Thoreau writes about mankind’s advancement of science and contrasting lack of progress in the ethical sphere thus: “Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end.” Technology is a tool that multiplies our capabilities, but it’s up to man to create something meaningful with that enhanced capability, and our philosophies haven’t advanced in any meaningful sense in the past 2000 years.

One way of looking at mindfulness is being mentally and physically present and open to the beauty in each instant of life in its fullness. If there is so much beauty and joy to be experienced in this world (and I believe there is), that raises the question of how to avoid being overwhelmed by it. At any given instant, I am presented with all kinds of sensory input and myriad potential objects of attention; so if I am to appreciate any of it fully, how do I choose what part of that experience to focus my attention on? This difficulty is compounded by the Buddhist affinity for what is called “choiceless awareness”.

One of the reasons western society is so focused on acquisition as a method of seeking happiness is the very affluence we have achieved. Consider the experience of a child going through a mega-warehouse toy store. The child is presented with thousands of wonderful things that create and fortify his sense desire. But even though his parents might give him numerous toys that far exceed what children in most other cultures would have, no parent can buy everything in the store, so the overwhelming majority of that child’s experience is being repeatedly told that they cannot have what they want. This cultivates an incessant feeling of lack, which over time solidifies into a longlasting sense of dissatisfaction, with a particular focus on acquisitiveness as the solution to life’s inherent disappointments. The scenario of a child surrounded by toys—seeking happiness from material objects they cannot have—is played out throughout adulthood as we are enslaved by our compulsive desire for the newest electronic gadgets, a sleek car, a wonderful home with the nicest television and kitchen appliances, and a trophy spouse. But ultimately it is the very profusion of consumer goods available to us that makes us feel deprived, impoverished, and unloved.

Most American adults suffer from some form of self-esteem issues. As a result, our childcare and education systems have changed to place an immense emphasis on cultivating self-esteem in our children. Today’s youth have grown up in an environment where they are not criticized, they are not disciplined, and they never face emotional hurt. However, since they have rarely if ever seen one of their peers suffering and in emotional pain, they have also never learned the skill of compassion. And even if they do see another person hurting, their own lack of trauma means they haven’t developed the ability to empathize with another person. To one who has never been hurt, the sight of another person’s suffering brings up feelings of aversion and disgust and fear rather than compassion; others’ suffering becomes something that divides and separates people rather than unites them in sympathy. By putting so much effort into raising children with a strong sense of self-esteem, we have accidentally raised a generation of youth who are self-absorbed and stunningly lacking in the virtues of empathy and compassion.